storm of rage that threatened to blow out the very walls of our house. In the midst of that. I heard what people called the eye of the storm, the silence right
before a hurricane resumes.
I had been outside most of the afternoon. I saw
Dave return from work. He had gone into the store
early and was off. He had the mail in his hands,
waved to me, and went into the house. A little more
than an hour later. Betsy drove in, her radio blaring as
usual, the car spitting up dust as she tore up part of the
driveway and jerked it into the spot behind Dave's car. It was late fall now. The days were shorter, the
afternoons especially abbreviated. Years of
experience in nature told me that the cooler breezes
were foretelling an early winter. There were years
when it actually snowed hard in October and the
temperatures dropped to below freezing quickly. I put all my tools away carefully and started
toward the house. As I walked, I remembered my dog.
Cleo, and how he had enjoyed following me about
everywhere and how I enjoyed having him at my
heels. He had filled the dark holes of loneliness and
made my life here more than just bearable. Maybe I
should get Mama to let me have another dog. I
thought, but then I thought it would be heartbreaking
if she came to harbor the same suspicions she had of
Cleo. I was really beginning to feel sorry for myself.
Despite the brave and indifferent front I put up
between myself and Betsy, her continual criticism,
sarcasm, and challenges were having an effect. I could
feel myself breaking down. I had come close to losing
my temper a number of times since her accusations
about me and Mama. I was tired of her lording over
me, threatening to do this and that to cause Mama to