The man I loved and respected, the man who walked with such self-confidence, shoulders back, stride firm, the man who won the admiration of any man who knew him, would suddenly stoop and lower his eyes like a flag dropped to half-mast to mark the death of someone very important. The parasites would come out of the woodwork with their mean and ugly gossip to gnaw at him and our family. Who knew? Maybe he would lose his position at the bank or certainly not be elected chairman of the board. And all this would come raining down on him just when he was so happy about building us a new home, making his star brighten.

I closed my eyes and lay back on my bed. The fatigue Nurse Rose had suggested I might continue to experience appeared to be rushing into my body faster from every angle, up my arms to my neck, up my legs to my stomach and my back. Sleep was like someone on Arthur Raymond’s football field calling “Time out.” I was grateful. For a while, at least, I would not think about any of this.

When I opened my eyes again, my father was standing there looking down at me. He wore a deeply worried and concerned expression. My first fearful thought was that Nurse Rose, after giving it all more thought and deciding not to have any responsibility, had sent a message to him at the bank and he had come rushing home. But when I glanced at the clock, I saw I had slept away the remainder of the afternoon and he was home when he usually returned.

“How are you, Corrine? Your mother didn’t know you had returned from your cycling. When I came into the house, she thought you were still out somewhere. I told her I saw your bike lying by the shed. Why didn’t you put it back? Are you all right? Why are you sleeping so much? Does anything hurt?”

I sat up slowly and quickly brought my hands to my face, like someone trying to be sure she was awake or like someone reassuring herself she was still in her body. My father’s eyes darkened. It was never easy to tell my father a lie or try to hide my feelings from him. I always believed in my heart that he knew when I was pretending or being overly dramatic to get my way. Sometimes, with things far less important, it amused him. I had to believe that came from a very deep love.

“Corrine?” he said, stepping closer. I was looking out my window at a passing cloud that had ripples of dark gray across its belly. A tree swallow right outside my window was gossiping with other swallows nearby. For a moment, the sounds were hypnotic. I wished I could rise off my bed and fly out the window.