Grandmother Emma could find out anything she wanted about us. Ian once said he thought she had little microphones hidden in our rooms and listened in to our conversations. Mama told him not to be ridiculous, but it wasn't often Ian was ever ridiculous about anything.
I walked to her bedroom and listened carefully at the doorway. He was right. She was sobbing. I knocked on her door and she stopped.
"Who is it?"
"It's me," I said.
A moment later she opened the door. She had a handkerchief in her hand and was wiping her eyes. "What is it, Jordan? Do you have stomach cramps or something?"
"No. I heard you crying," I said.
"Oh. Well, sometimes I can't keep it all locked away. Your father's not coming home tonight."
Although she tried to make it sound like that was the only reason. I knew that wasn't enough to make her cry. There were many nights he didn't come home and she didn't cry or even seem to care.
"I told him about you and he still went off to do whatever it is he does," she added angrily.
Was I supposed to be angry at Daddy, too, for not being concerned about me? Should I cry?
"It's nothing," she added when she saw my face. "It's adult talk," which was what she usually said when she didn't want me to know why she and Daddy were fighting. "I'll be fine. Don't worry. Just wash up, brush your hair, and put on your pink and blue dress for dinner tonight.' she said. "Make sure Ian's not late again for dinner, too, please."
I wondered if I should let her know that I had told Ian, but then I thought it might make her sadder still and she was crying enough as it was
"Okay," I said, and left, relieved at least that she wasn't crying because of something terrible that Dr. Dell'Acqua had said about me.
I went to Ian's room. He was at his computer as he said he would be. He didn't have to turn around to know I had entered his room. He kept his eyes on his monitor screen and asked, "Why is she crying?"
"Adult talk," I said.
He turned and squinted. "Why?"
"Daddy's not coming home tonight. I think they had an argument."
"Was he with you and Mother at the doctor's office?"
"No."
He smiled and shook his head. "Why am I not surprised?" he asked himself. "Okay. Forget about all that now. I'm learning about your problem. I'll tell you about it later," he said. "Don't bother me right now." He waved at me to shoo me off.
"Mama wants me to get ready for dinner and she said to tell you not to be late again, Ian. Grandmother Emma will be upset.'
He didn't answer.
"She said you can't be late."
"I won't," he said. I knew that I could talk and talk and even stand on my head and talk, but he wouldn't answer me anymore or turn away from his computer so I left to do what Mama had asked.
For my birthday last year, my parents had bought me a small vanity table and mirror. When Grandmother Emma saw it being delivered, she said it was the most ridiculous birthday present for a sixyear-old she could imagine. At my birthday dinner. Daddy looked surprised about it, too, which made it seem like it was all Mama's doing and fault. I don't know why Grandmother Emma thought it was silly to buy it for me. I loved having it. I often watched my mother at her vanity table doing her makeup or brushing her hair, sometimes for hours when we lived in our own house. I used to ask her questions about her makeup, the creams and the shampoos she used. She did it here, too, during the first few months, and then she did it so infrequently or for so short a time. I rarely watched her anymore. But even though all I could do was brush my hair, I loved imitating her in front of my own vanity mirror.
A few times at our house, she let me put on lipstick and nail polish, too, but she would never let me do any of that here. She said Grandmother Emma would have a tantrum and only make us feel terrible. When I complained about it, Grandmother Emma told me her mother didn't permit her to wear lipstick or nail polish until she was sixteen. That seemed a long way off, and I did have
I walked to her bedroom and listened carefully at the doorway. He was right. She was sobbing. I knocked on her door and she stopped.
"Who is it?"
"It's me," I said.
A moment later she opened the door. She had a handkerchief in her hand and was wiping her eyes. "What is it, Jordan? Do you have stomach cramps or something?"
"No. I heard you crying," I said.
"Oh. Well, sometimes I can't keep it all locked away. Your father's not coming home tonight."
Although she tried to make it sound like that was the only reason. I knew that wasn't enough to make her cry. There were many nights he didn't come home and she didn't cry or even seem to care.
"I told him about you and he still went off to do whatever it is he does," she added angrily.
Was I supposed to be angry at Daddy, too, for not being concerned about me? Should I cry?
"It's nothing," she added when she saw my face. "It's adult talk," which was what she usually said when she didn't want me to know why she and Daddy were fighting. "I'll be fine. Don't worry. Just wash up, brush your hair, and put on your pink and blue dress for dinner tonight.' she said. "Make sure Ian's not late again for dinner, too, please."
I wondered if I should let her know that I had told Ian, but then I thought it might make her sadder still and she was crying enough as it was
"Okay," I said, and left, relieved at least that she wasn't crying because of something terrible that Dr. Dell'Acqua had said about me.
I went to Ian's room. He was at his computer as he said he would be. He didn't have to turn around to know I had entered his room. He kept his eyes on his monitor screen and asked, "Why is she crying?"
"Adult talk," I said.
He turned and squinted. "Why?"
"Daddy's not coming home tonight. I think they had an argument."
"Was he with you and Mother at the doctor's office?"
"No."
He smiled and shook his head. "Why am I not surprised?" he asked himself. "Okay. Forget about all that now. I'm learning about your problem. I'll tell you about it later," he said. "Don't bother me right now." He waved at me to shoo me off.
"Mama wants me to get ready for dinner and she said to tell you not to be late again, Ian. Grandmother Emma will be upset.'
He didn't answer.
"She said you can't be late."
"I won't," he said. I knew that I could talk and talk and even stand on my head and talk, but he wouldn't answer me anymore or turn away from his computer so I left to do what Mama had asked.
For my birthday last year, my parents had bought me a small vanity table and mirror. When Grandmother Emma saw it being delivered, she said it was the most ridiculous birthday present for a sixyear-old she could imagine. At my birthday dinner. Daddy looked surprised about it, too, which made it seem like it was all Mama's doing and fault. I don't know why Grandmother Emma thought it was silly to buy it for me. I loved having it. I often watched my mother at her vanity table doing her makeup or brushing her hair, sometimes for hours when we lived in our own house. I used to ask her questions about her makeup, the creams and the shampoos she used. She did it here, too, during the first few months, and then she did it so infrequently or for so short a time. I rarely watched her anymore. But even though all I could do was brush my hair, I loved imitating her in front of my own vanity mirror.
A few times at our house, she let me put on lipstick and nail polish, too, but she would never let me do any of that here. She said Grandmother Emma would have a tantrum and only make us feel terrible. When I complained about it, Grandmother Emma told me her mother didn't permit her to wear lipstick or nail polish until she was sixteen. That seemed a long way off, and I did have
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