Jennifer Donnelly loved teaching, and there was nothing quite like the excitement of the first day of school. It was her seventh year at Congin Elementary, and she stood by the door of her second-grade classroom, welcoming new students. They looked shy but hopeful in their back-to-school outfits, lugging shiny, clean daypacks. Just last school year, she’d been named Cumberland County’s 1994 Teacher of the Year; the certificate was framed and hung in the hall beside the front office, where all the school’s teaching awards were proudly displayed to parental foot traffic. Jennifer’s was the newest addition. She passed the award, blushing, as she stopped by the teacher’s lounge for a mug of coffee at breaktime.
“Teacher of the year!” yelped Vivian Martelly from inside the break room. Vivian was one of Jennifer’s closest friends at the school; she also taught second grade. She dashed over as Jennifer entered, her huge silver hoops swishing from side-to-side. Vivian always wore hoops and midi dresses cinched at the waist with a leather belt. (“It’s the only small part of me,” she liked to say, “so I have to show it off.”)
“Hi, Viv!” Jennifer cried, surrendering to Vivian’s hug with a big smile. “How was your summer?”
Jennifer was only four foot eleven, and Vivian had to stoop to wrap her arms around her. Although Jennifer didn’t consider herself the hugging type, she somehow felt comfortable receiving a Vivian hug.
“Long. Hot,” Vivian barked. She was a straight-talking woman with a big heart. “How’s it going with your new second graders?”
Jennifer was now searching the cabinets for her favorite mug, which bore a string of interconnected hearts around the rim.
“They’re adorable. I have the little Riley girl, Rebecca—remember her sister Ellen, from a few years back? They both have that blond curly hair and those big blue eyes?”
Jennifer found her mug. She gave it a quick rinse in the sink, then turned back to Vivian.
“I would love it if they were as good as the kids I had last year … What about you, Viv? How’s your class?”
“They seem like a good bunch,” Vivian said shrewdly. “No troublemakers so far, not like last year. Remember Tommy Burton and how often I had to send him down to the principal’s office?”
“Oh, I remember Tommy,” Jennifer said with a laugh, filling her mug with coffee from the pot. She took her first sip, then held her mug out to Vivian, who extended hers forward so that the mugs clinked.
“To a new year!” said Vivian.
“Cheers to that,” Jennifer said, and the two women gazed out at the hall.
The first few weeks of school passed in a joyful blur. One Friday, Jennifer was walking down the hall during her break when she heard a male voice singing over the sound of a piano. She thought she recognized the opening song to the musical Oklahoma!, but she wasn’t sure. She peeked into the small, dusty music room, which looked more like an oversized storage closet, and spotted the new music teacher absorbed in his playing. Freddie Carson. She’d met him a handful of times so far, when he’d come to collect her students for music class. He was young and athletic, with a head of tousled black curls, and for some reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on, he made her uncomfortable. Not wanting to disturb him in his creative endeavor, she stayed silent. As if sensing her there, Freddie paused, turned, and motioned for her to enter.
“The famous Miss Donnelly! To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Her eyes travelled from his beaming smile to the green velvet bow tie around his neck. She felt oddly queasy and returned her gaze to his face.
“My second graders love music,” she said awkwardly.
“I know, they’re so wonderful! Second grade is always a fun bunch. I’d offer you a seat, but I don’t have any chairs.” He gestured to the tiny cushions on the floor where the kids sat, then patted the bench. “There’s a spot for you here.”
Jennifer felt her face fall, and she struggled to hide her expression. Reluctantly, she walked over to the piano and sat down on the edge of the bench. Freddie’s bow tie felt enormous and seemed to pulsate in her peripheral vision. Without knowing why, she shot up, her heart pounding. She shook her head in confusion. A fierce, alien feeling of rage had blossomed in her stomach and vanished just as quickly, like a sea creature afraid of being seen. There was something about that bow tie, the piano, and Freddie’s black curly hair, his deep brown eyes, that felt deeply sinister to her. And yet, to the best of her knowledge, he was friendly and pleasant, and the kids adored him.
“It’s Jennifer, right?” Freddie said, looking concerned. “Is there anything …?”
Jennifer’s mind went blank.
“I was just …” She paused. “I was drawn to the music, I suppose. My father used to play that song. I’m sorry to disturb you. I should go.”
Tense, she stood and briskly walked out, apologizing again as she left.
When the bell rang, Jennifer dashed out to the faculty parking lot, spotting Vivian behind the wheel of her Red Nissan. Vivian had a big family, and whenever someone caught her reading magazines in her car before driving home, she’d protest, “This is the only time I get to myself!” But Jennifer knew Vivian didn’t mind if she interrupted. Weekly car chats between them were an informal tradition that had started a few years before. Waving, Jennifer rushed over. Vivian rolled down her window.
“What’s going on, honey?”
“Have you got a minute?”
“For you? Always. Hop on into my living-room-on-wheels and we’ll have a chat.”
Vivian’s car was capacious, with floral covers over the seats and kids’ toys scattered in the back. It did indeed remind Jennifer of a living room.
“Vivian,” Jennifer began, “don’t tell anyone I’m asking you this, I don’t want to … it’s just … do you think there’s anything … off about Freddie Carson?”
Vivian rolled up her window before responding, waving at a student as she did so. She turned back to Jennifer, her face serious.
“I haven’t heard anything,” she said slowly. “His wife is nice. They have a toddler. There’s another on the way, I think … The other teachers say he’s great with the kids, really thoughtful. Why do you want to know? Did something happen?”
“No, no,” Jennifer said. “Forget I mentioned it, honestly, Vivian. I just … I stopped by the music room today, and … I don’t know, he didn’t do anything, I just don’t like him and I’m not sure why. Am I a terrible person? It was probably the bow tie. Why does he wear those horrible things? They creep me out.”
Vivian gave a sudden bark of a laugh.
“Honey, what’s so strange about a bow tie?” She raised her eyebrows, perplexed. “There are lots of creeps in this world, but Freddie Carson isn’t one of them.”
Jennifer felt hot with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I never should have said anything. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Don’t mention it, hon,” Vivian said. She turned the key in the ignition and the car rumbled to life. “I’d better head home.”
Jennifer scrambled out. As she watched Vivian pull out of the parking lot, an old memory flashed in her mind. It was Thanksgiving years ago, and her father and uncle, both identical twins, were sitting at the piano, playing and singing their favorite musical song Oklahoma! She could smell the old wood of the piano bench. Both of them wore their holiday bow ties. Her father would wear a green bow tie, her uncle a blue one. They had dark brown eyes and curly black hair, just like Freddie did. Again, Jennifer felt a strange flicker of rage that died down just as quickly, leaving her feeling empty. It was strange, thinking of the past. It was a place her mind seldom explored.
***
Jennifer was now several weeks into the new school year and thrilled about her new art project. Dressed in a plaid skirt and an L.L. Bean turtleneck, Jennifer stood in front of her class holding a lovely turquoise bird made of paper.
“This is what we’re going to make today,” she said, beaming at her class. “This paper art is called origami and it comes from Japan.”
“It looks too hard, Miss Donnelly,” exclaimed Rebecca Riley, who often found crafts frustrating.
Jennifer nodded. “I know it might seem that way, Rebecca, but you just need patience and focus. What’s cool about origami is that you don’t need glue or scissors or any tools. Just your fingers and a piece of paper.”
Slowly she walked through the rows of desks, showing the excited kids her blue swan. “Wow,” screamed several students in the back row.
“I thought you’d all like it! After everyone picks out their favorite color paper, I’ll walk you through it.”
One by one, the students selected colorful squares. Jennifer held up a big piece of paper and demonstrated each fold. Step-by-step, the students copied her, delighted when paper swans materialized under their fingers. The students signed their names on the swans in their best penmanship and handed them to Jennifer.
“These look beautiful,” Jennifer said. “And I can’t wait for you all to see the surprise I have for you tomorrow.”
The following morning, her second graders squealed with delight, pointing above their heads. Their colorful swans dangled from mobiles Jennifer had hung along the ceiling.
“Isn’t it fun to see your swan up there looking down at you?” she cried. “When you need a moment of joy, just look up and smile at your swan.”
She gazed at each of her students intently. She wanted them to hear what she was saying, and understand that it was true.
“Each and every one of you matters. You are all as unique and special as your swans. Never forget that. At the end of the year, you’ll get to take your swan home with you, but for now, you and your swans are going to learn together. I’m so delighted about what this year has in store for us. Let’s have a big applause for our effort today.”
All the little hands in the class clapped, and then several students ran up to hug her. Jennifer’s heart was bursting with joy.
“I’m so grateful for all of you,” she said. “I’m looking forward to doing lots of fun art projects this year.”
Suddenly there was a sharp, rhythmic tapping on the classroom door, which promptly opened.
“Hello,” cried Freddie Carson, with a wide grin. “We’re having music class outside today, under the big oak tree. Who’s ready?”
Jennifer struggled to return his smile.
“Line up quietly, please!” she called, as the students raced to the door.
When they left, she sunk into her chair, suddenly weak.
That night, Jennifer woke with a scream from a terrifying nightmare.
A dark blob—a shadow with claw-like tentacles—had crept up on her, tearing at her limbs and pushing, forcing, clawing at her legs and into her.
“Help me, please! Someone help me!” she shrieked, still feeling the tentacles on her skin. Several minutes passed before she stopped shaking and knew where she was: she’d fled to the bathroom. Her mind felt numb, and she couldn’t get up, couldn’t return to her bed. Eventually, her exhausted body gave out, and she slept for a few hours in the bathtub, covered with her bath towel.
In the morning, Jennifer woke with a shock, a painful crick in her neck. She’d never had such an intense dream before, and she was so disconcerted that she poured orange juice into her cornflakes instead of milk. Outside, it was a stunning autumn day, and as she drove through the falling leaves, she willed the memory of the monstrous shadow away. Life was good, she loved her job, and a nightmare couldn’t hurt her.
“Jennifer!” came a voice from across the parking lot, as Jennifer slammed her car door and hurried toward the school. She jumped, turning to see Principal Leblanc striding toward her. Principal Leblanc was tall and lanky, towering over Jennifer, making her feel like a preschooler who’d doodled crayon on a wall. Jennifer tried to stand confidently, but her heart pounded.
“Jennifer!” the principal repeated. “I’m so glad I caught you. We’ve had great feedback from the parents about your origami project. The kids can’t stop talking about their swans. You bring so much energy and creativity to the classroom, it’s truly admirable.”
“Oh my goodness, thank you,” Jennifer stuttered. She found it difficult to accept praise. “They’re so simple to make, really.”
The principal paused, met Jennifer’s gaze, and delivered one of nicest compliments Jennifer had ever received—one she knew few teachers heard in their lifetimes. “We’re so glad to have you here. Please don’t ever leave.”
Principal Leblanc’s validation changed Jennifer’s day for the better. She forgot about the nightmare and threw herself into the day’s teaching. After the last parent came to collect the last child, she went out to the parking lot and spotted a familiar figure—Vivian in her Nissan.
There was something about Vivian’s steadfast integrity that reminded Jennifer of her maternal grandmother, Grace. Grandma Grace was the only relative Jennifer had ever felt truly close to, but she’d died when Jennifer was in sixth grade. Jennifer still missed her. There’d been a lot of tragedy in Jennifer’s family, and sometimes she thought that was why she couldn’t remember much of her childhood. When she was in college, her father and his twin brother had been killed in a car accident. It was strange—Jennifer recalled hardly mourning her father. Though charming when he wanted to be, he’d been self-involved, domineering, and distant, and he was oddly blurred in her memory. Uncle Keith had more time for young Jennifer—he’d taken her shopping and bought her first pink bicycle. Keith was more fatherly than her own father was, but still he was something of a follower, meekly going along with his brother Kevin’s schemes. He was the younger twin by a minute, and Kevin never let him forget it. As for Jennifer’s mother, Maureen, she was a private, cautious woman, afraid to let her guard down. It wasn’t that Maureen didn’t love Jennifer—she did, and Jennifer had fond memories of the two of them baking cookies and pies together and laughing. But from a young age, Jennifer had learned from her mother that the answer to every problem in life was to smile and insist that there were no problems. It had made an impression on her: in all her relationships, Jennifer was reserved, holding back a piece of herself.
As Jennifer approached the car, she saw Vivian chomping away on something that must be tasty.
“Here,” Vivian said as Jennifer opened the door. Vivian’s mouth was full, and she handed Jennifer a piece of carrot cake in foil. “Save me from myself.”
It was something Grandma Grace always used to say in the presence of desserts. Jennifer smiled, settled into the car, and took a bite, almost calling her Grandma.
“This is delicious,” she said. “You made it?”
“My brother Stanley made it,” Vivian said. “He used to be a pastry chef, but now he’s driving a taxi. Go figure.”
“Maybe he’s finding himself.”
“He probably should have started looking before he got a mortgage.”
Jennifer laughed and swallowed her bite of cake.
“I’ve had such a weird day, Viv,” she said.
“Kids acting up?”
No,” Jennifer said. “Not at all, today they’ve been angels. I don’t know…I had a bad dream last night, and I felt so alone when I woke up. I started thinking about my ex.”
“The sweet one, I met him—Tom?”
“Tim,” Jennifer corrected. “I really blew it with him. My mother still reminds me. He was a successful engineer, he loved me, he wanted kids, he would’ve been a great father …”
“Do you think she was right?” asked Vivian.
Jennifer stared at the now dismal grey clouds outside of Vivian’s car window. A storm was coming, and the sky was no longer blue and sunny. She spoke haltingly.
“Kind of, yeah, though I hate to admit it. He was a great guy, but I wasn’t able to take the next step and get married. I don’t know why. I never loved him like he deserved to be loved. Something inside me wouldn’t let me get close.”
“I still think you must’ve had your reasons, honey. Maybe you don’t remember anymore, or maybe someday it’ll make sense. When you meet the right person.”
“He moved to Dallas,” Jennifer said. She looked down at the half-eaten piece of cake in her hand. “He has a great job down there. He asked me to go with him, but I didn’t. We broke up instead. He married someone else and he sends me Christmas cards every year. His wife is pretty. She’s a teacher too. They have a baby.”
“Well,” Vivian said, “people move on. You can too, you know.”
Jennifer nodded mutely. She felt that Vivian hadn’t understood what she was trying to say, but the truth was, Jennifer wasn’t sure what she meant. She’d already shared more than she was used to sharing, and she felt herself clamming up again.
“Thanks for the cake,” Jennifer said. “I should get home.”
“Anytime, hon.”
***
A few days later, the nightmare came back, and it was even more terrifying than the first time. This time she woke sobbing, frozen with terror. Jennifer sat up in bed and shrieked with the realization that the black shadow had morphed into a creature: half-man, half-wolf. It was jamming itself inside her, trapping her with its haunches, its body hair dark and fur-like. Going to work the next morning was even harder than it had been after the first nightmare, but Jennifer was armed with her mother’s strategies: she slapped on a smile. She pretended that everything was fine.
It was only when the nightmare reoccurred a third time, a week later, that Jennifer felt true desperation. She thought about telling Vivian, but there was something too dark, too shameful, about the nightmare. The way it invaded her. It wasn’t like talking about an ex she still missed. Vivian had judged her brother Stanley’s confusion: maybe she’d judge Jennifer as well. Jennifer couldn’t bear the thought of that.
When the weekend came, she drove to downtown Portland, found a little stationary shop, and bought a dark black hardcover journal along with a thick black pen. In her new journal, she recorded how the nightmares made her feel. This gave her a sense of control.
Why is this happening, why does it keep coming back??? I can’t tell if it’s some arbitrary figment of my imagination, a misfiring in the brain, or if it’s a specific psychological thing, like it’s trying to tell me something?? I was fine before this, and now I feel crazy. I don’t want this to affect the kids, they depend on me.
After the fourth nightmare, Jennifer accepted that the monster wasn’t going away. She established a nightly checklist, recording it in her journal. The terror never lessened, but at least with the checklist, Jennifer had a routine that worked. For a while.
1) Keep lights on.
2) Move armchair in front of door.
3) Get whistle, keep beside bed.
4) Make sure bathroom door is fully open with sofa cushions and blanket inside.
5.) Wind up new alarm clock and store by toilet.
Around Thanksgiving, the headless wolf-man transformed again. She could now see strong, masculine shoulders, a head, and a huge penis. The head had pointed wolf-like ears and a sharp jaw. But there were no eyes, no nose, no mouth. The monster was unrecognizable, but definitely male.
Jennifer couldn’t imagine visiting her mother while she felt this terrible—she wasn’t sure she could even drive with this level of sleep deprivation.
“Mom,” Jennifer whispered into the phone, “I can’t come down for Thanksgiving, I have a temperature. I don’t want to get you sick.”
“You’re sick?” her mother repeated blankly. “Are you sure, Jen? I was very much looking forward to seeing you.”
“Yeah, really sick,” she said. She knew that if she didn’t drive down, her mother would spend Thanksgiving alone, but she was too exhausted to feel guilty. “I’m sorry. I’ll call you soon.”
Jennifer wrote in her journal:
If I tell anyone, will they admit me to a mental ward? If I can’t make sense of it, how will anyone else? I feel so desperate. There’s a kid in Vivian’s class who gets night terrors, she was telling me about it. Maybe that’s what this is? She said he wakes up screaming and disoriented. It sounds awful. It sounds kind of like what I have, so maybe the shadow-monster is a night terror, except she said that he never remembers the bad dream. I always remember mine. So maybe this is different.
In early December, the nightmare suddenly stopped. The journaling seemed to be working, and Jennifer was relieved. She got some much-needed rest, and the dark circles under her eyes lightened. She bought Christmas presents for her mother and for Vivian, reflecting with sadness as she did so on how small her social circle had gotten. She resolved to catch up with some old friends in the new year. Now that the nightmare had abated, anything felt possible. Her college roommate Cara had gotten married the year before, and they’d barely seen each other since then. Jennifer felt cheered by the prospect of meeting up with Cara. When she mentioned this plan, in passing, to Vivian, the latter said, “Sounds great. You’re sounding more like your old self.” Jennifer didn’t ask what she meant. Hurriedly, she handed Vivian her Christmas gift, a new pair of sparkly hoop earrings.
Just before Christmas, Jennifer drove from Portland, Maine to her childhood home in Quinlan, Massachusetts. There was an unsettled feeling in her stomach. Living far away had given her an excuse not to see her mother very often. Kevin’s death had left Maureen in possession of the Cape house at 68 Bremore Street and just enough money to live on. Both the house and Maureen remained frozen in time; Maureen still wore the same clothes, neatly pressed and threadbare, that she’d worn when Jennifer was growing up, and the house with its faded, traditional wallpaper was similarly unchanged. Maureen kept it clean and tidy, but there was a strange, ghostly vibration emanating from the walls and floorboards, spiraling up into the bedrooms and down into the basement. That’s where the plaid sofa her uncle had often slept on after his divorce still sagged against the wooden paneling. Jennifer’s mother was at the grocery store when she got in, so she wandered alone through the familiar rooms, noting the well-used oak furniture, the sixties shag carpet, the avocado-green kitchen, and the out-of-tune piano, silent for a decade. Even the plastic Christmas tree covered in red tree ornaments was painfully familiar.
Next, Jennifer headed up to her childhood bedroom. It was the perfect dream bedroom for any girl who loved pink: oh-so-girly, with a canopy bed covered in a bright pink bedspread, complete with matching light pink Swiss-dotted fabric for the canopy cover and window curtains. In the corner was Gumdrop, Jennifer’s beloved doll. She was perched on a small white rocking chair, her eyes fixed on Jennifer. When she was six, Jennifer had spotted the doll in the Sears Christmas catalog and immediately wanted her. The doll was blonde, blue-eyed, and wore a green velvet skirt with a matching green jacket. She named the doll Gumdrop after the green gumdrops she put on the gingerbread house that year with the help of her mother and Grandma Grace. Jennifer was surprised to see how much older, and strangely fragile, Gumdrop now looked. She felt like Gumdrop’s mirror image, vulnerable and uncertain. From downstairs came the sound of the front door opening. Swallowing, Jennifer turned away and traipsed down to the kitchen.
Maureen stood at the kitchen sink washing out a rag, with her back to her daughter. Two paper bags full of groceries stood on the countertop.
“I saw your car as you pulled in. You must be starving! I’ve just preheated the oven; I’ve made a lovely chicken potpie.”
“Okay.”
Maureen turned around to face Jennifer. Her smile vanished. Her fingers were now twisting the rag into a knot. “Oh,” Maureen squeaked, while scanning Jennifer’s skinny body. Months of sleeplessness had taken their toll on Jennifer, and her corduroy pants and Shetland-wool sweater hung from her loosely.
“Sorry,” said Jennifer. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Don’t be silly,” her mother said. She still hadn’t moved. “Will you have some pie with me?”
“I’m not very hungry.”
“You’re skin and bones!”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
Jennifer started putting away the groceries.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Everything is fine. I always lose some weight at the beginning of the school year. I’m looking forward to Christmas.”
At this, Maureen seemed to relax, tension flooding out of her.
“Me too!” she said. “Merry Christmas, pumpkin.”
She rinsed out a glass, and placed water in front of her daughter, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.
“Teacher of the year,” she said. “I still can’t get over it. My daughter… I’m so proud!”
Maureen lingered by the chair, one hand resting on Jennifer’s shoulder. She seemed to want to make a grander gesture of emotion, a hug perhaps, but couldn’t quite manage it.
“It was last year,” Jennifer murmured, squirming free. Jennifer put the last of the groceries away and began setting the table.
“I still think it’s wonderful that you’re a real professional. I always wanted to go to college. Look how well you turned out. A real career woman.”
Jennifer was relieved when the chicken potpie was ready and her mother brought it to the white pine table. Maureen ate with dainty relish and changed the subject to her secretarial job at the town hall. Jennifer said little as she forced down a few bites. Maureen chattered on, describing the latest coupons at Stop & Shop and her plan to clear out the garage.
“Are you still okay living alone?” asked Jennifer suddenly. “It’s been years since Daddy died.”
Maureen used her finger to poke at the last of the chicken on her plate.
“I’m more than comfortable here. Everything’s fine, just as it always has been.” Tears appeared in Maureen’s eyes. “I still can’t get over you. Teacher of the year. And I so love it when you visit.”
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
Maureen seemed on the verge of speaking, but then, like a magic trick, Jennifer witnessed her mother blink and shut down her feelings. Poof—the smile appeared. Jennifer knew that smile well—it often appeared, like a curse, on the faces of Donnelly women, regardless of whether they’d been born into the clan or married in. A defensive smile, often erected in the face of a husband or father’s offenses. Jennifer’s father had been a tense man, quick to anger. From a young age, she’d learned to mimic her mother’s bright and sunny grin, even when she didn’t feel like it. They were both, she realized with a jolt, wearing the smile now.
That evening, the chill of the night air seeped through the window and the ominous, full moon kept Jennifer awake past midnight. Her exhausted body fell asleep, only to be awoken by a nasty wind slamming the window open and shut. The brittle, harsh sound rattled her, and the harder she tried to ignore it, the more awake she felt. She got up, fastened the latch, and climbed back into bed, twisting her body away from the window. The light of the full moon illuminated the corner, shining eerily on the rocking chair where Gumdrop sat. The doll’s hair was white, ghostlike. Her bulging eyes stared at Jennifer. Jennifer trembled. She was a little girl again. Her puny arms were clutching Gumdrop, her hand holding onto Gumdrop’s hand. A man with brown, beady eyes was on top of her. His hands were pulling at her pajamas and pushing her thighs apart. Something hard was rubbing back and forth. His menacing eyes fixated on her as she gripped Gumdrop’s hand.
Jennifer stifled a scream, not wanting to wake her mother. A branch scraped against the window, returning her to the present. She glared at the doll. Gumdrop, the silent witness. A man in her bed. A man pawing at her. Daddy? Uncle Keith? She escaped to the bathroom and bolted the door. She turned on the shower full blast and let the sound of the water mask her wails.
It was real, she thought. And it started here, in my own bed.
The next morning was the day before Christmas, and over breakfast, Maureen chattered happily about Grandma Grace’s stuffing recipe. Jennifer’s mind wandered. Briefly, she imagined what it would be like to confess her suspicions to her mother. She’d swallow her bite of oatmeal with honey and blueberries gone gluey in her mouth, and she’d say the words. Her mother would look at her calmly, like a robot, replying, “That couldn’t have happened. Your father and I were married for years. He would never do that. You must be mistaken.”
“Well, Mom, then it was Uncle Keith. One of them did something. There weren’t other men in the house. One of them came into my room at night,” she would answer.
“Uncle Keith loved you like a daughter. Remember how special he treated you? Letting you watch the big TV downstairs with him? He bought you your first bike.” She would shake her head. “How could you even think such a thing, Jennifer?”
Jennifer scraped the remains of the oatmeal into the trash can and placed her bowl in the dishwasher. She couldn’t talk to her mother about this. Not ever.
Numbly, she made it through the rest of the holiday.
