Mama was settled in Daddy's old chair. She wasn't
crying, but she might as well be. I thought. Maybe
there is such a thing as dry tears that trickle down
your cheeks and settle around your heart, invisible
tears, but just as hot.
I retreated to my room to complete my
homework for the next day. We had a light supper.
Mama ate less than I did. It had been only a few hours
since Brenda and Celia had left, but she was already
back to her meager appetite. Maybe out of
nervousness, maybe to get her to see she should eat
more. I ate everything in sight, even part of her
portion. I offered to clean up, but she wanted to do it.
She said she needed to be occupied.
Afterward, she joined me in the living room to
watch television, but she showed little interest in
anything I could find.
Eventually, she rose and left. She didn't go to
her bedroom. however. Instead. I found her sitting in
Daddy's office, her back to the door, gazing out the
window. In her hands, she held a picture of him and
herself taken on their honeymoon, which she had
found buried under a box of old papers.
"Are you all right. Mama?" I asked her. She
didn't answer. so I asked again, and she turned the
chair to face me.
"What? Oh. yes. I'm fine, April," she said. She
forced a smile. "I'in just thinking about things. It's
nothing. Go on to bed. Don't worry about me. You
girls shouldn't worry about me."