Grand Avenue Read Free Page B

Tony’s, she acknowledged, positioning herself directly under the shower’s spray, the water roughly parting her hair in the center before cascading down over her face.
    Had the kids heard them fighting? she wondered, hearing the distant echo of her parents shouting at one another beneath the steady onslaught of hot water. Three decades later, and their voices were still as loud,as potent, as ever. Chris remembered lying in her bed, listening as her parents argued downstairs, their angry words knocking against the walls of her room, as if determined to include her, impatiently circling the hallway, eventually slithering through the vents on the floor, filtering into the very air she breathed. She’d pressed her small pillow over her face, so as not to inhale the poison, covered her ears with her trembling hands, tried to muffle the unpleasant sounds. Once she’d even climbed out of bed, buried herself at the back of her closet, but the voices only got louder, until it seemed as if someone were in the closet with her. She’d felt invisible fingers poking at her from the hems of the dresses hanging above her head, alien tongues licking at her cheeks, and she’d run crying back to her bed, pulled the covers tightly around her, lying rigid, arms at her sides, eyes squeezed tightly closed, staying that way till morning.
    Hadn’t she done essentially the same thing last night?
    Hadn’t she grown up at all?
    Chris turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, bundled her head in one soft blue-and-white-striped towel, her body in another, grateful for the steam that rendered the mirror opaque. She opened the bathroom door, felt the cold embrace of the surrounding air immediately wrap itself around her. How had she ended up here? she wondered, shuffling back into the bedroom. In the middle of her parents’ nightmare.
    “Hi, sweetheart,” Tony said softly from beside the window.
    Chris nodded, said nothing, her gaze directed at the floor, her nose twitching at the scent of freshly made pancakes.
    “I brought you breakfast in bed,” he said.
    Chris sank down on the bed, leaned back against the pillows, watched as a stack of blueberry pancakes miraculously materialized on a tray in front of her, next to a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and a pot of wonderful-smelling coffee. A stainless steel butter dish sat beside a small white ceramic pitcher of real maple syrup. A plastic, red daisy leaned against the side of a glass bud vase. “You didn’t have to do this,” Chris said, eyes still averted, voice low. She didn’t deserve this, she thought.
    Tony sat at the foot of the bed. She felt him watching her as she buttered the pancakes, smothered them in the warm syrup, carefully lifting one forkful, then another, into her mouth. Paradoxically, she grew hungrier with each bite, thirstier with each sip. In minutes, the pancakes were gone, the juice glass empty, the coffee finished. “Good?” Tony asked expectantly. She could hear the smile in his voice.
    “Wonderful,” she told him, determined not to look at him, knowing if she looked at him, it was game over.
    “I’m so sorry, Chris.”
    “Don’t.”
    “You know I didn’t mean it.”
    “Please …”
    “You know how much I love you.”
    Chris felt her eyes fill with tears. God, did she never stop crying? “Please, Tony …”
    “Won’t you even look at me? Do you hate me so much you can’t even look at me?”
    “I don’t hate you.” Chris lifted her gaze, swallowed her husband with one quick gulp of her eyes.
    While Tony would never be described as gorgeous, like Barbara’s husband, or distinguished, like Vicki’s husband, or even kindly, the first word that came to mind when describing Susan’s husband, once he trapped you in his gaze, there was no turning back. A man of mystery, Barbara had pronounced. A formidable presence, Susan offered. Sexy, Vicki summed up succinctly. A diamond in the rough, they all agreed.
    More rough than sparkle,