Come to the Edge: A Memoir by Christina Haag

Author:Christina Haag
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Social Science, Popular Culture, Motion picture actors and actresses, Entertainment & Performing Arts, General, United States, Personal Memoirs, Biography, Television actors and actresses, Biography & Autobiography, Rich & Famous
ISBN: 9780385523172
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-03-29T09:04:20+00:00

Later, when John got back, we traded stories. We were dressing for dinner in the large rounded closet on the second floor of the Tower, his clothes on one side, mine on the other. In between “did I like his shirt” and “this dress or that” and “shall I wear my hair up or down,” I told him I’d canoed to the beach and that in the shallows of the pond near the old fishing shack, I’d seen two giant snapping turtles. “Oh, and I had a nice talk with your mother.” Half-listening before, he now appeared alarmed, the pastel linen shirt he’d chosen trailing from his hand. “What were you doing there?” he scolded. “You never, never go there between lunch and dinner.” He said it as though it was a canon I’d grown up with, adding that I should have known better. I felt my face grow hot. It was the first time he’d gotten angry with me; it didn’t sound like him. And I felt terrible for committing a faux pas, for disappointing him when things were going so well and mostly for intruding on what was clearly his mother’s private time.

When he left the closet, I wondered if there was more to it. If, in childhood, he’d been scolded often—before he’d committed to memory when to be around his mother and when to stay clear, before he’d learned to temper his boisterousness around her, before she’d built him the Tower. He’d told me that when he was younger, after his father died and before his mother remarried, she was a different person than she was now, and there were times that had been difficult for him, times when she would be away for too long. I could see that they adored each other, that they understood each other with an uncommon depth, but I knew from my relationship with my father that with such depth came complication. Perhaps, as I did, he just wanted the weekend to go smoothly. I saw clearly, if I hadn’t known already, that if things were to last between us, I would need her approval. Without it, they would end—not right away, but they would end.

I was learning the rules, the unspoken codes, the secrets and agreements that make up the edifice of every family. And I was learning something else: that his anger, quick and rare, jumped to bright heat and was over.

…

That night I wore a dress he’d given me. (To learn my size but still surprise me, he’d asked for shoe size, hat size, and glove size as well.) Fancier than required, it was strapless, of fine, heavy, black Italian cotton, and in the right light, there was a sheen to the fabric. I loved that dress. It was his first real gift—something I might not have chosen, but when I put it on and felt the bodice snug around me, ran my hands along the folds of the full, flirtatious, tiered skirt, I thought he knew me better than I knew myself.

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