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Show relative, her friendship with Mother involved her in the family. When I was younger, I had not realized that she was not really related to me. I had called her Aunt Ruth for years. Now I wondered if she ever tired of all of us, of my grandparents and their needs, of Uncle Paul and the suffering he had caused by dying, of Mother, Father, of me. I didn't ask, but listened to her and pulled my mind back from its restless voyage to talk to her. The day wore on to evening. With twilight came my mother. She had been at the hospital all day with Grandmother and she looked exhausted. Her hair looped low about her face, her white blouse was wrinkled and limp. She sat on the porch and rested her head against the back of the chair, her eyes closed, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. Ruth left us together while she read the evening paper. I could hear the pages rustle from the living room. "Annie," she murmured and smiled. Then she opened her eyes and lifted her head. "Has it been awful to be here?" "Oh,no, Mother, not at all. But, please, can I go home with you? I can help." "Oh, love, I wish you could. But your grandmother is so demanding, and so really difficult. I don't want you to see her that way." She patted the seat beside her and held out her hand to me. I didn't move from where I sat. "Would you mind staying here for a few more days? Maybe by the weekend things will have sorted themselves out and you can come home. Right now, it s better that you are here and I know you are safe and happy." The word "happy" hung in the air a moment and I listened to its hum. Then I asked, "What is Father doing?" |