In Search of April Raintree by Beatrice Mosionier

Author:Beatrice Mosionier
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Portage & Main Press
Published: 2012-04-04T04:00:00+00:00

10

I watched her plane taxi down the runway and gather speed, until its wheels no longer touched the ground. I watched until I could see it no more. Suddenly, I felt so empty. So alone.

Funny I should have felt that way when Bob was right there beside me. On the drive back home, he was as preoccupied with his thoughts as I was with mine, so we didn’t say much. Sunday dinner that evening was eaten in silence, and not even Bob and his mother made any conversation. The atmosphere reinforced my feeling of loneliness. As usual, Bob and his mother retired to his office to plan the coming week’s business strategy. I went upstairs to our room. I was restless and didn’t know why. I turned the television set on, but there were no programs that interested me. I left it on just for the voices. I looked at a book, then another. That was no good, either. It wasn’t the first time I had felt this way, but it was the worst: this bored restlessness that usually came after big parties or large gatherings. Maybe if I had something of my own to do, something that involved ... what? Useless; that’s what I was. Bob had his business. Mother Radcliff had her social calendar, plus the business. Cheryl had her great cause. I had nothing. I had everything I ever wanted, yet I had nothing.

Mother Radcliff and I were on different charitable organizations, but none of them grabbed my heart or loyalty. Bob and I had our group of friends, but I felt I had access to them only as long as Bob was with me. But I did find our own age group much more interesting than the older ladies with whom Mother Radcliff surrounded herself, especially after Heather Langdon joined us. I wanted to fashion myself after her so much because she so enjoyed living. She lived by her own approval, not that of others. Just like Cheryl.

Cheryl and I wrote monthly letters to each other, but the chasm between us had grown wider, and there was less to say in our letters. The only thing she told me that was of great interest was her ongoing search for our parents. Where I had spent about a month of weekends and quit, Cheryl wouldn’t quit. I worried. Then in May, I got a letter in which she indicated she had finally given up. I was relieved. I didn’t know what she would have done if she had found our parents. I hadn’t even wanted to think about that possibility. Now that she had ended her search, I no longer worried about how shocked and disillusioned she would have been. My conclusion about alcoholism was that once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. And if one’s own children weren’t enough reason for one to recover, then there could be no reason at all.

Her letters started to arrive less and less often. She wrote about her education and her work at the Friendship Centre.

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