Climbing the Rock Within by Jennifer Haig
Excerpt from Chapter 12:
On February 19, 1991, a white tablecloth greeted me.
Breakfast was set. Mom, her quiet self, looked at me.
“Good morning, dear. How did you sleep?”
Unsure of how to judge when silence meant silence and
when it meant family breakdown, I waited. Dressed for the
“office,” Dad plowed over his newspaper, drank coffee. I figured
they did not care to hear that my sleepless night, as so
many others, had left me tattered. I lied, “Okay. I slept.”
Out of the kitchen with coffee came Lisa, the maid, no
one formal, just helpful; service my father was used to. I sat,
looked at him confused, still anxious to break his shell. Lisa
smiled at me, knew my entire secret. Daily, her patient eyes
witnessed my silent seizures. Aware of my bursts of fury, even
when Mom above my head spoke to her, “Nothing’s happened.
She’s fine.” Rosa knew my loneliness, never left me.