Cinnamon (Shooting Stars 1)

One of my frozen tears broke free and trickled icily down my cheek, but I had turned away in time to hide it from Clarence.

I didn't want anyone to see me crying over what Daddy was doing. Sometimes sadness had to be kept as secret as love.

Sometimes, they were one and the same.

"Don't worry about me," Clarence said after I parked the car at the clinic. "I'll read what I was supposed to read for today's social studies class."

He smiled to give me some warm

encouragement. All the way back from the city. I was quiet and didn't respond to any of his attempts to make conversation. I kept seeing Daddy kissing that woman in broad daylight, in a public place, unafraid or unconcerned. Maybe he thought no one knew him there anyway, or maybe he thought what if someone did? What was he or she going to do, call Mommy in the mental clinic to report it?

I nodded at Clarence and stepped out of the car. The partly cloudy day had turned into a nearly overcast sky with a much colder wind blowing into my face. I could feel winter crawling up my spine, its icy fingers sliding over my neck and shoulders. Zipping up my jacket. I started toward the building, not knowing north from south, east from west. I moved like someone in a trance, as though t

he upper part of me was being carried forward against its wishes. Glimpsing myself in the window of another car I passed in the parking lot. I saw how I was holding my shoulders and my head back.

Now, I was sorry I had eaten so much for breakfast. I ate more out of nervousness than hunger, and after seeing Daddy with that woman, all the food in my stomach had turned into balls of lead. It wanted to roll back up my throat and out of my mouth. My legs were so heavy I could barely lift my feet to go up the short stairway to the front doors. I hesitated, took a deep breath, and then entered.

An elderly woman was being escorted through the lobby toward the hallway that led to the elevator. The nurse with her gazed at me and smiled. When the elderly woman saw me, she seized the nurse's hand and stopped walking.

"It's Ida," she cried. She looked like she was an instant away from bursting into happy tears.

"No, no. Rachael. That's not Ida."

"Sure it is. Ida, where have you been? I've been worried sick over you, dear," she told me.

The nurse smiled at me and shook her head.

It was as if there was a button in my head that when pushed would open up the world of pretend. Maybe that was what all actors had in their heads.

"I was away." I said. "I came as soon as I could."

"Oh, dear. dear. I was worried about you, a young woman, all alone in Europe. Did my sister take good care of you?"

"Yes," I said. "And all she did was talk about you."

"Did she? That's nice. You have to tell me all about it," she said. She will," the nurse said. "after your nap."

"I will," I promised. "After you rest."

"Good. Don't forget now." She reached for me and I took her withered hand. The fingers were so slim, her paper thin skin seemed to have nothing between it and the bones. Her happiness gave her the strength to squeeze tightly. "I'm so glad you came home. dear. It's just the two of us now, just the two of us."

I smiled at her.

"We'll be fine," I said.

"Yes. We'll be fine." She nodded and then she continued along.

The nurse looked back at me with a smile of gratitude and then led her on toward the elevator.

I had a chill, a shudder running through me for a moment. when I envisioned that old, confused lady could be my mother years from now.

There was a new girl at the reception desk. I didn't pretend to be my mother's sister this time. I told the truth and she called up and then told me to wait because the head nurse was coming down. It put a panic in my chest and for a moment. I couldn't breathe.

"Why? What's wrong?" I demanded.

"Mrs. Fogelman will be here momentarily," the receptionist said. She nodded toward the pair of settees behind me. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable?"

I didn't want to sit, but my legs felt like they might simply melt beneath me, so I moved to the small imitation leather sofa and sat, staring at the elevators. Finally, one opened and a short, stocky woman with dark brown hair looking like it had been trimmed around a bowl, came out and hurriedly walked toward me. I rose.