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Extra resources for Bear Hugs
I was bleak suddenly, as if an abyss had opened up a few inches in front of me. He knew what this was about; maybe not her name, but at least when she must have slipped into his life. And never, in eighteen years, had he told me anything about that, or about the son he had given away. Brian’s face suggested the same vertigo had overtaken him. “You don’t know her name? ” Tom regarded the birth certificate more closely. Now his voice was helpful, mildly concerned. “There must have been an adoption agency involved.
It was empty. Tom was supposed to be home. He was teaching now, after all those years as a foreign correspondent, but summer semester didn’t start for a couple weeks. He’d told me at breakfast he was planning to spend the day working on his book. Just as Brian pulled into the gravel driveway, I left the front door open for him, and tracked my husband upstairs by following the sound of running water. His running clothes and shoes were dumped on the floor outside the shower. As always, the shower door was open a foot or so, and I could see his lean form through the steam on the glass.
Finally I brought up the other reason for my visit. ” “There’s nothing to talk about,” she said, with that eternal cool of hers. “If she would have just admitted what she’d done, I might feel differently. ” “But the cameo was buried with Cathy,” I insisted. It did no good. “You’ve never had a reliable memory, dear. Now don’t you worry. ” For just a moment, I wished we’d abided by that morbid 19th Century custom and taken a photo of Cathy in her coffin. That would prove me right. But there was no use arguing.