Old people with death hanging over them have the urge to divulge their well-kept secrets. In a doctor's waiting room with other patients listening in, Fiorella's father announced to Fio and his grandson that he hadn't had sex since he was seventy. Near death, Fio's mother told Fiorella that her older brother had molested her when she was a child. Fio's mother-in-law told her that when she turned ten and her adored father interrupted her birthday party, and she thought, "Why, he's nothing but a common drunk." Mrs. Harhin told Fio's aunt, who told Fio's mother, that a baby with black hair had been left in the woods to die.
What secrets will Fiorella unburden herself of when her time comes?
This is the house I spent my first seven years of life in. I painted the picture from a black and white photograph as a present for my parents years ago. Memories include playing with dolls and riding a tricycle on the porch, my father sitting me on the railing to watch fireworks or the Goodyear blimp, and sitting beside mother on a wicker chair as she sewed . And I also remember learning to rollerskate on that sidewalk--and how grown up I felt when I went one whole week without skinning my knee.