Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 10 Page 11 Page 12 Page 13 Page 14 Page 15 Page 16 Page 17 Page 18 Page 19 Page 20 Page 21 Page 22 Page 23 Page 24 Page 25 Page 26 Page 27 Page 28 Page 29 Page 30 Page 31 Page 32 Page 33 Page 34 Page 35 Page 36 Page 37 Page 38 Page 39 Page 40 Page 41 Page 42 Page 43 Page 44 Page 45 Page 46 Page 47 Page 48 Page 49 Page 50 Page 51 Page 52 Page 53 Page 54 Page 55 Page 56 Page 57 Page 58 Page 59 Page 60 Page 61 Page 62 Page 63 Page 64 Page 65 Page 66 Page 67 Page 68 Page 69 Page 70 Page 71 Page 72 Page 73 Page 74 Page 75 Page 76 Page 77 Page 78 Page 79 Page 80 Page 81 Page 82 Page 83 Page 84 Page 85 Page 86 Page 87 Page 88 Page 89 Page 90 Page 91 Page 92 Page 93 Page 94 Page 95 Page 96 Page 97 Page 98 Page 99 Page 100 Page 101 Page 102 Page 103 Page 104 Page 105 Page 106 Page 107 Page 108 Page 109 Page 110 Page 111 Page 112 Page 113 Page 114 Page 115 Page 116 Page 117 Page 118 Page 119 Page 120 Page 121 Page 122 Page 123 Page 124 Page 125 Page 126 Page 127 Page 128 Page 129 Page 130 Page 131 Page 132 Page 133 Page 134 Page 135 Page 136 Page 137 Page 138 Page 139 Page 140“A lake…is the earth’s eye.” Henry David Thoreau See it aboard the Katahdin. Katahdin Cruises on Moosehead Lake Sailing late June through Columbus Day Tel: (207) 695-2716 Fax: (207) 695-2367 PO Box 1151 Greenville, ME 04441 www.katahdincruises.com 134 p o r t l a n d monthly magazine Fiction ence of my mother’s family; strange for a weekday, but I was always thrilled to see these beloved, lively people. The glowering sky expanded downward and clung to the windows like a wet, gray shroud as Marilyn’s car rolled to a stop and we tumbled out into the mist. We trooped up the stairs, and Aunt Mary Ann emerged. Awaiting her boozy embrace, I smiled pa- tiently, but my lips fell slack when I noticed the makeup running down her pale cheeks in black, tragic streaks. She leaned down to whisper, “It’s okay to cry, honey.” AuntSandyfollowed.Graspingmyshoul- ders, she said, “You’re the oldest—be strong.” Baffled, I entered the strangely subdued house. Forced, damp smiles loomed every- where, each brittle gaze deflecting, ricochet- ing away. M y mother’s teenaged sister made her way through the murmur- ing tide and with uncharacter- istic gentleness offered to brush my hair. I sat on my father’s mushroom footstool, a brown velour oddity permanently placed at the dining-room window, where a cracked mirror perched on the sill; I babbled inces- santly about anything I deemed impressive. My father’s voice: “Kids! Let’s see what you’ve done with your rooms.” I raced my siblings to the staircase, bare- ly noticing the sudden silence. We stamped- ed up, briefly bottle-necking on the dim, crooked landing at the top; a silent shoving match ensued before we popped like corks into the hallway. Upon reaching my room, my mouth dropped into a surprised “o.” My grand- mother was perched on the unmade bed, looking as incongruous as a painting in a Porta-Potty. “Kids,” Dad’s voice was strange, and he cleared his throat. “Mum’s gone up to Jesus,” he said, and then, “Ah, Christ, Ma.” He put his thick, callused hand over his eyes, and for the first and only time in my life, I watched– with a horror as deep as I have ever known– as my father began to cry. Time stopped. Thoughts and feelings ceased for a few heartbeats…but too soon, the numbness faded. The combined shock of the news, my father’s choice of words (Dad and Jesus didn’t see eye to eye), and seeing him cry knocked my world asunder. My re- sponse was visceral, violent; my grandmoth- er hurried to the china cabinet for my asth- ma medicine.