Cinnamon (Shooting Stars 1)

"She's doing fine. Mommy. She's getting bigger every moment."

She smiled.

"I knew it. I knew she would. How wonderful. How beautiful. She is beautiful, too, isn't she. Cinnamon? As beautiful as you were when you were born. I'm right? Aren't I?" she asked with a

desperation that nearly took my breath away,

"Yes. Mommy. she's beautiful,"

"I knew she would be. You've got a little sister. How wonderful, Wonderful," she said relaxing, her eyes closing and staying closed. Her breathing became regular. At least she was relaxed and at ease for a while.

Set. I told myself, you can lie better than anyone you know. Sometimes, that comes in very handy.

Maybe you will be a successful actress, after all.

Daddy and I rode back in silence, mine growing out of the soil of sadness and fear. Daddy looked like he was in deep thought, probably worrying about a stock he had recommended today. Lately. I felt that my father was a guest in his own house, and when he looked at me, he was surprised to discover he had a daughter. It's almost as if he thinks he's having a dream. His whole life-- my mother and I. all of it-- is just a passing illusion. He would blink hard and we would be gone, I thought, I almost wished it were true.

"How's school?" he asked suddenly. It was as if the question had been stored for months in a cupboard in his brain and he had just stumbled upon it.

"School?"

"Yes, how are you doing in your classes these days?"

"Fine, Daddy. I've been on the honor roll every quarter," I reminded him.

"Oh, right, right. Well, that's good. Cinnamon. You want to get yourself into a fine college like my alma mater. NYU. It's important." He looked at me quickly. "I hope this unfortunate situation Ivon't have a detrimental effect on your school grades. I know it can," he said. "You've just got to be strong and take care of business, consider priorities."

"Mommy's wellbeing is my priority," I said dryly. I wanted to add, as it should be yours, but I kept my lips pressed together as if I were afraid my tongue would run off on its own and say all the things I had been thinking for months and months. Thoughts, words, screams, all were stored in my mouth, waiting to pop out like bees whose hive had been disturbed and sting Daddy in places he couldn't reach. That way, he'd wake up to what had been happening all this last year or so since Grandmother Beverly had moved into our home and invaded our lives.

He should have waken the moment we entered the house. Grandmother Beverly had been busy all day, ever since the ambulance had come to take Mommy to the hospital. The first thing I noticed was that Mommy's favorite two works of art, the pictures she had bought in New Orleans when she and Daddy and I had gone there for a short vacation. They were gone from the wall in the hallway. They were both watercolors of swamps with the Spanish moss draping from the trees. In one a toothpick-legged Cajun home was depicted in great detail, shrimp drying on a rock, animal skins hung over a porch railing, and a woman working on the porch weaving a rug. In the other picture, a young couple were in a canoe, poling into the mist. They looked romantic, but in a deeply sad way.

Grandmother Beverly always complained that the pictures were too depressing to be art. She said they were more like someone's nightmares and certainly not the first thing with which to greet a visitor to our home.

"Where are Mammy's pictures?" I demanded as soon as Grandmother Beverly stepped out of the family room.

"How is she now?" she asked my father instead of responding to me. He shook his head.

"They've given her a sedative, but the doctor wants to treat her for deep depression. If she doesn't snap out of it soon, he's recommending more serious therapy, the sort that takes place in a mental clinic." he replied.

"Exactly what I expected would happen someday. You had to be blind not to see this coming. Taylor."

My father didn't agree or disagree. He kept his head slightly bowed, looking like an ashamed young boy confronting his mother.

"Where are Mommy's pictures?" I repeated. She finally turned to me.

"I thought there was enough gloom and doom in this house today. I'm trying to cheer things up."

"Mommy wants those pictures on the wall," I cried. I looked at Daddy. "Make her put them back."

"We'll put up something more pleasant," Grandmother Beverly continued. "I'll buy brighter pictures. We've got to lighten up this hallway. It needs stronger lighting, the walls should be painted a lighter color and I think this entryway rug is worn to a thread. Good riddance to it."

"It is not. What are you talking about? Daddy!" I moaned. "Tell her!"

"I'm so tired." he said. "It's all been quite a shock and right after losing the baby." He shook his head.

"Of course. You're exhausted. Taylor. Come have a nice cup of tea. I made your favorite biscuits," she added "and there's some of that jam you love, the kind that tastes homemade. I bought it for you yesterday."

"Yes, that would be good," he said. He glanced at me. "Don't worry about this stuff now, Cinnamon. It's not what's important at the moment."