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look at my face and paint her finger at me and ask. "What have you been doing, Claude? Why do you have that look on your face?"
It was ridiculous of me to think that, of course. If anyone was oblivious to my moods, my looks, it was Alberta. Most of the time she was so occupied with her own activities and thoughts, she wouldn't know if I was there or not. I didn't think about where she was this particular evening. She was often somewhere when I returned from the clinic, but when she arrived this particular evening, she marched right to my office where I was catching up on some paperwork and stood in the doorway glaring in at me.
"How do you feel about yourself now?" she asked.
I tell you. - Willow, my heart skipped beats. If guilty feelings popped out on one's face. I would have been covered in red freckles.
"What?"
I wondered: Could someone have called her from the clinic and said something to her about my behavior toward Grace? That's how guilty and selfconscious I felt.
"I don't understand. Alberta." I continued, I think I was holding my breath. too.
"I just want to know how you feel about yourself? About not having the decency to at least call to say you weren't going to be there."
I shook my head.
"I'm sorry, Alberta, be where?"
"Be where?" She looked away for a moment, calming herself. She actually looked more beautiful when she was angry like this. Her face would take on a soft ruby tint, and her eyes would blaze with the fire of rage stoked inside her. "How about the executive committee for the Heart Association gala ball? You and I are sponsors as well. Your name was prominent on the program. Claude."
"Oh. Oh. yes." I said, glancing at the formal invitation stuck between the pages of a medical reference book on my desk. She had made a point of giving the invitation to me so I wouldn't forget it. and I had put it in my calendar. In fact. I had even remembered it that morning on my way to the clinic and had made a mental note about what time I wanted to leave to get home to dress. As I told you. I avoided as many of these dinners as I could, but I recognized this one Was special, especially for Alberta.
"Oh. yes? Do you have any idea what it was like for me to be seated next to an empty chair? Bart Kaplow thought it was funny and suggested we talk to the chair as if you were in it. I told him it wouldn't be anything new for me. I often talk to the walls at home."
"I'm sorry, Alberta. I had a new patient arrive late in the day and--"
"I see. And what I want, what I need, is not as important. I know. You don't have to confirm it. Thank you. Claude, for clearly illustrating where I stand on your totem pole of priorities."
She reached in for my door handle and pulled it shut, the sound like a clap of thunder. I sat there staring at the door wondering what indeed had happened to me that I would have completely forgotten this social event. It actually frightened me a little, and I made a secret promise to myself that when I returned to the clinic in the morning. I would be more my professional self than I had ever been. For now. I wouldn't attempt any more apologies. I thought. Alberta was too any at me.
As you will remember, your stepmother and I had separate bedrooms. There was an adjoining door, but our relationship with each other eventually cooled to the point where that door was rarely, if ever, unlocked.
The idea of separate bedrooms was something Alberta thought romantic in the early days of our marriage, and to tell you the truth, I thought it was. too. For her, and perhaps for me, it was like going out on a date. Eventually we had separate bedrooms because she couldn't stand my snoring any longer. Even her earplugs didn't work. At least, that was what she claimed.
"Men and women who share their bedrooms and see each other day in and day out grow bored with each other," she told me. She had read it in one of her romance novels. "The woman, any woman, doesn't like to be caught at her worst moments, and the early hours