How could you?”
“I . . . then . . . I . . .”
For the first time since she had come to live with us, Tillie was tongue-tied. I lay there enjoying it. I didn’t think she ought to be saying bad things about Wally when he wasn’t around to defend himself.
Mom, though, jumped to Tillie’s rescue. “I remarried and had Roz and Valerie. Wally still carries his father’s name; he’s still a Sanderson. Alan didn’t adopt him.”
“Alan. So that’s the man you ran away from.”
I expected Mom’s response to be angry, but she merely sounded resigned.
“Yes. That’s why we’re here,” she said. “In your house,” she added with a small laugh. Two weeks with Tillie and that’s how Mom talked to her now, as though the house were still Tillie’s, as though Gramps hadn’t made the down payment fair and square, and as though Mom wasn’t on her feet eight hours a day selling hats and gloves to pay the mortgage. I didn’t know whether Mom was humoring Tillie or whether she decided that ownership was in fact a matter of the sweat, years, and love a person poured into a house. If the latter was true and could hold up in court, this house would be Tillie’s long after she was dead.
“I’m sure you had good reason to leave,” Tillie said.
“Our lives depended on it.”
Another long silence followed Mom’s statement. I lay there thinking about what she’d just said and wondering if it was true. There were days with Daddy when we’d been afraid, but there were other days, good days, when we hadn’t been afraid at all, but happy. Just the previous afternoon I’d begun to collect them, to make a keepsake bouquet of the memories, and hadn’t even finished by the time I fell asleep. How could Mom say we had to leave Daddy because our lives depended on it?
“You did the right thing, Janis,” Tillie said.
“Yes.”
I imagined Mom nodding as her fingers worked the needle and thread.
“I suppose he drank?” Tillie asked.
“Oh yes.” Mom sighed. “But it was more than that. It was like he was two people, and one of those people was crazy. One of them was dangerous. At first, it wasn’t that way. The first couple of years were actually rather happy. But later . . .”
Mom’s words drifted off, as though to leave the unspeakable unspoken.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Tillie said, stitching up the frayed edges of the conversation. “A good woman like you deserves better than that. I know it took courage to leave the way you did. I’m glad you found the courage.”
The chains holding the swing began to creak. Mom must have started swinging gently, pushing herself with the balls of her feet. “I wish I’d found the courage sooner,” she said, her voice heavy with remorse. “I often ask myself why I stayed so long, for so many years. If I’d left sooner, it would have been far better for the children. Wally especially, I think.”
“And for you too, no doubt,” Tillie added. “But you know the old saying, it’s never too late to turn around when you’re headed down the wrong path.”
“Hmm, yes. I suppose you’re right. So I’ve turned around, and we’re making a new life now. Maybe that’s all that matters.”
“Oh yes, that’s all that matters. And you can stay right here in this house for as long as you like. I promise you’ll be safe here.”
“Thank you, Tillie.”
“My pleasure, dear.”
The porch swing went on creaking. Beyond the porch, from the direction of the blue spruce, came a tangle of birdsong, fitting background accompaniment to Tillie’s promise of security.
“It is nice,” Mom said, “not to be worried all the time, not to have to wonder who will come home, the good Alan or the bad Alan. No more lying awake nights in fear, no more terrible fights, no more riding in the car and wondering . . .”
There was a pause, followed by muffled sobs as Mom wept quietly. Then Tillie’s voice drifted through the air in hushed and gentle tones. “Say no more, dear.
“I . . . then . . . I . . .”
For the first time since she had come to live with us, Tillie was tongue-tied. I lay there enjoying it. I didn’t think she ought to be saying bad things about Wally when he wasn’t around to defend himself.
Mom, though, jumped to Tillie’s rescue. “I remarried and had Roz and Valerie. Wally still carries his father’s name; he’s still a Sanderson. Alan didn’t adopt him.”
“Alan. So that’s the man you ran away from.”
I expected Mom’s response to be angry, but she merely sounded resigned.
“Yes. That’s why we’re here,” she said. “In your house,” she added with a small laugh. Two weeks with Tillie and that’s how Mom talked to her now, as though the house were still Tillie’s, as though Gramps hadn’t made the down payment fair and square, and as though Mom wasn’t on her feet eight hours a day selling hats and gloves to pay the mortgage. I didn’t know whether Mom was humoring Tillie or whether she decided that ownership was in fact a matter of the sweat, years, and love a person poured into a house. If the latter was true and could hold up in court, this house would be Tillie’s long after she was dead.
“I’m sure you had good reason to leave,” Tillie said.
“Our lives depended on it.”
Another long silence followed Mom’s statement. I lay there thinking about what she’d just said and wondering if it was true. There were days with Daddy when we’d been afraid, but there were other days, good days, when we hadn’t been afraid at all, but happy. Just the previous afternoon I’d begun to collect them, to make a keepsake bouquet of the memories, and hadn’t even finished by the time I fell asleep. How could Mom say we had to leave Daddy because our lives depended on it?
“You did the right thing, Janis,” Tillie said.
“Yes.”
I imagined Mom nodding as her fingers worked the needle and thread.
“I suppose he drank?” Tillie asked.
“Oh yes.” Mom sighed. “But it was more than that. It was like he was two people, and one of those people was crazy. One of them was dangerous. At first, it wasn’t that way. The first couple of years were actually rather happy. But later . . .”
Mom’s words drifted off, as though to leave the unspeakable unspoken.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Tillie said, stitching up the frayed edges of the conversation. “A good woman like you deserves better than that. I know it took courage to leave the way you did. I’m glad you found the courage.”
The chains holding the swing began to creak. Mom must have started swinging gently, pushing herself with the balls of her feet. “I wish I’d found the courage sooner,” she said, her voice heavy with remorse. “I often ask myself why I stayed so long, for so many years. If I’d left sooner, it would have been far better for the children. Wally especially, I think.”
“And for you too, no doubt,” Tillie added. “But you know the old saying, it’s never too late to turn around when you’re headed down the wrong path.”
“Hmm, yes. I suppose you’re right. So I’ve turned around, and we’re making a new life now. Maybe that’s all that matters.”
“Oh yes, that’s all that matters. And you can stay right here in this house for as long as you like. I promise you’ll be safe here.”
“Thank you, Tillie.”
“My pleasure, dear.”
The porch swing went on creaking. Beyond the porch, from the direction of the blue spruce, came a tangle of birdsong, fitting background accompaniment to Tillie’s promise of security.
“It is nice,” Mom said, “not to be worried all the time, not to have to wonder who will come home, the good Alan or the bad Alan. No more lying awake nights in fear, no more terrible fights, no more riding in the car and wondering . . .”
There was a pause, followed by muffled sobs as Mom wept quietly. Then Tillie’s voice drifted through the air in hushed and gentle tones. “Say no more, dear.
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