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I could tell by her tone, that she didn’t really believe Shannon to be rude at all. It was just the good-natured ribbing that happened in families. These people were not what I’d expected. At the very least, I’d expected them to be cold and distant. Frank was a bit reserved, but not cold.
“I’m Elodie.”
“Well, that’s a lovely name. Shannon hasn’t ever brought a girl home before,” she said, leading me toward the living room. “And I’ve been dying to show off his baby pictures.”
“Mother, I will kill you,” Shannon called out from the kitchen.
For a moment I was actually terrified for her, but then I realized Shannon was just playing the role of embarrassed son. He had no intention of killing her for showing me baby pictures. I doubted he cared one way or the other about me seeing the photos. It was just part of the mask, the play he starred in where he was like everyone else.
“Oh, nonsense,” she shouted back toward the kitchen. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Could they really not see the cold dark spot inside their son? Were they that blind? Frank wasn’t as animated as Millie, but even he seemed excited to see his son and to learn he’d brought a girl home. I imagined they were both marking time in their head, planning imaginary weddings and buying imaginary baby outfits for the grandchildren that I surely would dutifully deliver for them.
In the living room, Frank retreated to a brown leather chair in the corner out of the way, while Millie led me to the couch. She pulled out a big family photo album stuffed to near exploding with pictures. On the red leather cover in gold lettering, it read, “Mercer Family Memories.”
“All the gory details are in here,” Millie said, winking at me.
I could tell she’d been waiting years to show some poor woman the story of Shannon’s early years in pictures. Though I was also certain I knew far more gory details than his mother would ever be privy to. I couldn’t imagine how much it would break her heart to know the truth. Even if I were desperate, I wouldn’t have had the will to tell his parents or seek their help. I doubted they’d believe me anyway.
Then I was inundated with photos of practically every mundane second of Shannon’s life. If these images were to be believed, he really did have a near-perfect childhood. I suddenly wished I had photos of my own childhood, but I doubted they’d be like this—judging from my dossier, at least.
In the photo album were the obligatory splashing naked baby in the bathtub pictures, the eating solid foods for the first time pictures, some funny pictures of him in a giant wooden bowl that made him seem freakishly tiny by comparison, the bumbling toddler years, birthday party pictures, and Christmas after Christmas.
Shannon seemed so sweet and adorable as a baby and toddler. As he grew through the photographs, he became a bit more stoic and detached.
“He gets all that seriousness from his father,” Millie said.
I glanced at Frank and wondered if he was secretly a sociopath, too. Were Millie and Shannon just his camouflage? Did this run in families? Shannon seemed to believe he’d been born this way, so where had it come from? Certainly not from Millie unless she was the world’s best actress.
And yet I was sure if Frank were a predator, Shannon would have easily been able to spot it. And Frank would have just as easily spotted the traits in his son. No, Frank would be as horrified as his wife to learn what his son was.
“Did Shannon tell you he served our country in the military?” Frank asked, beaming and animated for the first time of the evening.
I wasn’t sure what Shannon wanted me to say, but this must be a safe enough topic. I was sure his parents had no idea what exactly he’d been doing in the military, but they seemed so proud of him and their vague notion of their son the soldier fighting to protect our freedoms. Over the fireplace mantel was a large framed photo of Shannon in his formal dress uniform.
Even though I knew it was foolish to feel anything for someone like Shannon, I couldn’t help it. Seeing him like that, my heart leaped up into my throat. There was something about a man in uniform.
Shannon appeared in the doorway then. “Mom, I put your flowers on the table in the foyer.”
“Thank you, dear. Dinner’s ready if everyone would like to come into the dining room,” Millie said.
She’d made a roast in a creamy gravy and mashed potatoes and green beans and a salad. And she’d pushed something calledsweet teaon me with extreme insistence.
“Those beans are from Millie’s garden out back,” Frank said as he took his seat at the head of the table. “She canned a whole mess of them. Shannon, you and Elodie need to take a few jars back with you.”
“Oh yes, you really have to,” Millie said. Then she turned to me. “Have you ever had green beans from the garden, Elodie?”
I felt frozen, my blood turning cold in my veins all of a sudden. I’d been about to automatically say ’No, Ma’am, I haven’t’, when it occurred to me that perhaps I had. I just didn’t remember if I had. It was moments like this I’d been dreading: everything rolling along just fine until some small innocuous thing reminded me of how different I was. Everyone at the table watched expectantly, waiting for my answer.
“No, Ma’am, I haven’t,” I went ahead and said. It may or may not be true, but from my perspective it was true enough for the moment.
“So,” Millie said, “How did you two meet?”
I was happy to let Shannon field this one.
“At an amusement park.”
I nearly choked on my green beans, which were as wonderful as advertised. She’d added some kind of oil to them and sugar, which made the flavors pop.
