Throughout our childhood, Grace was always the one who fussed over me. Where my mother would say “Oh Beau stop it.” Grace would say, “Honey, eve...ything is going to be okay, or Beau take a sweater it’s cold sweetheart please be careful.” In other words, Grace was the one who ‘mothered’ me. Grace asked me how things went at the bungalow. It took me a while but I finally told her most of what happened. I guess I was focused on her once more; I wanted things from my mother that she just wouldn’t. Then something broke in Jaime. He turned around and ran from the room. Mara came after him, shouting at the top of her voice in a high-pitched cannonade of abuse. Jaime made for the spare room and locked the door. He put the ears of his I-pod in his ears and blocked out the continuous noise from outside. The next morning after the children had gone to school Mara went to work, confident that she’d put that man in his place. Jaime rang his work and told his immediate boss he’d have to take the. More

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