The most important thing had always been what other people thought —appearances before herself or her family.
And righteous about it. Time and again Matt had insisted that what others thought about you wasn't the only thing in life.
But it did no good. Norma had to dress well; the house had to have fine furniture;
Charlie had to be kept inside so that other people wouldn't know anything was wrong.
At the gate, I paused to watch as she straightened up to catch her breath.
Seeing her face made me tremble, but it was not the face I had struggled so hard to recall.
Her hair had become white and streaked with iron, and the flesh of her thin cheeks was wrinkled.
Perspiration made her forehead glisten. She caught sight of me and stared back.
I wanted to look away, to turn back down the street, but I couldn't—not after having come so far.
I would just ask directions, pretending I was lost in a strange neighborhood.
Seeing her had been enough. But all I did was stand there waiting for her to do something first.
And all she did was stand there and look at me. "Do you want something?"
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