“Do you want... ?” Still wasn’t right. “Wendy, will you—” She silenced me—not with a finger, but clamping her whole hand across my mouth...with a look of panic in her eyes.“Tony! Don’t ... Ever ... Ask me that question! Don’t ever!”“But...”“If I gave you the answer you want, you’d always wonder if it was what I wanted or if I felt I had to. And I would wonder, too. If I said ‘no,’ I would have to leave. I couldn’t stay. Please don’t ever ask, Tony. I’m yours, but you aren’t my husband. You are my. No, not like that at all. Too clear. Too poignant.It was as if I was living them again briefly. I could feel my lips move, my body react. I could smell smells. Feel feelings. They went by.I was ten. We were in our apartment in the Bronx. My dad was drinking. Drinking hard, like he always did. He was screaming at my mother. She was screaming at him. I was cowering in the closet. I was terrified. I could feel the door vibrate as he yelled and yelled.Then I heard a crash, I felt the scream, I. More

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