OCR Text |
Show Woodworth/179 can set the table. Let's use the good china." Ruth makes the eggs benedict, and they eat together at the kitchen table, using the good china, the good silver, the etched champagne goblets for their orange juice. Marty notices that her mother's hair is graying softly all over. Surprised she is shocked. She's plenty old enough, has certainly been through enough, to have graying hair. Maybe she has been coloring it all this time, and has just stopped. Funny she never noticed it before. There also seems to be lipstick leaked into the lines above her mother's lips. Strained, hard lines from pursing her lips too much. She looks out at the bird feeder, hanging motionless in the tree. A long, plastic tube completely full of seed. The birds don't need a feeder at this time of year, but her mother always-keeps it f-ilied. "This is really the right way to start the day," her mother says. "We should drive to the beach. It's going to be another unbearable day, I can tell already. Do you have to work today?", Her voice hasn't changed, though. "No, they're not twins," her mother would say. Marty would sit up straighter, try to look older, taller. "They're just eleven months apart." Eleven months was a long time. It was almost from one Christmas to the next. She would swing her feet in the space above the floor. "Good-night, Jake," her mother's voice, calling softly from the hall. "Mommie?" she calls out, loud enough for her mother to hear, but not loud enough so Megan can hear, just next door. "Mommie?" The door opens,and |