The Harvard Bride by Clark Katherine;

Author:Clark, Katherine;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of South Carolina Press
Published: 2016-09-24T04:00:00+00:00

11

Daniel dreaded all visits to his family in Opelika, even when he wasn’t bringing home bad news. But the Easter weekend went better than he ever hoped for right from the start. Arriving early on Saturday morning, around nine-thirty, he found his mother still in her robe drinking coffee. His father had just left on his round of errands. It was clear from the gratified shock on his mother’s face that she hadn’t expected him till much later in the day, and interpreted this early arrival as some sort of personal tribute to herself. Usually he arrived as late as possible and as near dinnertime as possible in order to minimize any blocks of unfilled time with his parents. Invariably, he arrived even later than planned, while the dinner burned and his parents went into full-blown panic mode, imagining him not dead on the highway, but loaded onto a stretcher without the penicillin alert tag around his neck they were no longer able to force him to wear after he left for college. This was their kind of bad luck: Their son not killed in the crash, but poisoned by the penicillin the paramedics administered in the ambulance. His parents were always so distraught by this scenario that when he finally walked through their front door, they had nothing but anger for this ghost of their son who’d killed himself by refusing to wear his penicillin tag.

“I didn’t expect you till dinnertime!” his mother exclaimed, hopping up and hugging him fiercely. “Is there something wrong?” She pulled the sash of her robe tighter.

His parents always thought something was wrong. If he was late, something was wrong; if he was early, something was wrong. Still, it gave him an opening, but he hadn’t planned on introducing the subject so soon. He hesitated, and sat down with a sigh at the kitchen table. His mother regarded him with concern. “Let me get you a cup of coffee,” she offered, moving over to the counter. Although he hated his mother’s coffee, a generic brand which tasted like the inside of the IGA store where it came from, he did not decline. He knew his mother enjoyed fussing over him, that his absence had deprived her of perhaps the most enjoyable outlet for her anxious energies. He let her fuss, pour the dregs of the last scalded bit of liquid from the Mr. Coffee pot, and stir in the nondairy Coffee-Mate, which he also hated.

She was babbling away nervously but also happily, apologizing for sleeping late, still being in her robe, not having any breakfast for him. “But let me fix you something!” she cried. “It won’t take ten minutes! Whatever you want, Son. Eggs, pancakes. Just tell me.”

Actually, he had not had any food that morning, since he’d hit the road as soon as he showered and dressed after getting up. “Mother, I’d love some scrambled eggs,” he admitted.

He could not have given her a greater gift. She literally began buzzing around the

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