Chapter 33R
ita has known the prayerful silence of Vespers, the deliberate silence of anger, and the helpless silence of illness. This silence is unlike any she has ever known, the children’s music subtracted from the universe.
Around the house, she and Connie speak to each other in choked whispers as if there’s only so much oxygen and they have to make it last.
Connie drives to Brooklyn to steal hours with her children. If Rita can get away, they go together. The ride down is like a roller coaster, the ride home like a wake.
Connie’s not permitted to see them alone. Either Vince or a court-appointed guardian accompanies them to her mother’s, the playground, or an overheated restaurant.
“Now you know how it feels,” he tells her.
In the middle of the night, a plaintive cry forces Conn
