After the Fire by Jane Rule Page B

her.
    “Maybe you should ask Martin,” Bonnie said. “He’s not that far away.”
    “What earthly good would Martin be to me?” Milly demanded. “Anyway, men can’t ask leave for their mothers’ hysterectomies.”
    “The whole economic system would be in less danger of coming to a halt if Martin took a few days off than if I did,” Bonnie said.
    “It’s not his place,” Milly replied.
    “You begin to sound like a R.EA.L. woman!”
    “When wasn’t I a real woman?” Milly demanded.
    “I mean R, period, E, period—oh, never mind. Just let me know as soon as you can.”
    “Will your father pay for your ticket?”
    “Yes. And he said he’d send roses,” Bonnie said.
    If he does, I’ll send him my womb in a jar, Milly thought, but she didn’t say so. Both Martin and Bonnie had made it clear how little patience they had for her hostile complaints about their father.
    “Of course he’s a bastard, Mother,” Martin had said to her. “We all know that, but your pain gets tedious.”
    “It’s tedious to me, too,” Milly had snapped.
    The thought of Martin at her hospital bed did not inspire confidence.
    Bonnie, though she did what she could to hide it, had a gentle streak. Milly was surprised when she had left home to work rather than to get married. She hadn’t seemed to Milly the adventuresome girl she apparently was, working for a travel agent in order to get trips to all sorts of exotic places which were only old brochures in the lost future of Milly’s life. Maybe Bonnie had a point in seeing the world while she could. Milly was more envious than glad for her. Whoever thought living through your children could be a pleasure? Not even Henrietta seemed to, though no doubt she’d pay lip service to the idea.
    Milly picked up the phone again and dialed Henrietta.
    Red answered the phone and said, “She’s resting.”
    “Well, she doesn’t sleep!” Milly protested.
    Henrietta picked up the phone in her bedroom and said, “It’s all right, Red.”
    “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Milly said, “but I’ve just been talking to Bonnie. Now that the damned doctor can’t set a date, she’s not so sure she can get off work.”
    “What about your other daughter?” Henrietta asked.
    “I have no idea where she is,” Milly said flatly. “Nobody does.”
    “Oh, Milly, I am sorry. Should I have known that?”
    “It’s not something I remind myself of if I can help it,” Milly answered.
    “We can manage, just ourselves, if we have to,” Henrietta reassured her.
    Neither of Karen’s parents corresponded with her often. Peculiarly, though they had been separated for years, their letters to her nearly always arrived within a day or two of each other. Karen wondered if her parents communicated with each other about her, their one child who had not made them one flesh but was a symbol of the alien each felt in the other. Her father professed pleasure in her blue eyes, but he was clearly shocked, again and again, to find them in his daughter’s face. Her mother never commented on the color of her daughter’s skin. Of her hair, her mother had said only that she was lucky the fashion now was straight.
    Their two letters had been in her pocket all day, and Karen determined to use her evening off at home answering them. She also wanted this evening to repossess her cottage. She would build a fire for herself and find good music on the radio. Then she would cook herself a real meal and eat it from a plate at the table. She wondered if people like Henrietta and Miss James ever got into the habit of eating things straight from the pot or frying pan. It would not comfort her to think so. She imagined each of them setting standards for herself to be maintained in company or in solitude. And that was what Karen intended to do.
    Her mother’s letter came from a health spa in Mexico. As far as Karen could tell, her mother hadn’t had a fixed address for the last eighteen years. Sometimes her address was