"Really? Can I read it?"
"No," he said quickly.
"Why not?"
"It's nowhere near ready and it's not any good. It's just a dumb idea."
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"
"Oh? And you are a critic?"
"No, but I've been in plays. as I told you. and I would be honest." He stared a moment and then he shrugged.
"Maybe I'll show it to you later.'
"I'd like that," I said.
After lunch we went outside and I got him to talk a little more about his mother. I listened, practically holding my breath for fear he would stop.
"Sometimes-- often, I should say-- I felt she was more like the child and I was more like the parent. She was so trusting and always saw the best in everyone, even Aunt Charlotte. She h
ad a beautiful laugh, musical, and she sang to me all the time. 'I'll be your legs, Evan.' she told me. 'Forever and ever if need be, so don't feel sorry for yourself.'
"She never thought she would die before me. I know, She thought I was so fragile I would surely pass away one day, just evaporate or something, and she would be at my side.
"When I was young, she was overprotective, afraid I would catch every little germ. The doctors kept assuring her that aside from my, what did you call it, unfortunate situation? Aside from that. I was relatively as healthy as any other person my age. Of course. I don't have the athletic abilities. I tried building up my arms and my chest, but she was always worried I was doing too much and after a while I stopped doing that.
"She liked it when I read to her. We read a lot of poetry together and we even read plays together and performed out there by the tree. She did a great Juliet. but I was a lousy Romeo.
"Aunt Charlotte complained, telling her she was doting on me too much and sacrificing herself too much. She told her she should be out socializing with young men, finding someone. She could have easily.
I suppose. She was beautiful, as beautiful as you," he added.
"She looks beautiful in every picture I've seen of her," I said softly.
"Yeah. Aunt Charlotte was always after her to get out, mix with people. I think she was hoping my mother would find a man, marry, and take me away so she wouldn't have to deal with all this. Poor Aunt Charlotte got stuck with me. She would send her out to meet some blind date she had arranged through one of her society friends sometimes. She would harp on it and badger her so much, my mother would finally agree.
"What kind of a date was it where she had to go meet the guy somewhere anyway, huh?" he
demanded, his eyes beginning to bum with hot tears. "Why couldn't he just come here and pick her up? Don't people go out on dates like that anymore?" he asked me. "Maybe Aunt Charlotte was afraid they would see me and be frightened off.
"It was the same sort of thing the night she was killed." he said. "Why did she have to go out that night?"
He wiped a fugitive tear from his cheek quickly."I'll write it on a piece of paper for the magic box," he said, and took a deep breath. "But I don't think there's enough magic even in that box."
He smiled.
"I keep her alive in my own magic box, but she's alive in so many ways. See those rose bushes over there?"
I looked and nodded.
"She planted those bushes. They're her roses and when they come up, they remind me of her. I think of them as waiting for her to prune them, nurture them, Sometimes, I see a shadow move or hear a footstep in the hallway and expect her to come walking into my room, her smile beaming at me, her voice light and full of laughter.
"You think of me as full of self-pity, but it was difficult to be that way with my mother. She just refused to let gray skies over our heads. If anything made us sad even for an instant, we were to close our eyes and think of blue, 'There she would cry. 'It's beautiful now. Isn't it, Evan?'
"I felt obligated to make her happy and agree. You know what I mean?"
"Yes." I said. "Daddy was like that."