On the table, next to a bowl of pretzels, Sassy had a small pile of books. Marion reach for them, then she examined the titles.
“Are you reading all these?”
“I’ve read them, but I leave them out as reminders,” she said. “You have to take them with you when you go.”
“The Yellow Wallpaper,” Marion read. “What’s that about?”
“That’s one of my favourites. It’s basically a horror story, only it’s really about a woman’s life and what it feels like to… wait. You actually might love this one. Right up your alley.” She handed the thin book to Marion. “The woman goes crazy because she doesn’t fit into the role of wife and mother, so she’s sent away, but they won’t let her do what she really wants, which is to write, and… Oh, I don’t want to tell you any more in case I spoil it. It’sreally short. You can finish it quickly, I’m sure. And I think you’d like this one, too.The Bell Jar. Again, the woman in the book is going insane, and she eventually commits suicide, so it’s pretty scary. What’s really interesting is that Sylvia Plath, the author, committed suicide a month after she finished writing this.”
Marion blinked. “Why are you reading about women who are losing their minds?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s kind of a possible story for all of us, if we leave our lives to others. As women, we need to be courageous and forge our way ahead, not follow someone else’s rules.”
“Huh. And this one?”
“The Golden Notebook,” Sassy said, adding the third book to Marion’s stack. “It’s hard to describe. It’s about a girl named Anna, and… it’s… You have to read it.”
“Thank you,” Marion replied. “I haven’t read fiction in so long. I can’t even remember the last book I read for pleasure, not work.” She flipped through a few pages ofThe Golden Notebook, curious. “I think I’ll read some tonight.”
Sassy’s walls were crowded with art. It was nothing like the dry line art hung around Marion’s apartment, with the sole purpose of camouflaging the bare walls. Her eye was caught by a large painting done in a smooth amalgam of yellows, reds, and pinks, then overlaid by random floating mushrooms, happy faces, and peace signs. It was warm and fresh. She felt like the artist had been happy when he painted it. She stared at it, trying to decide how she felt when she looked at it.
“I really like that one,” she said eventually. “I’ve never seen anything like it. So bright and different.”
“That one? Oh, thank you! I painted that.”
“Really! You paint, too?”
“Used to. I have others in the closet if you want to see.”
Marion checked her watch then put her empty wineglass down, startled by how quickly time had passed. “I’d love to see them sometime, but I have to get home now. Chester will be hungry.”
“I’d love to meet him someday.”
“I’m sure you will.” At the door, Marion lifted her raincoat off the hook. “Thank you, Sassy. I really enjoyed this evening.”
“Oh, me too! Made the whole elevator thing almost fun.”
“Almost,” Marion said with a chuckle, then she pushed back a rush of apprehension and said exactly what was on her mind. “What do you think about doing this again next week, but at my place?”
PART TWO
There is no such thing as closure for soldiers who have survived a war. They have an obligation, a sacred duty, to remember those who fell in battle beside them all their days and to bear witness to the insanity of war.
—Lt. Gen. Harold G. Moore,We Are Soldiers Still: A Journey Back to the Battlefields of Vietnam
sixteenSASSY
The following Monday, Sassy bused to her father’s office building then climbed the stairs to the third floor, more apprehensive with every step. She dreaded the start of her new job and burned with shame every time she thought of how rude she had been to Tom on their first meeting. It was easy to blame her unpleasant stay in jail, but that didn’t excuse the hostility.
At the top of the stairs, she paused at Miss Sloane’s desk, waiting for her to hang up the telephone.
“Ah, Susan. Welcome to the office. I think you’ll like it here.”
“We’ll see,” Sassy muttered, then she snapped herself out of the mood. She had to start off on the right foot if she was going to get anywhere. “I’m sure I will. I guess I’m a little nervous.”
“That’s only natural, dear. Why don’t you go set up your desk how you like it. It’s that one over there, outside of Tom’s door. He’ll be in soon to see you, I’m sure. He usually arrives at—” She checked her watch. “He gets here just before nine, so about ten minutes from now.”
“Thanks, Miss Sloane.”
