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practically leaped into his truck and drove off. When I entered the house, Mama was collapsed
in her rocker, her head down so that her chin touched
her chest.
"Mama!" I cried, going quickly to her side and
kneeling to hold her hand.
She lifted her head slowly. "I'm all right. I
thought it was him returning," she said with a cold
smile. Then her face saddened. "It's too bad I have to
revert to mumbo-jumbo and superstition to keep him
under control.
"I got our money buried all over this place,
Gabriel, in places he ain't never going to find. It's
better he don't know how much we have stored or he'll
take it and leave us high and dry while he goes off on
another bender. What he ain't got, he can't lose," she
concluded.
"I'm sorry, Mama," I said. "I thought he was
doing so much better."
"He was, but he's not constant; he'll never be
dependable, I'm afraid. But," she said, rising, "we've
got to make do with what we have now, don't we? I'll
see to our dinner."
"Do you still love him, Mama?" I asked. I
wondered how it would be possible, especially after
being with Pierre and seeing how wonderful real love
could be. Mama paused and thought a moment and
then tweaked her lips into a tiny smile.
"Sometimes, when he's like he was, I feel the
pitter-patter again. But," she said with a deep sigh, "it
don't last."
