the door. âThe vulgar Lila Corrigan, not worthy of the likes of you, you self-righteous-petit-bourgeois-son-of-a-bitch, with your ancestors and yourââ
âShut up,â Pop said, as if desperate to stop a leak. âJust shut up,â he said again, although she was silent. âItâs a wonder I come here at all.â The same rage that freed Maâs tongue bound his; he stood still for a moment in confusion and went back down the stairs.
ââand your pearls,â she yelled after him. The diva had reached her great moment, her audience rapt, in pajamas. With one wrenching twist the pearls were everywhere, skittering along the floor, hopping in the rug.
âTheyâre secretions, vulgar secretions, you know,â she called down the stairs, and sank sobbing on the bed.
âDo you think Iâm vulgar?â she asked Audie, who was hugging her, rocking her by the shoulders back and forth.
âNo, Ma, I think youâre beautifulâ (and I think sheâs bananas, sheâd tell Kate tomorrow).
âMe too,â Chucky said, and she drew him in.
Kate rolled a pearl between her fingers. âHe only said it,â she said, âbecause you made that ⦠crack ⦠about Grandma.â Dear God, she hadnât meant to, but she was speaking with cold rage. Ma looked up incredulous from Audieâs shoulder.
âWho do you think you are?â she said. âGet out of here. Youâre just like the rest of them.â
Kate stood, dumb, defiant.
âGet out!â Ma said. Kate went.
The keys to the VW were on a hook by the front door. On the porch swing, in the dark, Pop sat with bent head. He didnât look up when she passed.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Other times she had gone to Bobbyâs, to tremble in his kitchen while his hearty mother fried a steak for her cats. But seeing the lamp in his window, lit against thieves, while the family was away, she felt lonely only for a minute. Then it seemed just another slash against whatever ropes held her down on the earth, as an angry new confidence tugged her away. When you had expression, you were safe at any speed, anywhere; you could turn pain to understanding like straw into gold.
Knowing this, and Elayneâs schedule at the hospital, she went to see Amir. He was standing in the lighted doorway when she drove up. Listening to the katydids, she supposed. He had an eager, childâs heart, she could see.
âHi,â she said. âMy parents had a fight.â
âA fi-ight?â Amir found the English language infinitely amusing. He made a boxing feint and planted his hand on the door frame over her shoulder, smiling.
âI think theyâre crazy,â she said, looking down.
He lifted her chin with a finger. âCray-zee,â he said, rolling his eyes. She didnât like his closeness so much now, but went in with him anyway, not wanting to be timid. The house was all pink and ruffles, and she had to push some pillows off the couch just to sit down. Amir set his beer on the television, where Joan Crawford, without volume, was adjusting her hat.
âItâs so sad,â Kate said. âThey do love each other, you know, but theyâ¦â
He kissed her, interrupting. He would be hurt if she went on talking about herself and didnât respond. And his country was nearly at war. She put her arms around his neck. He turned the light off with one hand and reached under her sweatshirt with the other.
âPillows,â he said, âtoo much pillows.â
She twisted to pull the heart-shaped one out from underneath. Amirâs face in the TV light had lost all its warm color, but she tried to smile.
âWhat are you thinking?â she asked.
âThinking?â He was struggling with her belt buckle, and she reached to help. She believed in passion.
âZipper?â
Kate unzipped. In Turkey they wouldnât violate the sanctity of
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