digest and i was her deputy- she beguiled me with her domestic tales . i can see her now : head bent over a book or a piece of copy ,hugging a mug of coffee to her chest , dropping those details into an atmosphere that snapped and crackled with othe considerations . parsley caught a mouse . anthan bought me a white penstemon and i planted it by the lavender . the washing machine flooded .
i pictured the gray scum running over the kitchen floor , the scrable to mop it up , the penstemons nodding in the brezze . i eavesdropped on the family exchanges , with all their coded allusions and easy shortland . poppy's challenge to her brother ." when were you born , then ?" and clever sam's riposte ." before you , you dag ."
rose's family portrait was a chocolate box , framed by comfortable , warm words . then it had been foreign to me , that pretty picture . i do not have a family and it does not bother me . i told rose . nor did i want children . why hang a millstone around your neck ?
looking back , i should have insisted that she tell me what she had left out . but when i asked , rose laughed , all apology and sweetness ." there 's nothing to leave out ."
how would she couch her reply today .?"
i will never know . never again will i hustle her into a coffee shop , or accompany her on the walks she liked so much . or pick up the phone and demand ." what do you think ?"
never again will i observe her hunddle over a pile of books , sifting through them with the greed of a child let loose in the pick'n mix .
between us lies the deepest and darkset of silences , sinister in its composition of pain and betrayal . and absolutely appr-
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