She slowed to a walk as she neared the house. When she came out of the woods, she saw that her mother’s car was in the driveway. She went through the house, but there was nobody home. Outside, in the backyard, she saw the dog sitting alertly outside the barn, staring at the door. The dog felt her gaze and turned. It ran to her, whined, then ran back to stare anxiously at the door again.
Maggie didn’t call her mother’s name or make noise—the owl inside her now. On a pathless path leading to a place of peace or unrest, Maggie went to the barn. Her soundlessness probably saved things. Sensing with bared senses, she pulled open the small side door and stepped inside. There was her mother in a shaft of light. Nola stood on the old green chair with a nylon rope around her neck.
Nola was wearing her purple knit dress with silver clasp belt, maroon pumps, subtly patterned stockings. Nola’s breast was looped with necklaces, her fingers deep in rings, wrists in bracelets. She had worn all of her jewelry so that nobody would ever wear it again. Perhaps Nola had done this periodically for weeks or years. Maybe this time she had stood there all morning, collecting the sickly courage to kick away the chair.
She could still do it. Maggie would not have the strength to hoist her or the quickness to cut the rope. Nola still might do it right in front of her. There would be no point in running forward. Maggie didn’t move, but fury choked her breath.
God, Mom. Her voice came out squeaky, which made her even madder. Are you really gonna use that cheap rope? I mean, that’s the rope we tied around the Christmas tree.
Nola kicked her foot back and the chair joggled.
Stop!
Nola stared down at her daughter from the other side of things.
In Maggie’s eyes, her mother saw the owl’s authority. In Nola’s eyes, her daughter saw the authority of the self and the self alone.
The foot lifted again. Beside Maggie, the dog quivered, at attention.
Okay, said Maggie. Please stop.
Nola hesitated.
I won’t tell, said Maggie.
Nola’s hesitation became a pause.
Mommy. Maggie’s eyes blurred. The word, her voice, shamed her.
If you come down, I’ll never tell.
Nola’s foot came back down and stayed motionless. The air was radiant, hot, stifling like the secret between them. Complicity made Nola remove the rope, step down. Claustrophobia made Maggie throw up.
She puked for two days, sick every time she saw her mother and entered again the tight metal box of their secret. Nola held the glass bowl, wiped her daughter’s face with a damp white dish towel. Tears overflowed her mother’s eyes as she put the towel and bowl away. Mother, daughter. They fell into each other’s arms like terrified creatures. They clung together like children in the panic cellar.
THE NATIONAL GUARD ARMORY was old and friendly, but they were building a new facility out of town. The equipment was used and even somewhat shabby, but they were soon to receive a shipment of the latest armaments, high-tech ordnance. The office space was cluttered and the files were bulging, but soon there would be new file cabinets, computers, desks, and copying equipment. Hollis sat at a scratched desk across from Mike, who was treating him like a long lost brother. Mike was square-headed, solid, with sparkly little blue eyes and thin pink lips. His blond hair was short, but not Marine high and tight. Hollis had resigned himself to losing his lanky rebel hair, and going straight to basic training, but Mike told him that there were plenty of options. He laid them out. The National Guard wanted Hollis to secure his education and would work with him at every stage. It felt so adult, so take-charge, to examine these shapes for his future, make decisions, lay out a plan, sign papers, and finally shake hands.