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Show house/ 4_5jj 1 stared at the blank blue of the sky and tried to think. Saturday night was usually my mother's night. I found my father planted at the kitchen table over a game of solitaire. This had become his way of winding down from the busy, constant concentration of his day, the way some men drink. My mother was bustling around, whipping up some special dessert for him, as usual. I looked from one to the other, smiling nervously, fidgeting with my car keys. They were pleasant, affable. My father had completed a baby case, in the afternoon for once. Twins. The delivery had gone smoothly, the parents were delighted, feeling that some special blessing was indicated for them in the entry of two souls instead of one. I could feel the radiance of the household and was suddenly caught up in it. Perhaps everything would work out after all. After the amenities, I sat at the table across from my father and set the car keys noisily between us. The table seemed miles across as my father glanced up. afr-me.. Before crowds, my father was an orator, a speaker of eloquent, ethereal phrases. But when faced with a moment of emotional tension, he was wordless - perhaps waiting for the questions - . -ito come ---^rr.from the other's mouth, perhaps mollified by the uncharted seconds. As I stared at his forehead, furrowed with furious concentration, my carefully-contrived story dissolved in a wave of love. Perhaps he didn't want to know the truth, and I would not expose him to that unless he asked. But neither would I lie. I had done enough lying. "Brian and I want to be married before he goes to Vietnam." |