Chapter 9 - JULIAN DEFENDS HIS MOTHERJulian moved into the guest apartment above our detached garage.
Not because I threw him out.
Because every conversation became unbearable.
He kept saying:
“She must have believed she was helping.”
I kept hearing:
You should forgive her.
One evening I snapped.
“She drugged me.”
“I know.”
“No. You keep translating it.”
“I’m trying to understand.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s my mother.”
I laughed.
“That answer is doing too much work.”
His face tightened.
“You think I’m defending the act?”
“You say ‘helping’ instead of ‘drugging.’”
“I say she thought she was helping.”
“Why does her thought get more space than my body?”
He went quiet.
That was the first time the argument improved.
Not because he agreed.
Because he stopped.
Then he said:
“I should have asked about Denis when I saw the call.”
“Yes.”
“I should have asked about the tea when you kept getting tired.”
“Yes.”
“I still didn’t know.”
“I know.”
That mattered too.
May you like
I had no evidence Julian knew about the sedative.
Suspicion cannot be a marital lifestyle.
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