I happen not to be one of them but I don't expect you to believe that just because I say so.'
She screwed up her mouth. Relaxed it. Puckers remained above her upper lip. Her face was streaked and smudged and weary and I felt like the Grand Inquisitor.
'On the other hand,' I said, 'maybe its just me you resentsome sort of turf thing over Cassie, your wanting to be the boss.'
that's not it at all!'
'Then what is it, Vicki?'
She didn't answer. Looked down at her hands. Used a nail to push back a cuticle. Her expression was blank but the tears hadn't stopped.
'Why not get it out into the open and be done with it?' I said.
'If its not related to Cassie, it won't leave this room.
She sniffed and pinched the tip of her nose.
I moved forward and softened my tone: 'Look, this needn't be a marathon. I'm not out to expose you in any way. All I want to do is clear the air-work out a real truce.'
'Won't leave this room, huh?' Return of the smug smile. 'I've heard that before.'
Our eyes met. Hers blinked. Mine didn't waver.
Suddenly her arms flew upward, hands scissoring. Ripping her cap from her hair, she hurled it across the room. It landed on the floor.
She started to get up, but didn't.
'Damn you!' she said. The top of her head was a bird's nest.
I'd folded the handkerchief and rested it on one of my knees.
Such a neat boy, the Inquisitor.
She put her hands to her temples.
I got up and placed a hand on her shoulder, certain she'd fling it off.
But she didn't.
'I'm sorry,' I' said.
She sobbed and started to talk, and I had nothing to do but listen.
She told only part of it. Ripping open old wounds while struggling to hold on to some dignity.
The felonious Reggie transformed into an 'active boy with school problems.'
'He was smart enough, but he just couldn't find anything that interested him and his mind used to wander all over the place.'
The boy growing into a 'restless' young man who 'just couldn't seem to settle down.'
Years of petty crime reduced to 'some problems.'
She sobbed some more. This time she took my handkerchief.
Weeping and whispering the punch line: her only child's death at nineteen, due to 'an accident.'
Relieved of his secret, the Inquisitor held his tongue.
She was silent for a long time, dried her eyes, wiped her face, then began talking again: Alcoholic husband upgraded to blue-collar hero.
