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Show Woodworth/224 dribbles scotch on the jacket". Megan will be mad. Tod bad, Megan. She should learn to hang up her clothes anyway. She's not a child anymore. Needed me to be there. Needed me to be with her at the Four Seasons, and who does she think I am anyway that I would have to be there to keep an eye on her. Just like Marty. They don't seem to have learned anything, won't let go of her. She turns and looks at herself in the mirror over the fireplace, but can only see her head and shoulders. She climbs up on the sofa and looks again, weaving unsteadily on the rocking pillows. Nice. The jacket is tailored well, makes her look thin. It would be fun to be their age again, and wear clothes like this. Go to the Four Seasons, and have men fight for your attention. She bounces playfull on the couch, and jumps down to the floor. Then giggles and listens. Don't want them waking up and coming down here, finding her acting like a girl. She is a mother, and an old one at that. Not even a woman any more. Just mother. Plain old Mom. S^e pictures one of those nags with long ears sticking out through a worn straw hat. Mom. The drink isn't working, and if she doesn't sleep, at least she shouldn't be feeling sorry for herself. If she has too many, she can always take a nap and they just don't have to know. She fills the glass again, grabbing the bottle by the neck. Counts to three, then adds four,five. It's as good a measure as any because everything is arbitrary, right? "Hello," she says, smiling at the air in front of the television, "I'm Ruth Browning, mother. I got my Masters in bottle warming, my Phd in diaper changing. I flunked child psychology every time I took it." With her free hand, she feels^'iier breast. *"01d,\lifeless thing, it feels like a |
