The house seemed to become colder.
“Did you believe her?”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
She looked toward the upstairs landing.
“They said I could have the big bedroom.
There would be room for a crib.”
I remembered her voice when she arrived.
I’ll take the master bedroom.
Such easy cruelty.
Such practiced certainty.
Underneath it, something else had been hiding.
Not innocence.
Desperation wearing our mother’s clothes.
“I wanted it to be true,” she whispered.
“That doesn’t make what you did all right.”
“I know.”
For a long time, I said nothing.
Then I asked, “Where are you staying tonight?”
“I can go back.”
“To the motel?”
She nodded.
I thought about Grandpa telling me that loving people didn’t mean disappearing into their needs.
I thought about the spare room at the back of the house.
“The guest room,” I said.
“For three nights.
