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Show Woodworth/114 Grayson picks up a rag, rips it in half, pours paint stripper on it and hands it to her. "Make yourself useful," he says. They both go to work on the chair, and it vascillates gently on its rockers from the touch of their hands. "They've gotten used to their own routines," Marty fills the silence. "Ever since Megan left and I went to college. I think they get shook up from me being there. The phone rings more, and it bothers them." She is swept up, convincing herself. "And I don't think Mom can sleep until I get home. Which isn't until late sometimes because, my God, I'm used to having some freedom. I've been away from home for four years, and they've got to understand that I'm an adult now. That I can't be home all the time, or whenever they want me. And I just make things hard on Mom. I don't know. I guess I just do. I think it worries her that I'm not doing something with my life, that I don't have definite life goals. Or maybe she worries that I don't have a steady boyfriend, that I'm not likely to get married in the near future. Anyway, I think it's really just me being there. It's like it's an imposition on her." "I think it's very important to both your parents that you are home," Grayson says. He doesn't look up, or stop rubbing the paint off the chair. But his words are quiet, too quiet, and she can feel them settling around her neck like a noose. "No, really. I don't think they care," she protests. "Oh. I'm pretty sure they do." She freezes, looks at him. "Things have been hard for them," he continues. "For your mother, especially. Don't you think that it's important to her to have one of her children around? She's devoted her life to having a family. She doesn't have Jake anymore. Megan doesn't come home. Don't you ^u^T^MVTl^S^o occassionally have the satisfaction of |