Free Unbreathed Memories by Marcia Talley Page A

forgotten that we have your children?”
    “Of course not!”
    “What about the children, Scott?”
    I could feel a request being formulated in the silence. “Do you think they could spend the night? Georgina’s in no fit state to take care of them right now.”
    “How about their father, then?” I asked. “Somebody put you on psychotropic drugs lately?”
    “Give me a break, Hannah! I’m looking after your sister and I have a business to run. The business, need I remind you, that pays for all her medical treatment.”
    I stared at a jumble of dirty spoons in the kitchen sink and didn’t say anything.
    “I’ll be down to pick the children up in the morning,” he said at last.
    Scott was slippery. I pushed for specifics. “When, exactly?”
    “Uh, around eight; time for Sunday school. Georgina needs to be playing by nine anyway.”
    I doubted Georgina would be ready to play the radio or anything else in the morning, let alone a pipe organ. “See that you are. Mom and Dad aren’t as young as they used to be.”
    “What? Aren’t the children with you and Paul?” Scott was shouting so loudly I had to pull the receiver away from my ear. What was his problem?
    “No. We’re at Mother’s. They’re spending the night here.”
    “No way! Not after what Georgina told me. No way they’ll stay in the same house with your father.”
    My stomach tightened and I tried to swallow, but couldn’t. He really believed it, then. It wasn’t just a husband’s blind, unquestioning support of a disturbed wife. He believed every one of Georgina’s lies. I took two deep breaths and found my voice. “If that’s the way you feel, then I suggest you get in your goddamn car and come pick them up yourself.”
    Scott must have had rocks for brains. “Are you sure they can’t stay with you?”
    “As you so succinctly put it, Scott, no way. No effing way.” I hung up before he could reply and pressed my forehead against the cool enamel of the kitchen doorframe, wondering when this nightmare would be over.
    When I turned around, I was surprised to see Mother standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, juggling a large box marked “Sheets / Twin.” Oh, God! How much had she overheard? I hurried to relieve her of the box and set it down on the kitchen table. “You won’t need these tonight, Mom. Scott decided to come get the kids after all.”
    The light left her eyes. “I’m sorry about that.”
    “Me, too, Mom. Me, too.”
    While we waited for Scott, Mother and I arranged towels and sheets in the upstairs linen closet and Paul called for Chinese carryout. After the delivery boy left, it didn’t take long to turn the kitchen table into a disaster area of red and white cartons, paper plates, overturned sauce cups, crumpled-up napkins, and the odd chopstick. At eight o’clock Scott pulled his SUV into the drive and honked. After a strained conversation with Scott in which I determined that Georgina would probably sleep through till morning, we sent the kids scurrying off with kisses and hugs and tummies full of shrimp fried rice. I had managed some hot-and-sour soup, but that was all I had the stomach for. When Mother gave me That Look, I claimed I was still too full of the pizza I had wolfed down at lunch.
    By the time Mother and I returned to the kitchen after escorting the children down the drive, Paul was ready to go, holding my coat folded over his arm. With my back to him, I struggled into it while he waved the coat around behind me like a matador, trying to anticipate where I’d put my arms. “Where’s Daddy? I want to tell him good-bye.”
    Mom kissed my cheek, handed me my cashmere scarf, then shoved me gently in the direction of the front door. “He’s gone up to his room.” I recognized that wounded expression. Daddy’d probably taken a bottle of scotch up with him. “Look after her, Paul.” Her eyes darted to the food, half-eaten, on my plate. “She needsto keep up her strength