Enter, Night by Michael Rowe Page A

God?”
    “Have you been rehearsing that for the last ten years, Mother? Or
did it just spring to mind when you saw me?” Adeline’s eyes shifted
quickly to Morgan, then back at her son. “I wouldn’t expect you to say
something as simple as ‘welcome home,’ but still—The Bible? Luke? My
‘lifestyle’? Before I even cross the threshold?”
    “Don’t be insolent, Jeremy. I won’t have it. You’re not back in
Toronto
.”
    She spat out the word Toronto as though it were foulness—the way a
religious fanatic might have said
Babylon
or
Sodom
. “You’re in my house,
in the town founded by your ancestors on a site made holy with the blood
of Catholic martyrs. You can behave and show me respect, otherwise you
needn’t cross the threshold at all.”
    “I’m not seventeen anymore, Mother,” Jeremy said. “I’m almost
thirty. It’s been a while since I’ve been susceptible to that tone of voice,
or those phrases.” He met his mother’s eyes evenly. “It’s been a very long
drive and we’re very tired, especially Morgan. Shall I bring our bags in
from the car, or should we drive down to the village and see if the Gold
Nugget motel is open at this hour? I’d rather not start the talk in town
about us being back by signing my name—the Parr name—in a motel
register at this hour, especially not for three of us. But I will if that’s what
you’d prefer we do. It’s your call, Mother.”
    Thwarted fury passed across Adeline’s face like summer lightning,
but too quickly for anyone but Jeremy to have seen it, and he only noticed
because he’d seen it before and recognized it for what it was. Jeremy had
played the one card he always had at his disposal—Adeline’s particular
personal horror of scandal. The threat of exposing their clandestine
return—the slut who’d gotten knocked up by Jack Parr, then married
him; the faggot; the illegitimate daughter—to public discourse was a
powerful one. Adeline’s face was very pale, and two spots of colour had
appeared high on the ridge of her cheekbones. But the neutrality of her
expression hadn’t changed.
    “Quite,” Adeline said, calmly. “Welcome home. You’re most welcome,
all of you.”
    “Mrs. Parr—” Christina began.
    “Morgan?” Adeline said, cutting Christina off in mid-sentence,
turning instead to her granddaughter. “Why don’t you help your Uncle
Jeremy with the suitcases? I have a nice room prepared for you upstairs.
It’s very pretty. I think you’ll like it. And you must be tired. It has a canopy
bed. Do you know what that is?”
    “Yes, Grandmother.” There was an unfamiliar impressed awe in
Morgan’s voice that chilled Christina to the core. “I’ve seen pictures of
one. They’re beautiful.”
    Adeline laughed, a silvery hostess laugh. “Well, hurry up and get
your bags out of your car and you can see your bed, darling. Uncle Jeremy
can show you the way.” She turned to her son. “Morgan will be in the east
wing. In the yellow room, Jeremy. You’ll have your old room, of course.
    We’ll put dear Christina next to Morgan. Everything has been prepared.”
When Jeremy and Morgan had gone out to the car, Christina turned to Adeline. “Mrs. Parr, thank you so much for taking us in. As you can imagine, it’s been a very difficult time for all of us, especially Morgan.”
    “Christina, please listen carefully to what I am about to tell you,” Adeline said coldly. “I will only say it once, and then we will never have this conversation again. Let me be perfectly plain: taking you and Morgan into my home is an act of charity, one I’m very happy to extend. She is, after all, my granddaughter—my eldest son’s child, and very likely the end of our family line. What you and Jack did was unforgivable, and I do not—and will never—forgive either of you for it. You took my son away from me, and now he’s dead.” Adeline paused, composing herself.
    “That said,” she