What would happen to Mother, to Rian and me, if Father died or left us? Fear of being deserted preys on Mother’s mind and, if I’m honest, it preys on mine too. Mother’s job is to keep Father coming back to us and, when I’m home for the holidays, I walk to the telephone booth with her because I, too, have a part to play in keeping Father close. When he visits, I am all honey. I smile and laugh and keep my problems to myself. I give him every reason to visit again. Mother can’t afford to take Father for granted and neither can I.

Men leave women every day for brighter faces and warmer welcomes. Take Tandy Lewis. She had a cement-brick house with a lawn and a maid, and a dog that slept inside; now she lives in a tin shack behind Delgardo’s Liquor store. Now the dog sleeps in the yard, and she has no electricity. Everyone says it’s a shame. Her Irishman left her with nothing. And there are others . . . and that’s how things are.

Worse than a possible disaster waiting for us down the road is an unsettling question for which I have no answer: Does he love Mother and does Mother love him? He is mostly a voice on the other end of the phone and a face during brief visits at holiday times. He can’t know her—her inner feelings, how clever and sensitive to slights she is—any more than she can know when he’ll walk through the door next.

I glare at the green walls, the half-open window, and the lumpy shape that Lottie’s body makes under her blankets. I am furious at her for pushing my mind where it doesn’t want to go and for pulling images to the surface that ought to remain buried where they can do no harm: there’s Mother in the public phone booth, the white moths, the cracked glass, the ache in my jaw from smiling too hard for too long when Father comes to visit, and the three of us sitting in the backyard with our feet in buckets of warm water. I love Mother’s voice, but now, because of Lottie’s stupid comment about him having two wives and why can’t Miss December do the same, the memory of Mother singing “Oh Happy Day” under the night sky makes me want to cry and pull my hair out.