Benumbed, she sank back into the pillow and closed her eyes, trying to shut out the hurt. "Carol," her whisper echoed off the walls and pounded in her head. "Will Carol ever come back?" Her mind retraced the thoughts and the events that had led to last night. She remembered the first time she'd watched Jose help Carol put on her coat before they left for an evening together. The sharp taste had choked her then, and she'd wanted to rip him away from Carol, but that would only have aggravated the situation. She'd tried in subtler ways to pry Jose from Carol, all to no avail. She'd watched, seemingly helpless, as the old Carol disappeared and as Carol's talents vanished into her bond with Jose. As she lay there, Mrs. Stockman knew Carol would never be back. Her daughter was twenty-one now, old enough to assume responsibility for her wrong-doing. Mrs. Stockman sighed and slid from bed. As she dusted the dark oak living room furniture, Mrs. Stockman reread the note Carol had hurriedly written as she'd left for work the morning before. "Mom and Dad," it read, "I'll be late tonight. Jose will bring me home after dinner. Love, Carol." Mrs. Stockman shredded it into the wastebasket. She then went to Carol's room and removed everything but the bed, dresser, desk, drapes, and rug. She took all the pictures and books and the few clothes that were there to the incinerator in the back yard. She watched them burn as her own hopes for Carol had. Her head was clearer now. "Life will go on. I've Clarence and he has me. Carol will have to be forgotten." she decided. Carol was not forgotten by her parents, though. The same prayer for her return was with them every day. Carol had not forgotten them either. Her prayer was that they would accept her as both their daughter and her husband's wife. She tried to show her love for them. Her letters at first were returned with "Addressee Unknown" stamped on them. She continued to send them until finally she accepted the fact that nothing could make them want her as a daughter again. She lived her life and loved her husband. She felt no regret for what she'd done. Her sorrow was that her parents were so narrow-minded. They'd never even tried to get to know him; they had never become acquainted with any of his attributes. Jose was a good man and provided for her well in all her needs. He was a good father to their one angel, Juanita. He was a successful architect. He understood and enjoyed culture. With such a man to love, her parents were mere shadows in her mind. Their disapproval was the only thing that marred her happiness at first, but she gradually learned to ignore it and to live as a type of orphan. One evening after she had put her dark-eyed Juanita to bed, Jose came to her and put his arms around her waist. "Carol," he hesitated, "today your mother phoned me at the office. She called me because she didn't think you would listen to her. My dear, your father died last night of a heart attack. She wants us to go to his funeral day after tomorrow." His words trailed off as he waited for her reaction. 6 "My father died long ago for me. And she's no longer my mother. She didn't need me before when she had him. She didn't need me when I needed her." Carol stopped. Her words were like cold steel. Jose understood the hard look in her eyes. He knew she felt she had justification for it. "Perhaps she is right, cruel as it is for her to think this way," he thought to himself. He wanted to force her to console her mother, but he knew that this problem was one with which he could not interfere. It existed in the "no man's land" between Carol and her mother. During the next few days Carol mused about her mother and father a great deal. She wept, thinking of the joy they'd shared during her childhood. At times she wanted to go to her mother but never dared think too seriously about doing so. She didn't know how she or her mother would react to a reunion. She didn't want her mother to know she hadn't liked being an orphan since her marriage. She'd just finished vacuuming the living room floor one day when the door bell summoned her. She opened the door and stood staring at her mother on the other side of the storm window. Her stomach was heavy. She automatically opened the door and, unspeaking, let her mother into her home for the first time. Her mother was unsmiling as she started speaking, hesitantly at first. "Carol, I know I haven't been a mother to you these past few years. The disappointment of your marriage stabbed at me constantly. Your father, too, was heartbroken. All we had was each other. Now...," she sobbed, "now I have nothing." Carol stood looking at the floor. "Carol, Carol, I need you. May I come and live with you, with you and Jose and Juanita? I want to love you again." Carol's eyes were hard. "Mother, please leave. How can you ask me this?" She went to the door and opened it, waiting for her mother. They didn't speak. "Mother, you once had your chance to love us, but you loved your proud heart too much," Carol thought accusingly. Her mother left the house, and Carol slammed the door. by Ellen Fisher Cinquain by Eldrie O'Bryant At, dusk Out of the grove Steals the fawn lithe forest sprite, Trips across the rocky ledge, but soon Is gone. 7