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Terry woke with a start Sunday morning. She had had that dream again. The second time since Matty's death . . . |
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She was at the kitchen window when she saw Matty walking out of the woods across the back lawn behind the pool. She burst out the door and ran toward him. His face was dark, his clothes tattered and fireblackened. But he was alive and standing on the other side of the pool motioning for her to come. The pool water was swampy black. With every step the pool swelled out in that direction, creating a barrier to her advance. When she tried the other way, the same thing happenedthe flank bulging out to block her. She tried to talk to himask how he was, if he was hurt, how she could reach him. But he appeared to have lost the power of speech. He just made those beckoning gestures with dark hands and some queer animal-like sounds. Crazy with frustration, she threw herself into the foul soup and swam, her eyes on the gold locket around his neck. But with every stroke the opposite side receded, keeping Matty perpetually out of reach . . . |
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The first morning she woke up empty and crying. |
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This morning she was unable to shake the feeling that her son was alive, that somehow he had survived the fire. That it wasn't Matty's body they'd found. She felt it, and almost believed it. |
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On the phone Calvin said it was denial, maybe a self-protective survival reflex. But she wasn't convincedno matter what he said, no matter that her rational mind told her Matty was dead and buried in Rose Hill cemetery. |
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It was not even six when Terry got up. Her sister was still asleep. She went down and made some coffee and sat on the porch. On the back lawn among the tulips sat the ceramic statue of a grinning leprechaun Alice had put out there when Matty was three. He loved to visit it. |
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Her attention fixed on the statue. She thought about the dream. |
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Maybe this was the madness. Maybe she was so broken by grief that she had actually lost her mindnothing dramatic: no gibbering hysterical fits; just a snapless segue from sanity to dementia. |
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She sipped her coffee. Shortly after seven a boy dropped off the Sunday newspaper. Terry watched him walk back down the driveway pushing a cart full of papers. He was wearing a baseball cap |
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