He pushed off from the door and walked past her, his limbs full of a deep weariness. He slumped into his reading chair, defeated. When he swivelled to...look at her, she was still standing in the same place. Her eyes were closed. It was as if she didn’t even know how to look at him. He turned in his chair to stare out into the darkness of the skyline, and waited. Minutes passed, and he didn’t hear a move or a sound. The hall light illuminated her, casting her reflection onto the inside of the. . . “the little French whore . . . . . little virgin French whore.”While everyone had trouble trying to talk to Ric’s father, the relationship with his mother was the exact opposite for Ric. Marge and Ric could talk about anything, and often did. She had a good understanding of the strong, fair-minded young man her son was.In the afternoon the next day, Ric managed to get his mom alone. “Mom, I need to talk to you” he began, while his mother stood drying dishes.“Sure, what on your mind,. More

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