awful cast for two entire months, a reminder of her indiscretion.
Sheâd told servicemen on their way overseas that she loved them when she didnât, sad young men who did not always come back. Dora had enjoyed the way they used to cling to her, as if she mattered more than anything else. She remembered one young man from Pennsylvania who was headed to France. He had cried after theyâd made love because he was so afraid to die. So she knew about risk, how any of those trysts could have resulted in pregnancy, how the wife could have discovered the affair. And worse. When her own children were small sheâd had an affair with Billâs partner, an affair that lasted almost two years. Sheâd even considered leaving Bill for him. Talk about risk. There were dinners with the man and his wife, even a week long vacation together in Puerto Rico with all of their children. Like the foolish people they were, Dora and the man had met every night on the beach and made love while Bill and Gloria looked over them from the twenty-eighth floor of the Old San Juan Hotel.
But all of that was nothing compared to Dan. Dora likedto blame Melinda for what happened but she knew the truth: it was drugs that took her son from her. He and Melinda drifted around a world that Dora could not even imagine. They moved from job to job and city to city so much that entire months passed when she couldnât even find them. Landlords had no forwarding address, operators had no new numbers. Finally the night came when Dan called Dora, waking her from a fitful sleep. He was leaving Melinda, heâd told her. He was checking into rehab. âI have to save myself,â heâd said, and she heard the desperateness in his voice. Dora still could feel the way dryness gripped her throat that night. Sheâd hung up and drunk glass after glass of water, unable to quench the horrible thirst. Before she hung up sheâd told him that she would pay for treatment, if thatâs what it took. She told him it was about time heâd realized where Melinda had led him. âIf you leave her,â sheâd said, âyou can come back here and start over. You can even bring the boy.â It wasnât until a week later, when she got the call that he was dead, that Dora regretted all she hadnât said that night. She hadnât said she was proud of him for finally realizing he needed help. She hadnât told him she loved him.
âGran!â Peter shouted, and he ran over to her.
That was when Dora felt the hot butter on her leg, burning her as it dripped from the pan. She let the boy take the fish from her and lead her to a chair. Already an ugly blister appeared on her calf, and smaller ones ran down to her ankle like a trail of tears.
âIâm all right,â she said.
But she stayed seated, feeling the hot pain surge through her as Peter grabbed a dishtowel and ice cubes. She watched him move through the kitchen as if she were watching amovie. His own strong calves under khaki shorts, the golden hair on his arms. A stranger, kneeling at her feet, pressing a cool cloth to her burns.
âThank you,â she said.
He nodded.
Dora took her hand and placed it on his bent head. She kept it there until he looked up, searching for a clue that she was fine. The thing was, Dora did not want him to go away from her. She didnât want to let go.
âAnother minute,â she lied. âJust another minute.â Again Dora rested her hand on his head.
C HECK THE CHILDREN. Stumbling, Dora pulled on her robe and walked barefoot down the dark hallway. She should get a nightlight, she thought as she pushed open the door to Tillieâs room. A nightlight to keep everyone safe. Tillieâs bed was a mess, the summer quilt in the tumbling blocks pattern was on the floor, the sheets a knot beside it. Not at all like Tillie, Dora thought, her heart racing. She took another step into the room before she
Sheâd told servicemen on their way overseas that she loved them when she didnât, sad young men who did not always come back. Dora had enjoyed the way they used to cling to her, as if she mattered more than anything else. She remembered one young man from Pennsylvania who was headed to France. He had cried after theyâd made love because he was so afraid to die. So she knew about risk, how any of those trysts could have resulted in pregnancy, how the wife could have discovered the affair. And worse. When her own children were small sheâd had an affair with Billâs partner, an affair that lasted almost two years. Sheâd even considered leaving Bill for him. Talk about risk. There were dinners with the man and his wife, even a week long vacation together in Puerto Rico with all of their children. Like the foolish people they were, Dora and the man had met every night on the beach and made love while Bill and Gloria looked over them from the twenty-eighth floor of the Old San Juan Hotel.
But all of that was nothing compared to Dan. Dora likedto blame Melinda for what happened but she knew the truth: it was drugs that took her son from her. He and Melinda drifted around a world that Dora could not even imagine. They moved from job to job and city to city so much that entire months passed when she couldnât even find them. Landlords had no forwarding address, operators had no new numbers. Finally the night came when Dan called Dora, waking her from a fitful sleep. He was leaving Melinda, heâd told her. He was checking into rehab. âI have to save myself,â heâd said, and she heard the desperateness in his voice. Dora still could feel the way dryness gripped her throat that night. Sheâd hung up and drunk glass after glass of water, unable to quench the horrible thirst. Before she hung up sheâd told him that she would pay for treatment, if thatâs what it took. She told him it was about time heâd realized where Melinda had led him. âIf you leave her,â sheâd said, âyou can come back here and start over. You can even bring the boy.â It wasnât until a week later, when she got the call that he was dead, that Dora regretted all she hadnât said that night. She hadnât said she was proud of him for finally realizing he needed help. She hadnât told him she loved him.
âGran!â Peter shouted, and he ran over to her.
That was when Dora felt the hot butter on her leg, burning her as it dripped from the pan. She let the boy take the fish from her and lead her to a chair. Already an ugly blister appeared on her calf, and smaller ones ran down to her ankle like a trail of tears.
âIâm all right,â she said.
But she stayed seated, feeling the hot pain surge through her as Peter grabbed a dishtowel and ice cubes. She watched him move through the kitchen as if she were watching amovie. His own strong calves under khaki shorts, the golden hair on his arms. A stranger, kneeling at her feet, pressing a cool cloth to her burns.
âThank you,â she said.
He nodded.
Dora took her hand and placed it on his bent head. She kept it there until he looked up, searching for a clue that she was fine. The thing was, Dora did not want him to go away from her. She didnât want to let go.
âAnother minute,â she lied. âJust another minute.â Again Dora rested her hand on his head.
C HECK THE CHILDREN. Stumbling, Dora pulled on her robe and walked barefoot down the dark hallway. She should get a nightlight, she thought as she pushed open the door to Tillieâs room. A nightlight to keep everyone safe. Tillieâs bed was a mess, the summer quilt in the tumbling blocks pattern was on the floor, the sheets a knot beside it. Not at all like Tillie, Dora thought, her heart racing. She took another step into the room before she
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