involved only in my make-believe, my toys. "How safe and secure the make-believe world is. But I have the feeling that is something you two already know, for you have found it to be a safe haven for your true feelings." He looked at us knowingly, and I wondered how someone who had seen and spoken with me only a short time could understand
me so well and perceive my secret anguish so quickly. He turned to his tiny creations.
"I can imagine a whole life for myself, populate
it with the kinds of people I like and design events to
fit what I want to happen. It's my particular madness,
suppose; not as debilitating as Tony's madness was,
but nevertheless, a form of escape.
"But after seeing you two, I realize I can't do it;
I can't forgetaand bury myself here. Even though it
uncovers terrible emotional wounds and forces me to
face sad reality, I must; for I must not let what
happened to Heaven and me happen to you and
Luke."
"Troy, you don't have to do this to yourself." I
looked at Luke. "We ready know."
"Know?"
"I was looking closely at the toy cottage you
sent my mother shortly after my birth. It was you who
sent it, wasn't it?" He nodded. "And I happened to
peer closely into the door at the rear of the kitchen . the same door that you have in there," I added,
pointing.
"And I found the letter you wrote to my mother
the day Jillian died and you decided to leave." Instead of the surprise and perhaps the
embarrassment I expected, Troy merely nodded, a
strange, small smile forming at the corners of his
mouth, his eyes suddenly taking on a faraway look. "She kept that, did she? How like her to do that,
and how like her to hide it away in the cottage by the
stairway. Oh, Heaven . . my darling Heaven." He
turned back to me, his gaze sharply focused on me
now. "So you found out that your mother and I were