When Horses Had Wings by Diana Estill Page A

word in edgewise. I’ll talk their ears off.”
    I knew exactly how Granny felt. There were times when I’d have chatted with an escaped convict for the sake of variety. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy being home with Sean or playing house servant to Kenny on those rare occasions when he was in a good mood. I simply longed for more conversation than I could get from a toddler and an elderly neighbor. All day long, I’d wait for the chance to talk to Kenny. But when he came home, he spoke very little—other than to ask where something was or to order a change of TV channels. After emptying garbage cans for eight hours, he didn’t exactly want to discuss his work. His days, I imagined, were even less eventful than mine.
    Weekends weren’t much better. Kenny spent Saturday and Sunday afternoons riding around in his car, going to no place in particular, burning gasoline we couldn’t afford to waste. He’d take a jaunt down by the lake to see what was happening—never much—maybe cruise the city park to see who was there—rarely anyone—then follow some deserted county road until he tired of viewing the same scenery over and over. He could have been working out the answers to some puzzle in his brain. There was no way to be sure because he didn’t speak, and probably couldn’t have if he’d wanted to. While he drove, he kept one hand in his mouth so he could chew his nails. Often, I asked him to drop me off at Momma’s place so I didn’t have to witness him gnawing his cuticles and wearing away the last of the Plymouth’s tire tread. Besides, I thought it senseless to ride around in circles.
    Sometimes at home, I tried to draw Kenny into a verbal exchange. But it was difficult to find a subject, other than sex, that appealed to him. I could have told him about Granny’s failed attempts to teach me to crochet or what new curse words Sean had learned to repeat, if Kenny had seemed interested in that kind of news. However, to do that, I would have had to shout over the TV. And I couldn’t compete with Columbo .
    Once Sean learned to speak, he paid close attention to anything uttered with emphasis, especially phrases Kenny yelled at me or screamed during sports programs. When a wheel fell off Sean’s toy tractor, I heard my precious darling shout, “Sumbitch!” After that, I asked Kenny to watch his language when Sean was nearby. Kenny just smirked and said, “Watch it do what?”
    One afternoon, while I was teaching Sean a nursery rhyme to improve his vocabulary, I heard a knock at my door. Seated in my lap, Sean walked his fingers up my collarbone, chanting, “Teen-sie ween-sie spi-der.” I rubbed my nose against his, handed him his Teddy bear, and scurried to the front door.
    On my porch stood a fellow who looked to be in his early thirties, with chiseled features and soft eyes, dressed in pressed jeans and a starched dress shirt. He held a thick black binder in one hand and grasped a business card in his other. I eased open the screen door. “Can I help you?” I knew full well I couldn’t because I had no money to buy whatever he was selling.
    “Good afternoon. On The Spot Photography.” He handed me the card. “I understand you’re a new mom, so I thought I’d come by to offer my services.” The man studied my face. I gave him a welcoming look that he likely mistook for product interest.
    “I specialize in children’s portraiture. If you have time, I’d like to show you some of my work.” He offered his binder for my review.
    I looked behind me to be sure Sean hadn’t been frightened by the stranger. He seemed disinterested in anything other than the Teddy bear he was nuzzling. “Sure,” I said. “Would you like to come inside?”
    I never thought about what might follow. I only imagined it would be easier to sit on the sofa and look through his pictures than to make him try and balance that binder while he flipped the pages. The gentleman appeared harmless enough, and I had an hour or