But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning. I had no idea...
I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my face, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quiet sizzle.
Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the quiet here; it was like a cage.
Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family and missing arm. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed. My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house.22 Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas,23 then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last
22. Renée mistook the color yellow for actual sunshine.
23. Founded in 1949 by the Rat Pack, this city is known for its live entertainments, and as the setting for George Orwell's penultimate dystopian novel 1986, as well as John Steinbeck's Chicanery Strip.