Pieces of Hate by Ray Garton Read Free Book Online Page A

holding her sister’s hand, having decided to hold it as long as was necessary . . . just in case there was any truth to the old woman’s craziness . . .
     
    9
     
    Margaret awoke suddenly in the chair at the gentle sound of Lynda’s voice. “Hey, sleepyhead.”
    “Good grief,” she mumbled, sitting up straight in the chair, “I dozed off. That’s your job.” She did a double take at her sister.
    Lynda was not just sitting up in bed . . . she was sitting up, skinny legs crossed Indian-style, her body facing Margaret, smiling. She was shaking her right hand and waggling the fingers.
    “You were holding my hand,” Lynda said.
    “Yeah, I guess I was.”
    “No, I mean you were really holding it,” she said with a chuckle. “It went to sleep.”
    “Oh. Sorry.”
    “No, don’t apologize. I’m touched, really. In fact . . . I’m puzzled.”
    “About what?”
    “Well . . . I know we agreed to put the past behind us yesterday, but . . . I can’t help wondering exactly why you came here. Was it for your high school reunion? Or did you actually come to see me after hating me all these years?”
    Margaret sighed. “Look, we’re the only family we’ve got. And even I couldn’t go on hating you forever,” she added with a smirk.
    After a reluctant pause, Lynda asked, “So, does that mean you don’t hate Mom and Dad anymore?”
    Margaret sighed again, more sharply this time. “I guess some things are easier to get over than others.”
    “You know, they didn’t hate you.”
    “Please, Lynda, do we have to — ”
    “Just listen a minute, okay? I’ve been thinking about this ever since you left here yesterday and I want to get this off my chest. Now, I know you hated them, maybe even more than you hated me. And you had good reason. They were cold people. You and I were different; I could see beneath their crust, but you didn’t want to look. Then you left for the big city and I stayed home and got married, which was the only thing I really wanted to do, I guess. Anyway, you were gone, so you didn’t see what I saw. You know, they really loved you, Margaret.”
    “Nice of them to let you know. Of course, it would’ve been nice if they’d filled me in on the secret.”
    “They talked about you a lot. They were very proud of your success in advertising. When Mom was killed in the car accident, Dad completely fell apart. I’ve never seen a man cry so much. I had to care for him like a baby. But even though I was waiting on him hand and foot, I felt like nothing more than an annoyance to him . . . because he kept asking for you. He wanted to know why you weren’t at the funeral, why you hadn’t called, or at least written. By then, you hadn’t written in a long time and none of us knew how to reach you. He started drinking heavily, then got cancer. Right up to the end, he kept asking for you. He hardly knew who he was, but . . . the last thing he said to me before going into the coma was, Tell Maggie how much her mother and I loved her . . . and that we’re both sorry.’“
    By the time Lynda finished, Margaret’s head was bowed so far forward that her chin rested on her collarbone. Her eyes were stinging from the tears that were dropping into her lap.
    “Oh, please don’t cry. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, or anything. I just wanted you to know that behind their cold, unaffectionate fronts, they loved us both very much. They loved you. So now, you can love them, too. Just because they’re gone doesn’t mean it’s too late. Now please, Margaret, don’t cry.”
    Margaret did not move or make a sound.
    Lynda got up on her knees and reached out her hand. “Come here. Please, come over here.”
    Margaret stood and silently embraced her sister, surprised by the strength in Lynda’s arms as she held Margaret close. With the faint sound of air whistling in and out of Mrs. Watkiss’s nose beyond the drape behind her, Margaret smoothly slid her hands over Lynda’s bony back, willing the