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"I don't want to see you hurt," my mother said.

It sounded strange coming from her. I didn't think she cared what happened to me. When I left Columbus, Ohio four years ago I was gone for three or four months before anyone noticed. My family only paid attention to me was when they wanted something or needed an answer. "You're our encyclopedia," my mother always said.

Just another book on the shelf collecting dust until someone needed an answer and then right back on the shelf.

"He doesn't love you," Mom said.

"Why? Because no one could love me?"

"That's not what I said."

"No. You said he doesn't love me. How do you know? You haven't seen him in thirty years."

"I saw him eighteen years ago."

My stomach knotted into a tight concrete ball. I held the tears back. "At least I've talked to him."

"Running up your phone bill. Just another bill to ignore."

"At least I'll know whether or not we belong together," I said.

"Stop living in the past." Mom took more blouses out of her closet and dumped them next to me. "Think you can get these done before you leave?"

Why not? It was all I was really good for anyway answering questions and sewing sequins and beads on her clothes. "Who sewed for you while I was gone?"

"No one."

"Did you forget how to sew?"

"Don't get smart with me."

It wouldn't take much for her to slap me. It was one of the reasons I left. It was my own fault. I never said anything until it was too late. Not this time.

"Why didn't you tell me Dave called when I got back from Texas the last time."

Mom didn't even flinch. "You didn't need to know."

"You didn't have the right."

"He's no good," Mom said, her voice soft.

"You don't know that."

"I know his mother thought Dave was too good for you."

"Dave's family treated me like I was family."

"If you don't believe me, ask your father."

I pushed Mom's silk blouses off my lap and went downstairs. For the first time in his life he backed her up. Dave's mother had said that I wasn't good enough for them. But she is the one whole told me to call him eighteen years ago. After talking every night for a month I went to Dallas to see him. I took a taxi over to his apartment the night I landed in Dallas. He wasn't there so I left the bottle of champagne and the glasses on his doorstep and went to the hotel. I called his mother and his sister. No one knew where he was.

He showed up the night before I was scheduled to leave. Under the odor of Marlboro cigarettes, he smelled like cheap perfume and whiskey.

He had changed so much since high school. He was

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