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Show 26-2 And I could do nothing for my parents. I could not go to them, tell them I understood, ease their fear. I wondered if they too were awake during that long night. I listened but heard no sounds from their room. Perhaps they lay awake, each staring at the black ceiling. I had never heard my parents speak as they had that night, especially my mother. And to men like Reverend Bingham who had married them, baptized me, led the church for years, and to Mr. Glade who had been a family friend for as long. And yet my parents had disagreed with them and my mother had walked out on them in anger. I knew that was probably the part she hated the most about what she had done. She was always ashamed of her temper and always angry at herself when she let it take over. That is what she was probably thinking about as she lay in her silent bed. And Father? What was he seeing? Andrew? And the others? Were they once again marching through his memory? Once I had resented them, feared they were taking my place in my father's heart. Now I understood, knew why he was so sharp last night. Once you knew someone, loved someone . . . Andrew. He was here again. I was having trouble concentrating . . . I turned again, felt several faces slip past me, Uncle Paul in uniform, that faint sad smile, fade to John, to Andrew . . . Morning came bright and windy. I did not see the dawn so I must have slept. I never discussed that night with my parents. I did not want to force them to explain what I already knew or to ask them to relive it all again just so I could tell them that I understood. I watched them both carefully for signs of how they were feeling. Mother was a bit irritable the next day, fussing more than usual at the cats, and Father was silent at breakfast. That evening we ate dinner in a somber mood, the room lit by only one small lamp. Father seemed very tired and went to bed early. Mother told me while we were washing dishes |
