The Smallest Parallel

Chapter 18

Geoffrey's hands shook as he and Marguerite walked through the wooded area that separated their childhood homes. When she'd told him what had really happened to his father, he'd been shaken up, shaking his head in utter disbelief. Marguerite had held onto that answer for years, not knowing what the question was or who was asking it. He'd wished he'd opened up to her earlier.

He carried a basket of antibacterial hand soap and the black licorice he knew his mother loved. This was going to be a difficult conversation.  

Marguerite walked closely beside him, running her fingers through her hair as if she were making sure it was still there. He wondered what she was thinking during moments like this, when her mind was stolen away from reality.

He considered his own reaction to Marguerite's story about her mother. He hadn't been angry with her. He'd mostly been confused and somewhat relieved to finally know the truth. He'd been so uneasy for so long that his father's killer was out there, looming in every dark corner and hiding behind every door. In his mind, the killer had been some terrible villain. All along, it had been the mother of his best friend.

Now he had to bestow that information to his mother. Marguerite had been easing him into it for two days, coming over and reminding him that even Miriam deserved that closure. It was true that Geoffrey's mother hadn't always been emotionally available and that her approaches to problem solving were sometimes problematic. However, Miriam had done her best in raising a child alone. She'd pushed her feelings down enough to work for a living and keep a roof over her son's head. She deserved to know why she'd been forced into that lifestyle.

            Geoffrey remembered those events from his own perspective, and he had never considered what his mother had gone through. She was strong, but she was also a human being. Geoffrey didn't understand Miriam.

In fact, I'd like to present Geoffrey's childhood from Miriam's perspective.

Miriam Wallace was never one to let her feelings distract her from doing what needed to me done. She was strong, independent, and she was dutiful. She understood that life would be tough as a single mother, but she also understood that she needed to raise Geoffrey to be as strong as she was. She would never sugar coat anything, and she would never lie to her child. He deserved better than that.

When she told him that his father was dead, he had comforted her. He'd wrapped his arms around her while she cried, and he'd stayed with her until she grew exhausted and fell asleep. Because of this, she knew that she was already well on her way to raising a strong child. He would be intelligent and diligent. He would never put his life on the line. Miriam saw it as her sole duty to keep him alive, and to never put him in harm's way.

As that child grew up, she noticed that he was timid, different than he had been. She'd wanted him to be less reckless than his father, but she'd never wanted him to give up on the joyful things in life. Then there was Marguerite, and she didn't understand how a child as normal as her son would befriend such a strange girl. She didn't say anything because she knew that Marguerite brought something into Geoffrey's life that he had been lacking.

Geoffrey spoke to her less and less with time, and she began to wonder what had caused the rift between them. She'd been working his entire life only to protect him, and he was pulling away. The missed opportunities and unsaid words were swept under the rug, along with every birthday Geoffrey had since the death of Christopher.

She missed her husband more than anything, and that empty feeling never went away, no matter how much she poured herself into her work. She'd loved her husband, despite his obvious flaws. He was an alcoholic, and she'd threatened to leave him so many times because of it. She'd get angry, and they'd go days without speaking. The empty bottles would pile up.