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Title: Secrets and Mirrors
Fandom/Pairing: None
Warnings: Mentions of alternative lifestyles and drug use.
Summary: There are skeletons in everyone's closet, no matter what age they are.
It was blustery and cold that morning, something that she should have seen as an omen of what was to come later during dinner. Portents and signs were never her forte, however, and she would regret not paying more attention to Mercury in retrograde and the upside-down tarot card, the black cat that crossed her path and the ladder that she walked under.
In short, it was just a bad day all around to come out of the closet, especially to one’s family. She didn’t notice it because just the fact that she was coming out of the closet was scaring the screaming bejeezus right out of her.
Diane put on her best dress, the lacy sleeved one that her mother liked so well. She curled her hair carefully and wore the pearls that her grandmother had given her on her twenty-first birthday, a gift with significance not lost on her in the least. For each year of irritation, of putting up with her mother’s inane ways and sense of propriety, she received a pearl. She had covered her irritation with a nacre of insouciance and rebellion, forcing secret smiles from her grandmother and censure from her mother.
She was afraid that her mother would see this as another way to rebel. In her deepest heart of hearts, she feared this more than anything else; the devaluation of her feelings had been normal growing up, but now that she was an adult, she believed that she had a right, nay, a duty to be true to her own desires.
She checked her appearance one last time in the mirror that hung in the hallway, leaning forward to run her fingertip over the edge of her mouth. She looked as good as she could without a complete makeover; she hoped that she passed muster with her society-conscious mother, although she highly doubted it.
With a sigh, she opened the door as she grabbed her coat off the hall tree. She didn’t notice it overbalancing or tipping and completely missed the crash as it smashed into the mirror, shattering it into thousands of fragments on the floor.
Helen touched her slightly graying hair as she frowned into the mirror, noting more wrinkles around her mouth and between her carefully plucked and shaped eyebrows. It seemed like they multiplied overnight; all the beauty creams and plumping concoctions in the world didn’t seem to halt the ever-present march of time.
She didn’t feel as old as she was. She didn’t feel her age; fifty wasn’t that old, after all. She had led an interesting life before her children were born—halcyon days as a flower child in the heart of Haight-Ashbury, Woodstock, and Altamont—but had put all the adventures behind her when she had met and married Robert.
She never expected that she would have three children and a fairytale life. Marriage to a doctor was never an easy way of life, but it was the life that she had freely chosen when she had first laid eyes on the young intern that was caring for her father after his heart attack.
With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror. She had done a good job of hiding all the wild adventures of her youth behind a stodgy façade, forcing her daughters to conform to the societal norms that were expected of them. While Melanie and Sandra had been easy to handle, Diane had rebelled in every way possible. She had tried drugs (something that her mother could have instructed her on, had she been inclined), had sex with strangers (nothing new there, either) and had been arrested twice—once for indecent exposure and once for drunk and disorderly (something that her mother had stringently avoided).
She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Diane was the child that her mother had wished on her. Many a night passed that Helen’s mother didn’t sleep for fear that the police would knock on the door. Too many nights went by when Helen didn’t come home at all. It had shocked her mother completely when she had materialized at the front door of their home in a dress, her hair cut and coifed for the first time in years, to inform her mother of her impending wedding.
Yes, she had her skeletons, but she was certain that her mother did as well. There was the locked trunk in the attic, for one thing. Mother never let anyone near the trunk, even to move it. There was something in there, Helen was certain of it, but she knew that there was no way of finding out until her mother decided that she’d been around long enough. At ninety, however, it seemed the old woman would live forever.
Madeline inserted her dentures into her mouth and sucked hard to seal the cream against the gums to prevent them from sliding around. A glance in the mirror told her that they were in place as she started to put on her makeup to go to the worst part of the holidays—dinner at Helen’s.
She hated these damn get-togethers. Hated them with a passion that burned in her gut from the moment that she woke to the second that she left. Most of the time, she stayed away from the house on the hill and her daughter with a huge stick up her ass. She would rather spend her time at the nursing home playing bingo and God knows she detested that game.
If nothing else, her granddaughter Diane should provide some fireworks. Heaven knows, she usually did at every family holiday in one way or another. Whether it was getting too drunk or starting a magnificent row with her mother, Madeline was always entertained by her favorite granddaughter’s antics—in fact, it was the only reason that she continued to attend these pointless family dinners and not the Senior Center’s Thanksgiving dinner with her friends.
If past history was any indicator, this year should be especially spectacular. Diane had just turned twenty-five a month ago and it seemed that with every important age, she came up with something new and eclectic to stick in her mother’s craw.
Yes, this year should be particularly fun. Madeline found herself looking forward to dinner as she waited for the car and driver that Helen sent over every year. Swear to God, that woman gets more pretentious with every gray hair.
The table gleamed with the silver and china, her grandmother’s best. Waterford crystal glasses held water and wine for the adults, tea for those under the drinking age, although nobody noticed Danielle stealing her uncle’s wineglass when he was otherwise occupied. At seventeen, she couldn’t understand why Nana wouldn’t let her drink; she had done worse in her short life, had Nana only known it.
She looked across the table at her aunt, who seemed very agitated and nervous for some reason. Her fingers kept fiddling with a pearl necklace around her neck and it struck Danielle’s funny bone. She couldn’t help but giggle as she thought of the pearl necklace of another sort that she’d had around her neck a week ago. If Nana only knew about that, she was sure that the proper old woman would stroke out right there and then.
She hoped that later on that evening she could sneak away to light one up. It was the only way that she could tolerate her dysfunctional family, staying stoned through the holidays that she was forced to endure with them. At least she didn’t drop acid like Susan had last year. That had been fodder for school gossip for weeks; you couldn’t get by with much in girls’ school without it making the rounds during study hall.
She saw her great-grandmother steal a glance her way and hastily put the wineglass back in its place, albeit empty. She was surprised to see her great-grandma smile at her, then returned it easily. Well, the old lady still had some spunk in her, not like Nana. With a sigh, Danielle waited for the familiar traditions to begin.
It was a Wellington family tradition to go around the table and proclaim what you were thankful for. Thanksgiving itself was meant to be a holiday for families to get together and enjoy each other’s company, but they found themselves vying for attention with their statements.
Melanie always talked about her daughter Danielle, praising her achievements to the rafters and drawing hateful glances from the daughter in question. Sandra concentrated on her career, recounting law cases with ease and aplomb and boring them all to tears. Diane was unpredictable, talking of travel one year, writing another, and photography the next.
Madeline always began the litany of thanks, as they called it, since she was the eldest at the table. She was the most predictable. Her main reason for thanks was the same every year. “Thank God, He let me live one more year.”
The litany continued in the same way around the table until it came to Diane. She stood and fidgeted nervously for a moment, looking down at her grandmother then to the head of the table at her mother before she cleared her throat. “Um…there’s something that I need to tell you. I’m thankful for it, but I don’t think that you will be. I’ve met someone wonderful, someone that makes my life complete in every way. We’re planning on moving in together after the new year, maybe buying a house and settling in.”
She waited for the table to quiet before she continued. “Her name is Drew and I’m a lesbian.”
It started as the intermittent pop of Black Cats, growing to the scream of a Roman Candle and finishing with the bang of an M-80—the fireworks began.
Madeline leaned back in her chair, not listening to the roar of the outrage around her but paying more attention to the silence that was radiating from her granddaughter in waves.
A momentary lull in the conversation that was flying fast and furious around the table was all that she needed. When it was there, she captured it with both hands and looked at Diane with more than a little sympathy. “That’s quite all right, Diane—I was too at one time in my life.”
“Grandma!”
“Mother! What in heaven’s name are you talking about?” Helen’s voice cut stridently through the commotion and brought everyone’s attention to what Madeline had said. “You’ve never disgraced our family like that?”
“Helen, how would you know? Do you know everything about my life? I think not. Remember that locked trunk in the attic?”
Helen stared at Madeline across the length of the table. “Mother, whatever are you going on about?”
Madeline chuckled. “We all have skeletons in our closets, Helen. Don’t make me bring up any of yours, dear. I had a female lover before I married your father. It wasn’t a big deal.”
Helen stood, throwing her napkin on the table. “It is a big deal, mother, and you don’t have to lie to Diane to make her feel better. It is just simply not done.”
“Helen, pull the stick out of your ass for a minute. Diane is twenty-five, not living under your roof any longer, and independent. If she wants to sleep with whoever, it is none of your business. I think that it was incredibly brave of her to tell us about her friend tonight—Drew, didn’t you say?” At Diane’s silent nod, Madeline continued. “I’ve kept silent on a lot of things, Helen. Do not make the mistake of driving your daughter away because of some misplaced idea that you have about society and propriety.”
Madeline looked fondly at Diane and shook her head. “Lord knows, Helen, you never denied yourself anything when you were younger. Sex, drugs, rock and roll—you followed bands all over the country and did anything that you wanted to back in the day. Why do you continue to force your children to be something that you were never able to do yourself?”
Helen's lips thinned as she looked down the table at her mother. “Mother, I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean you were never able to conform to society’s ideals when you were in your twenties. Why do you expect any of them to?”
Sandra and Melanie looked at their mother in horror. Danielle, on the other hand, looked delighted. “Nana, you were a hellraiser when you were a kid?”
“Don’t listen to your great-grandmother. I was nothing of the sort.”
“Lying is unbecoming, Helen. Yes, Danielle, your grandmother was quite the hellraiser. She was rarely home, preferring to spend her time down on some streetcorner in San Francisco.”
“Haight-Ashbury?” Danielle's eyes grew wide as she looked from elder to younger matriarch.
“Yes, I believe that was it. The point is we all have skeletons in our closet—or our attic, as it were—and no one has the right to judge or point fingers at one another because of their actions. Do they, Helen?”
Helen's mouth was a tightly pressed white line that seemed to highlight her displeasure. “I suppose not, mother.”
Dinner was finished in silence, so fraught with tension that a hacksaw could not have penetrated it. Everyone around the table was polite to the extreme, attempting to ignore the elephant that stood beside the table with family secrets painted on its side for all to see and wonder about.
Diane left as soon as it was feasible, followed quickly by the rest of her family.
Helen looked into the mirror as she removed her makeup, wondering what the children saw when they looked at her now. There had been more than one awkward glance her way during dinner and she cursed the moment that her mother spilled her secret past at the table.
Diane should have never confessed such a thing at dinner, she decided. She should have—
Helen sighed. She knew exactly why her daughter did things the way that she did. She was the daughter her mother wished her to have in more ways than one. Exotic, adventurous, different in every way from the other two, she was the epitome of her mother in more ways than one.
Helen sighed once again and looked deep into her eyes in the mirror. She didn’t feel as old as she was—not until days like today. Her eyes still reflected the wild youth and vigor that had been her trademark in the early days. She smoothed her nightgown with her hands and turned to join her snoring husband in bed.
Madeline climbed the stairs to the attic and turned the light on, looking for a chair to drag next to the locked trunk full of memories. She took a key on a long chain from between her sagging breasts and opened the lock, throwing the lid back to reveal the contents stored inside.
She lifted a picture out of the dark depths, gazing at the youthful faces that stared out of the copperplate daguerreotype in her hand. She had loved Elaine so; had been willing to give up anything and everything that she had to be with her. It was unfortunate that their choices were made for them by a much greater power. Elaine had died in the great pandemic influenza outbreak in 1919, a month before her eighteenth birthday.
Two tears drifted slowly down the lined face, falling on her age-stained hand. They had been so close to freedom, yet so far. Madeline looked up and saw herself in the mirror across the attic, not old any longer but young and beautiful with her life ahead of her.
Ah, memories. Beautiful to hold to the heart and painful as well. Tucking the picture in her pocket, she left the trunk unlocked as she made her way carefully down the stairs to her bedroom. Tomorrow she would call Diane and give her the greatest gift she could—support. Tonight, however, she would sleep and dream of Elaine.
Diane unlocked her door and saw the wreckage of her departure. The hall tree lay among the glass shards, disguising their wickedly sharp edges among the fabrics of the coats.
She lifted the tree and stood it back on its feet, tossing the coats to one side. When she turned back, she saw herself reflected back by the millions of shards, each one showing a tiny part of herself as a greater whole.
The mirror pieces only reflected how she felt right now. She felt splintered inside, her heart pulled in a thousand different pieces. She knew that her mother was disappointed in her; she had expected no less. Of course, finding out that her mother had kept secrets from her children was a revelation that could not be so easily dismissed.
Her eyes reflected the tears that began to fall, each shining droplet magnified a thousandfold as she turned to pick up the broom. There was no need to concentrate on her mother’s reaction or anyone else’s tonight. Life goes on and there was a different type of mess to clean up.
With a deep sigh, she began to sweep.
Fandom/Pairing: None
Warnings: Mentions of alternative lifestyles and drug use.
Summary: There are skeletons in everyone's closet, no matter what age they are.
It was blustery and cold that morning, something that she should have seen as an omen of what was to come later during dinner. Portents and signs were never her forte, however, and she would regret not paying more attention to Mercury in retrograde and the upside-down tarot card, the black cat that crossed her path and the ladder that she walked under.
In short, it was just a bad day all around to come out of the closet, especially to one’s family. She didn’t notice it because just the fact that she was coming out of the closet was scaring the screaming bejeezus right out of her.
Diane put on her best dress, the lacy sleeved one that her mother liked so well. She curled her hair carefully and wore the pearls that her grandmother had given her on her twenty-first birthday, a gift with significance not lost on her in the least. For each year of irritation, of putting up with her mother’s inane ways and sense of propriety, she received a pearl. She had covered her irritation with a nacre of insouciance and rebellion, forcing secret smiles from her grandmother and censure from her mother.
She was afraid that her mother would see this as another way to rebel. In her deepest heart of hearts, she feared this more than anything else; the devaluation of her feelings had been normal growing up, but now that she was an adult, she believed that she had a right, nay, a duty to be true to her own desires.
She checked her appearance one last time in the mirror that hung in the hallway, leaning forward to run her fingertip over the edge of her mouth. She looked as good as she could without a complete makeover; she hoped that she passed muster with her society-conscious mother, although she highly doubted it.
With a sigh, she opened the door as she grabbed her coat off the hall tree. She didn’t notice it overbalancing or tipping and completely missed the crash as it smashed into the mirror, shattering it into thousands of fragments on the floor.
Helen touched her slightly graying hair as she frowned into the mirror, noting more wrinkles around her mouth and between her carefully plucked and shaped eyebrows. It seemed like they multiplied overnight; all the beauty creams and plumping concoctions in the world didn’t seem to halt the ever-present march of time.
She didn’t feel as old as she was. She didn’t feel her age; fifty wasn’t that old, after all. She had led an interesting life before her children were born—halcyon days as a flower child in the heart of Haight-Ashbury, Woodstock, and Altamont—but had put all the adventures behind her when she had met and married Robert.
She never expected that she would have three children and a fairytale life. Marriage to a doctor was never an easy way of life, but it was the life that she had freely chosen when she had first laid eyes on the young intern that was caring for her father after his heart attack.
With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror. She had done a good job of hiding all the wild adventures of her youth behind a stodgy façade, forcing her daughters to conform to the societal norms that were expected of them. While Melanie and Sandra had been easy to handle, Diane had rebelled in every way possible. She had tried drugs (something that her mother could have instructed her on, had she been inclined), had sex with strangers (nothing new there, either) and had been arrested twice—once for indecent exposure and once for drunk and disorderly (something that her mother had stringently avoided).
She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Diane was the child that her mother had wished on her. Many a night passed that Helen’s mother didn’t sleep for fear that the police would knock on the door. Too many nights went by when Helen didn’t come home at all. It had shocked her mother completely when she had materialized at the front door of their home in a dress, her hair cut and coifed for the first time in years, to inform her mother of her impending wedding.
Yes, she had her skeletons, but she was certain that her mother did as well. There was the locked trunk in the attic, for one thing. Mother never let anyone near the trunk, even to move it. There was something in there, Helen was certain of it, but she knew that there was no way of finding out until her mother decided that she’d been around long enough. At ninety, however, it seemed the old woman would live forever.
Madeline inserted her dentures into her mouth and sucked hard to seal the cream against the gums to prevent them from sliding around. A glance in the mirror told her that they were in place as she started to put on her makeup to go to the worst part of the holidays—dinner at Helen’s.
She hated these damn get-togethers. Hated them with a passion that burned in her gut from the moment that she woke to the second that she left. Most of the time, she stayed away from the house on the hill and her daughter with a huge stick up her ass. She would rather spend her time at the nursing home playing bingo and God knows she detested that game.
If nothing else, her granddaughter Diane should provide some fireworks. Heaven knows, she usually did at every family holiday in one way or another. Whether it was getting too drunk or starting a magnificent row with her mother, Madeline was always entertained by her favorite granddaughter’s antics—in fact, it was the only reason that she continued to attend these pointless family dinners and not the Senior Center’s Thanksgiving dinner with her friends.
If past history was any indicator, this year should be especially spectacular. Diane had just turned twenty-five a month ago and it seemed that with every important age, she came up with something new and eclectic to stick in her mother’s craw.
Yes, this year should be particularly fun. Madeline found herself looking forward to dinner as she waited for the car and driver that Helen sent over every year. Swear to God, that woman gets more pretentious with every gray hair.
The table gleamed with the silver and china, her grandmother’s best. Waterford crystal glasses held water and wine for the adults, tea for those under the drinking age, although nobody noticed Danielle stealing her uncle’s wineglass when he was otherwise occupied. At seventeen, she couldn’t understand why Nana wouldn’t let her drink; she had done worse in her short life, had Nana only known it.
She looked across the table at her aunt, who seemed very agitated and nervous for some reason. Her fingers kept fiddling with a pearl necklace around her neck and it struck Danielle’s funny bone. She couldn’t help but giggle as she thought of the pearl necklace of another sort that she’d had around her neck a week ago. If Nana only knew about that, she was sure that the proper old woman would stroke out right there and then.
She hoped that later on that evening she could sneak away to light one up. It was the only way that she could tolerate her dysfunctional family, staying stoned through the holidays that she was forced to endure with them. At least she didn’t drop acid like Susan had last year. That had been fodder for school gossip for weeks; you couldn’t get by with much in girls’ school without it making the rounds during study hall.
She saw her great-grandmother steal a glance her way and hastily put the wineglass back in its place, albeit empty. She was surprised to see her great-grandma smile at her, then returned it easily. Well, the old lady still had some spunk in her, not like Nana. With a sigh, Danielle waited for the familiar traditions to begin.
It was a Wellington family tradition to go around the table and proclaim what you were thankful for. Thanksgiving itself was meant to be a holiday for families to get together and enjoy each other’s company, but they found themselves vying for attention with their statements.
Melanie always talked about her daughter Danielle, praising her achievements to the rafters and drawing hateful glances from the daughter in question. Sandra concentrated on her career, recounting law cases with ease and aplomb and boring them all to tears. Diane was unpredictable, talking of travel one year, writing another, and photography the next.
Madeline always began the litany of thanks, as they called it, since she was the eldest at the table. She was the most predictable. Her main reason for thanks was the same every year. “Thank God, He let me live one more year.”
The litany continued in the same way around the table until it came to Diane. She stood and fidgeted nervously for a moment, looking down at her grandmother then to the head of the table at her mother before she cleared her throat. “Um…there’s something that I need to tell you. I’m thankful for it, but I don’t think that you will be. I’ve met someone wonderful, someone that makes my life complete in every way. We’re planning on moving in together after the new year, maybe buying a house and settling in.”
She waited for the table to quiet before she continued. “Her name is Drew and I’m a lesbian.”
It started as the intermittent pop of Black Cats, growing to the scream of a Roman Candle and finishing with the bang of an M-80—the fireworks began.
Madeline leaned back in her chair, not listening to the roar of the outrage around her but paying more attention to the silence that was radiating from her granddaughter in waves.
A momentary lull in the conversation that was flying fast and furious around the table was all that she needed. When it was there, she captured it with both hands and looked at Diane with more than a little sympathy. “That’s quite all right, Diane—I was too at one time in my life.”
“Grandma!”
“Mother! What in heaven’s name are you talking about?” Helen’s voice cut stridently through the commotion and brought everyone’s attention to what Madeline had said. “You’ve never disgraced our family like that?”
“Helen, how would you know? Do you know everything about my life? I think not. Remember that locked trunk in the attic?”
Helen stared at Madeline across the length of the table. “Mother, whatever are you going on about?”
Madeline chuckled. “We all have skeletons in our closets, Helen. Don’t make me bring up any of yours, dear. I had a female lover before I married your father. It wasn’t a big deal.”
Helen stood, throwing her napkin on the table. “It is a big deal, mother, and you don’t have to lie to Diane to make her feel better. It is just simply not done.”
“Helen, pull the stick out of your ass for a minute. Diane is twenty-five, not living under your roof any longer, and independent. If she wants to sleep with whoever, it is none of your business. I think that it was incredibly brave of her to tell us about her friend tonight—Drew, didn’t you say?” At Diane’s silent nod, Madeline continued. “I’ve kept silent on a lot of things, Helen. Do not make the mistake of driving your daughter away because of some misplaced idea that you have about society and propriety.”
Madeline looked fondly at Diane and shook her head. “Lord knows, Helen, you never denied yourself anything when you were younger. Sex, drugs, rock and roll—you followed bands all over the country and did anything that you wanted to back in the day. Why do you continue to force your children to be something that you were never able to do yourself?”
Helen's lips thinned as she looked down the table at her mother. “Mother, I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean you were never able to conform to society’s ideals when you were in your twenties. Why do you expect any of them to?”
Sandra and Melanie looked at their mother in horror. Danielle, on the other hand, looked delighted. “Nana, you were a hellraiser when you were a kid?”
“Don’t listen to your great-grandmother. I was nothing of the sort.”
“Lying is unbecoming, Helen. Yes, Danielle, your grandmother was quite the hellraiser. She was rarely home, preferring to spend her time down on some streetcorner in San Francisco.”
“Haight-Ashbury?” Danielle's eyes grew wide as she looked from elder to younger matriarch.
“Yes, I believe that was it. The point is we all have skeletons in our closet—or our attic, as it were—and no one has the right to judge or point fingers at one another because of their actions. Do they, Helen?”
Helen's mouth was a tightly pressed white line that seemed to highlight her displeasure. “I suppose not, mother.”
Dinner was finished in silence, so fraught with tension that a hacksaw could not have penetrated it. Everyone around the table was polite to the extreme, attempting to ignore the elephant that stood beside the table with family secrets painted on its side for all to see and wonder about.
Diane left as soon as it was feasible, followed quickly by the rest of her family.
Helen looked into the mirror as she removed her makeup, wondering what the children saw when they looked at her now. There had been more than one awkward glance her way during dinner and she cursed the moment that her mother spilled her secret past at the table.
Diane should have never confessed such a thing at dinner, she decided. She should have—
Helen sighed. She knew exactly why her daughter did things the way that she did. She was the daughter her mother wished her to have in more ways than one. Exotic, adventurous, different in every way from the other two, she was the epitome of her mother in more ways than one.
Helen sighed once again and looked deep into her eyes in the mirror. She didn’t feel as old as she was—not until days like today. Her eyes still reflected the wild youth and vigor that had been her trademark in the early days. She smoothed her nightgown with her hands and turned to join her snoring husband in bed.
Madeline climbed the stairs to the attic and turned the light on, looking for a chair to drag next to the locked trunk full of memories. She took a key on a long chain from between her sagging breasts and opened the lock, throwing the lid back to reveal the contents stored inside.
She lifted a picture out of the dark depths, gazing at the youthful faces that stared out of the copperplate daguerreotype in her hand. She had loved Elaine so; had been willing to give up anything and everything that she had to be with her. It was unfortunate that their choices were made for them by a much greater power. Elaine had died in the great pandemic influenza outbreak in 1919, a month before her eighteenth birthday.
Two tears drifted slowly down the lined face, falling on her age-stained hand. They had been so close to freedom, yet so far. Madeline looked up and saw herself in the mirror across the attic, not old any longer but young and beautiful with her life ahead of her.
Ah, memories. Beautiful to hold to the heart and painful as well. Tucking the picture in her pocket, she left the trunk unlocked as she made her way carefully down the stairs to her bedroom. Tomorrow she would call Diane and give her the greatest gift she could—support. Tonight, however, she would sleep and dream of Elaine.
Diane unlocked her door and saw the wreckage of her departure. The hall tree lay among the glass shards, disguising their wickedly sharp edges among the fabrics of the coats.
She lifted the tree and stood it back on its feet, tossing the coats to one side. When she turned back, she saw herself reflected back by the millions of shards, each one showing a tiny part of herself as a greater whole.
The mirror pieces only reflected how she felt right now. She felt splintered inside, her heart pulled in a thousand different pieces. She knew that her mother was disappointed in her; she had expected no less. Of course, finding out that her mother had kept secrets from her children was a revelation that could not be so easily dismissed.
Her eyes reflected the tears that began to fall, each shining droplet magnified a thousandfold as she turned to pick up the broom. There was no need to concentrate on her mother’s reaction or anyone else’s tonight. Life goes on and there was a different type of mess to clean up.
With a deep sigh, she began to sweep.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-13 04:33 pm (UTC)This is a beautiful, richly detailed, and satisfyingly complete story. The amount of history you've been able to weave his is stunning as is the overall picture. Beautifully done, as always. It's such a pleasure to read your work.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-13 05:59 pm (UTC)The only thing I wondered about was the lack of men at the table. I know it's a story about the women, but surely her doctor husband would have been present and would have had something to say?
no subject
Date: 2008-01-14 06:05 am (UTC)Although it would be an interesting story with all the reactions, including Diane's father, it would have been much longer and IMHO it would have drawn attention away from the similarities between the four generations. That's what I was trying to portray--not necessarily the reaction as a whole family.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-14 06:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-14 03:56 am (UTC)*draws hearts around you* I've missed talking with you sweetie; how are you and yours?
~Nebula
no subject
Date: 2008-01-14 06:07 am (UTC)Everyone is fine on my end. Sandy's back is MUCH better and the kids are all doing well.
I'm glad that you enjoyed the story. Thank you for the prompt! :D
♥