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Show 3-6 It took me only a short time to adjust to his gentle presence, to his quiet versions of my bedtime stories, to his masculine smells and laughter. He was a large man, large and the color of sand, his hair and skin almost the same color. He had looked fine in his uniform but even finer to my eyes in the old tweed jacket and sagging pants that Mother had saved for him. After that night, Father never again talked to me about what he had seen in that hospital in the East. But for many nights after he came home, I heard his voice from the parents' bedroom, talking on and on until I fell asleep. I wondered that he had so much to say, especially since I did not hear my mother's voice, just his deep baritone, droning on into the night. Gradually, the sounds from their room returned to normal ones, their voices intertwining, my mother's quiet laughter and his deep chuckling sounds. My father had returned home and all was well. |
