The Space Between Before and After

Citation preview

The Space Between Before and After

J ean R e y no ld s P a g e

For Rick, first and last

Contents

Prologue—December 2008

1

Holli—February 1, 2003

3

Hollyanne—July 20, 1969

10

Holli—April 27, 2003

15

Conner

24

Holli

27

Conner

39

Hollyanne

45

Holli

51

Conner

56

Hollyanne

58

Holli

63

Conner

73

Hollyanne

82

Holli

88

Conner

93

Holli

102

Hollyanne

108

Conner

115

Holli

119

Conner

126

Holli

131

Hollyanne

138

Holli

145

Conner

155

Hollyanne

167

Holli

172

Conner

178

Holli

183

Hollyanne

185

Conner

197

Holli

204

Hollyanne

208

Holli

214

Hollyanne

225

Holli

232

Conner

239

Holli

242

Hollyanne

245

Holli

250

Conner

261

Hollyanne

266

Holli

271

Conner

284

Holli

288

Conner

295

Hollyanne

298

Holli

306

Conner

315

Holli

320

Conner

336

Holli

339

Conner

349

Holli

353

Conner

357

Holli

359

Kilian—Boston, November 2008

364

Holli

367

Conner

377

Holli

379

Epilogue Acknowledgments About the Author Other Books by Jean Reynolds Page Credits Cover Copyright About the Publisher

Prologue—December 2008

I watched my son lose his childhood. For some, the journey into the adult world occurs in gradual seasons. There is no single memory of where one begins, the other ends. But for Conner, it happened more quickly. What would you do if your son ran away with a girl whose life will likely end in her thirties—maybe even before? Conner fell in love, and I was helpless to save him from what followed. Today, I will push through the holiday crowds to meet him for lunch in the city—at a restaurant just blocks from his Tribeca apartment. It’s something that mothers and sons do all the time, but I can’t bring myself to take it for granted. We’ve come too far. His wife won’t be with us. She carries with her the scars of all that has happened, and he says I need to give her some time. “How’s she feeling?” I asked when I spoke with him on the phone. “Better than two months ago,” he said, erring on the side of optimism. “It’s hard not to be angry with her sometimes. She needs to accept that we can’t change this. But like I said, it’s better now than before. We’re moving in the right direction.” I am impatient. I want everything to be right for him now. But after those three days in Texas—the three days when all his choices were torn from him—I’ve learned to accept that the healing takes

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longer than the damage. You’d think with my history—my own damage—I would have learned that sooner, but it took me thirty years to come to terms with how my mother died and why my father betrayed me. Conner is a much quicker study at life than I will ever be, and this gives me hope. I have learned something in my forty-six years. I’ve learned that our days build on the lives of those who came before us. And I’ve come to believe that the ones we miss are not necessarily gone. They occasionally inhabit the small cracks in time and space that we glimpse when we are at our weakest. In a moment, their spirits brush against us and make us aware that we are better because of them. The subway is packed, even in the middle of the day. I forget, sometimes, the energy it takes to reach a single destination in Manhattan. But today, I celebrate humanity—even on a gritty, crowded train traveling under the earth. Because I am meeting my son for lunch, and we are able to look beyond all that it took to arrive here. I think of those three days in Texas, and I marvel that what comes after can hold such promise.

Holli—February 1, 2003

I woke with a sense of being off-center—of having slipped out of gear—but with no clear notion of how to make things right. I put one of my ex-husband’s old dress shirts on over my pajamas and made my way into the kitchen. As I made breakfast, I listened to the small TV on the counter. A view of the Hudson through the high vantage of my kitchen window showed the river to be calm. No cars passed on the street that ran into town. Nearly two years of living in the house, and it amazed me that such a quiet village existed just north of Manhattan. On the television, I heard the music intro for a special news report, and I turned to watch as the network cut away from the weekend morning show. Something had gone wrong with the space shuttle. Early, unofficial accounts seemed to tell the story, though no one had confirmed it. NASA’s ship Columbia had been scheduled to land in Florida. Instead, people on the ground told of visible debris as it began to come apart in the air over Texas and Louisiana. Dear God. Fear moved slowly into my conscious thought. In my neck, in my chest, I felt the weakening that came with an awareness of dread. I put my full weight against the counter to steady myself against the growing uneasiness—a discomfort that went well beyond a normal response to such a disaster.

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Reports of loud noise and falling objects had come in from Texas. I pictured pieces of hard metal and torn insulation raining down on hardscrabble dirt and terrified livestock. I thought back to the day when Challenger had exploded nearly two decades before. At the time of that explosion, there had been nothing so concrete as metal—no immediate sections of wreckage to be found. In the early moments of that other shuttle’s dramatic demise, the spaceship had seemed to disappear in a trail of magician’s smoke. “There have been descriptions of a ‘sonic boom’ type sound and other freight train– or tornado-like noises from areas in the vicinity of Dallas,” the newscaster said as he scanned papers in front of him, trolling for newsworthy comments to fill his airtime until more was known. After the nation as a whole had taken ownership of the moon landing, it seemed only right that we should internalize NASA’s heartbreak, as well. The country would pause and wait. There was nothing else to do. But it meant even more than that to my family. Things that happened in space inexplicably proved to be harbingers of raw, personal events in our lives. It seemed inconceivable that this would be true again. But still, I waited, wondering what would come. I switched from channel to channel. On all of them, young television anchors, on hand for the lower profile, weekend segments, struggled with live coverage and tried to assume the gravitas of the senior anchors. The Brokaws and Jenningses of the news world were no doubt in transit from Long Island or Connecticut, caught off-guard when such astounding news inconveniently arrived before ten o’clock Saturday morning. The TV screen flashed a map that simulated the path of the shuttle. Already the news had confirmed the reports: large pieces of the rocket ship lay in the fields and pastureland southeast of Dallas. They didn’t name Thaxton, Texas on the maps they showed.

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Thaxton was almost too small to notice when driving through in a car. From the air, it very nearly didn’t exist. But I knew it was there. Somewhere along the line drawn to show the trajectory of the doomed ship, my hometown waited. Raine, the grandmother who raised me, was there along that line. With her, Conner, my only child. I marveled at the accident’s proximity to my childhood home and to the people I loved. Letting superstition take hold, I entertained the notion that the gods of fate had gotten bolder— then immediately dismissed the thought as ridiculous. I poured a cup of coffee and dialed my grandmother’s house. Conner answered. “Are you watching the news?” I asked. “Yeah, I just turned it on.” He sounded unnerved. I could hear Raine in the background, talking to someone. Maybe Kilian, Conner’s girlfriend. “It happened right over you,” I said. “The shuttle came apart over Texas.” “No shit. The whole damn place shook,” Conner said. “We’re with Gran now. We ran down from the trailer right after it happened. It sounded like a bomb exploded in the backyard.” “Jesus, Conner,” I said, for the first time comprehending just how very close it had come to my family. “It must have scared Raine to death.” I didn’t know where to focus my thoughts. “They’re all dead. The people in the shuttle. They have to be,” I said, the fact of it suddenly real. “Mom?” Conner’s voice held a hesitance, as if he hadn’t decided exactly what to say next. “Mom?” he repeated. A general plea. “What is it, Conner?” “Gran’s acting a little weird,” he said. “Like what?” “I don’t know, exactly,” he said. “Talking to herself. But like she’s really talking to somebody else. Not us, that’s for sure. Just somebody she thinks is there.”

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Conner’s name for his great-grandmother had evolved over the years. In his very young days when he was still a Texan, he called her Great-Granny Raine. As he got older and more impatient, he slurred the words together and it came out as G’Raine. Rain and Grain. The two names covered the spectrum of sustenance, which seemed fitting to me. But from middle school on, Conner has just called her Gran. I never told him that such an ordinary name didn’t seem to suit her. “It’s all the space stuff, Conner,” I said, trying to reassure myself. “The rockets and astronauts. You know how all that business freaks her out, even under normal circumstances.” Conner understood. He knew his family’s history as well as I did. I didn’t have to remind him that my mother—the grandmother he never knew—died as the entire world watched Neil Armstrong’s boot hit the surface of the moon. Thinking about my mother’s death brought up new worries of what the current disaster might send our way. “She’s talking to Kilian now,” Conner said. “She’s all right, I guess.” “What’s she saying?” He paused, listening. “She’s trying to get Kil to eat.” I could tell he was smiling. “You got nothing between bones and flesh. Eat something, child.” Conner mimicked his great-grandmother’s drawl. For a kid long removed from his Texas roots, he did pretty well. “She probably just got confused with that noise and then the TV reports. I wouldn’t worry too much about her. It’s such a horrible thing that’s happened.” “You should have been here, Mom,” he said. “Loudest fucking sound I’ve ever heard. Gran’s radio was on in the kitchen when I got here. People are calling in, saying pieces of it are landing all over the place. In the middle of pastures and shit. It came apart right over our heads. NASA’s telling people not to touch anything we find. It’s crazy.”

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When Conner got agitated, he ceased to edit himself. Every small thought—these days laced with ample profanity—poured out with the momentum of a train. “Conn, do you need for me to come down there?” He didn’t answer. I knew my son. He wanted to handle both the physical reality of the crisis there and, apparently, the mental wanderings of my grandmother. He wanted to show me that he could be strong. But I could hear it—the undercurrent of panic in his tone. “Conner,” I said. “I can be there by tonight.” The hardest part for me to admit to myself was that my grandmother, a woman who had saved my life in a thousand ways, had become—over six or eight months time—a primary source of concern. That was a turn the world should never have taken. Regardless of where I’d gone when I left Thaxton, the reality of Raine had provided steady footing. “Conner?” “Hold off for awhile,” he said. “This’ll all settle down, and Gran seems okay now. I overreacted. It’s just been a really fucked-up morning.” Fucked up could have described the previous months. Conner dropped out of Brown just after the semester started. Days later, he’d inexplicably called me from Thaxton stating the intention of finding a “more authentic” life with Kilian. So far, that meant living in a trailer and repairing electronics for a living. “Seriously,” he said. “She’s okay.” “Let’s talk again tonight,” I said. “Should I say anything to Raine right now?” “No,” he said. “I don’t think so. Kilian’s with her on the couch. They’re still talking. She seems better. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” I thought of Conner’s waif-like girlfriend, placating my grandmother. Maybe nothing beyond Raine’s troubled confusion would

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befall our family this time around. But I came by the concern honestly. Neil Armstrong’s moment of glory had been forever linked in my mind with my mother’s accident. Years later, when Challenger exploded, that tragedy had come in tandem with the loss of my second child. I knew the miscarriage coming at that very moment had to be coincidence, but in my gut—against all reason—I feared that my family would somehow suffer again with this latest horrible event. The news on the television was unthinkable, but we were all accounted for and overall things seemed fine. My breath settled to an easier measure. “Is that Hollyanne?” Raine’s question came faintly from a distance away from the phone. “Yeah, it’s Mom,” Conner told her. “I’m telling her what happened. Stay with Kilian there. Mom said she’d call back later.” Raine must have agreed. “Things are under control,” Conner assured me. And he believed it. He sounded better, calmer. His voice had lost the manic quality it carried at the beginning of our conversation. “Just keep an eye on her, Conn.” Part of me—the part that didn’t quite believe in coincidence—couldn’t help wonder about Raine’s slip into momentary confusion. If a little disorientation on her part was the extent of the blow this time around, we’d gotten off easy. After so much time, maybe the gods weren’t as bold as I’d feared. Maybe they had gotten older, more tired, along with the rest of us. “You should call your dad,” I said, thinking of Harrison, sitting in his apartment, just miles from me, in Manhattan. He’d be up, I knew, probably watching the same stumbling news accounts that I’d been following. “Yeah, I bet he’s already left a message on my cell,” Conner said. “I’ll call him now.” I said good-bye to Conner, continued to watch the screen. Soon, a seasoned news anchor would arrive. The president would make

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a statement. The shock would settle. With nothing else to do, I began to work on dishes left the night before, tried—and failed—to keep my thoughts off of those people inside the spaceship. The seven of them, huddling and terrified in a cocoon that had become too damaged and fragile to hold them safely back to earth.

Hollyanne—July 20, 1969

No one had yet set foot on the moon. But that was going to change before the day was out. I heard Mama’s footsteps on the carpet, coming up the stairs. A second later, the door opened and she stood there, an armful of folded shorts, shirts, and underwear hiding her face. She balanced the stack on top of her belly—a belly, ridiculous and big, where inside lived a nearly full-grown baby. A brother or a sister, ready to breathe regular in less than a month, would share the room with me. I’d helped Mama free up a drawer and some closet space just the day before. “There you are,” Mama said, putting the clothes on top of my chest of drawers. “I wondered where you got off to. You’re usually right in the kitchen when I’m fixing to make dessert.” “I was tired,” I said, ashamed somehow to be sleeping in the day. Mama sat on the bed beside me, put her cool hand on my forehead to feel for fever. Her skin smelled of Clorox. “You’re not one bit hot.” “I’m not sick,” I said. “I’ve just been thinking so much about astronauts that my head got worn out, I guess.” She laughed. I stared at her pretty face. The baby had filled her cheeks too, along with her body.

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“I’m a little tired myself,” she said. Since she’d had the baby inside her, I knew Mama to be hills of flesh in different sizes—cheeks, breasts, belly. As I pressed close, I felt her sweat through the cotton dress, imagined her salty skin. Salt gargle for a sore throat. Epsom salts for sore feet. Mama soothed everything. “The baby’s moving. Here, feel,” she said. I folded over her belly, like rolling myself around a beach ball. Mama’s clothes smelled of laundry steam. “I feel it.” I heard her heartbeat, felt the squirming baby tucked inside all that cotton and skin. Grandma Raine’s dog had puppies once. I wrapped all three of them in a blanket and held them in my arms. That’s what this baby was like, moving inside Mama. Puppies in a blanket, restless and small. “You’ll get born soon,” I told the baby. “I’ll help look after you then.” Mama stayed there for a long time. She was patient while I daydreamed, imagined the baby at two, walking, following me. I’d be eleven by then, nearly grown. When I finally looked up, I realized Mama had dozed off leaning back against the headrest on my bed. The flutters against her stomach settled. “It’s almost three o’clock,” she said, suddenly awake. “Your daddy’ll be home soon, wondering what in the world I’ve been doing. She mimicked Daddy’s low voice. ‘My God, Celia. We’ve got people coming in.’” I laughed. But the part that wasn’t funny was that he might really be mad. It could be hard to tell with Daddy sometimes. “Come on, sugar,” she said. “You can help me get the den cleaned up before everybody gets here.” People were coming over to eat dessert and watch astronauts get out and walk on the moon. Earlier in the day, Mama got so excited talking about the astronauts that Daddy told her she better calm

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down or she was going to jiggle that baby right out before it was ready. “Today’s Sunday,” I said, watching Mama squat down so she could put my clean shirts in the drawer. “Is Daddy working?” “No, sugar,” she said, standing up and arching her back in a long stretch. “He just went up to the shop to get some extra chairs in case we need them for people tonight.” Daddy owned Fielding’s TV Sales and Repair, but people just called it Fielding’s most of the time, or even The Zenith Shop, because that’s the kind of televisions he sold. Mama left the room and I followed. Down the hall, from the den, I could hear the radio blaring. She had it turned up loud enough so she could keep up with what was going on inside the spaceship while she worked around the house. The voices of the astronauts had changed; they sounded fuzzy, far away and excited. “Hollyanne Fielding, hurry, come here,” Mama called from the other room. “They’re landing that thing now.” When she was excited, she used my whole name, like a teacher during roll call. “Let’s see what they’re running on TV.” Days before, we’d watched the rocket take off, headed for space. Even from far away on the television, the explosion underneath the rocket looked like it had to be some terrible accident, something that would kill any fool standing close enough to see it. But it didn’t hurt anybody. The astronauts on top of all that fire and smoke held on tight while it took them up and out of this world. “Watching that rocket,” Mama had said, “calls to mind what it means to have a baby.” She laid her hand on top of her belly. “The world cracks into pieces like that when you give birth. The beginning has to be violent, almost cruel. But after that—after you’re shaken down to your very bones—you’re left with miles and miles of lovely.” She smiled at me. Then she looked at the television that showed the faint trail of the rocket in an empty sky, and her face

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had an expression that said she understood how glad those men must feel to be on their way after all that waiting. After it took off, Walter Cronkite explained what would happen when they got to the moon. They’d land it, then sometime later the men would come out. After it was night, we’d get to watch them walk on the moon. But before all that, they had to get the landing capsule onto the ground. I memorized the images of metal breaking from metal on the rocket, the smaller part floating down to the solid moon, not moving fast or straight, but slow, like it wasn’t sure it wanted to go through with it, after all. Mr. Cronkite and the other newspeople called the moon the “lunar surface.” The voices on the radio got more excited. Mama stopped halfway to the television set and grabbed my hand. Her eyes stayed wide as she listened, and I found it hard to concentrate on the rocket ship. I liked looking at Mama’s face, all bright and excited like she’d just been handed a present. “I think they’re almost there.” For some reason, she whispered this to me and I could barely hear her with the radio so loud. I was glad it made her smile the way it did, but I didn’t see the point of it. Grandma Raine said it must have cost a lot of money to send a rocket up there, only to look at mostly nothing. They could have flown to Hawaii a whole lot easier and had more to see when they got there. But Mama seemed so happy. That was reason enough for them to fly anywhere in the universe, as far as I was concerned. Pieces of sound kept cutting into the voices of the astronauts, making it hard to understand what they were saying. But then it came clear. “Houston, Tranquility Base here,” the man said. “The Eagle has landed.” “Roger, Tranquility, we copy you on the ground,” the man in Houston said.

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The bug thing had settled on the moon. Mama clapped, hugged me and then sat down on the couch like she’d worn herself out listening. “Isn’t that something?” Mama laughed. “Can you imagine, sugar? The moon! Those men are on the moon! Just think of that!”

Holli—April 27, 2003

“Hollyanne?” Grandma Raine’s voice sounded strange and crackly on my cell phone. We’d spoken every few days in the three months since the shuttle accident, but she always called my home phone. She had both my numbers, but I couldn’t remember her ever actually dialing my cell. “Is that you, darlin’?” she asked. I was standing on the street outside the beauty salon, my hair still damp and inches shorter than it had been an hour before. The cool air made my scalp go cold. “It’s me, Grandma Raine. Is something wrong?” I asked. Bread was baking at the local diner. The smell reminded me of Raine’s kitchen, momentarily giving her voice an all-consuming presence. “Raine? Can you hear me?” “Well, I should say so,” she said. “You’re talking loud enough to wake the dead.” “Sorry. Hold on a second, okay?” I spotted an empty bench outside the wine shop. “Let me get out of the middle of the street so I can talk. Why are you calling me on this phone?” As I moved to a different spot, the static cleared. “Conner showed me a button to push on my phone. He said dialing that, plus a six and a nine would get me to the last person who called. Since I talked to you yesterday, I thought I’d try it.”

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That sounded logical. If she was still sharp enough to try new tricks with the phone, I probably didn’t need to be that concerned about the small bouts of confusion she’d been having here and there. She was eighty-eight years old, for Christ’s sake. “What’s that noise around you?” she asked. “Is somebody working on something in your house?” “No, I’m on the street right now. That’s just a car going by.” The small town where I lived—a village, they called it—on the Hudson just north of Manhattan was a world away from the place I grew up. But standing in town with Raine’s voice so close in my ear brought the two flush against each other. For the first time, I saw the similarities. The comparison brought to the surface the internal conflict I’d battled my entire life—a dual citizenship, of sorts. Holli and Hollyanne—my irreconcilable selves confronting each other once again, like dogs locked in a yard. It was a split I should have outgrown by now. Hollyanne was a child, hurt by circumstances and resentful of things lost. Holli was a woman who had found more in life than Hollyanne could have imagined. “Grandma Raine?” I said, settling on the bench. “I’m sorry, Hollyanne. I lost my train of thought for a minute,” she said, as if she’d delayed the conversation, not me. “I just thought I’d let you know, I had a little visit with your mama.” “My mama?” “That’s what I said,” she told me. “Celia. Your mama, darlin’. It was the most amazing thing.” Speaking of waking the dead. “You mean you went to the cemetery?” A man coming out of the wine shop scowled at me for allowing my life to spill out into such a public place. I ignored him. He wasn’t even local. “You went out to her grave?” “Lord, no, child,” Grandma Raine laughed. “Although I do need to get out there and clean things up. I bet that storm we had last week blew leaves and twigs all over the headstone. It must look a sight by now.”

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“Grandma Raine? Where did you see Mama?” I held the phone tight to my ear so that I wouldn’t misunderstand what she said. “Here, sweetheart,” she said. “I saw her here at the house.” “Are you feeling all right?” I asked. “I’m fine,” she said. “You and Conner have got to stop worrying so much.” With thoughts of my mother looming large, I felt suddenly small again, as small as I was on the day she died. But I wasn’t a little girl anymore. I was an adult, and I needed to reach Conner, get him to check on his great-grandmother. “There was a time before that I thought Celia was here—the day with all that noise and the awful explosion.” Raine’s tone went uncertain. “It seemed like she was for awhile, and then she wasn’t. But this time, I’m sure.” “Grandma Raine,” I said, panic rising, “is someone with you? Where’s Conner?” “Hold on. I hear somebody,” she said, her voice going faint as if she’d moved her mouth far away from the receiver. “Maybe those NASA fellows. They’re still coming around right regular, looking for pieces of that thing. Wait a second, hon.” She was silent on the other end. I could hear someone off in the background calling out. “Raine? Where are you? Are you at home?” “I’m out in the backyard. This phone you bought me will let me walk all around outside and talk.” She stopped. Again, I could still hear some kind of yelling. Maybe she had the television on full volume in the house. “What’s going on?” I asked. “I’ve got to go, Hollyanne,” she said. Her voice shifted to an urgent tone, the singsong quality replaced by a sense of purpose. “Something’s going on out back. I’ll talk to you again later.” “Grandma Raine . . .” The line clicked as she ended the call. I dialed her number, but got only a continuous ring. I waited for the

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answering machine I’d sent her for Christmas to come on, but it didn’t. She must have turned it off. It didn’t matter. She was wandering around the yard anyway. “Dammit, Raine. What’s going on with you?” I pushed speed-dial for Conner’s cell phone, but his voicemail came on after a few rings. I looked at the time, realized he’d probably be at work, but if I could reach him, he could run home and check on her for me—let me know everything was okay. I needed to get out of the sun. The bright day bathed the odd conversation in exaggerated discomfort. I walked back across the street to the diner, trying to decide who else I could call to check on Raine. Maybe a neighbor. Dragging someone over from town seemed like an overreaction. I decided that with a cup of coffee and a little something in my stomach, I could think. The diner smelled of pancakes and stewed meat. The proximity of ample food hit me like a blessing. I wasn’t really hungry, but the act of meal preparation struck me as something normal and known. I used the moment to calm myself as I moved toward a booth and sat down. I tried to picture my grandmother—to divine through all the images filed away in memory what might be going on with her at that very moment. Raine. Pronounced, but not spelled, like water from the clouds. People who have only known her a short time think that’s her first name, the one she was given. But she was born Dorothea Dotson—was never Raine until she married. I thought of my resilient grandmother, widowed early in her fifties. When Lawrence Raine died so young, she became both of them, in a way. So I guess she didn’t mind when people took his last name as her proper one. It made sense, given the way she’d loved him. Now the only time she used Dorothea was to sign her checks. “Whoa.” Lou, the owner of the diner, startled me. “I think I need a passport to read that mind of yours.” An aging man who

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limped from an old war wound, Lou still had the spirit of a teenage boy. “Sorry?” I smiled. “A weird phone call from Texas.” “Your son again?” he asked. “The one who left school?” I didn’t recall having a conversation with Lou about Conner. “Janey, over at the dry cleaners mentioned you was having a rough time with your boy,” he said by way of explanation. “I don’t mean to pry.” “It’s okay, Lou,” I told him. “Conner’s big adventure isn’t a secret. But that’s not the problem, for a change. My grandmother just called me. She didn’t sound like herself.” “Well,” Lou said, “she’s giving you something other than the kid to worry about, right? Small favors, eh?” Lou was right. Conner’s defection from academic life had certainly taken a backseat. “I wish I knew what the hell is going on. She’s eighty-eight. I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised that she seems to be slipping a little.” I’d been telling myself that the news reports about the space program’s disaster had stirred up old business for Grandma Raine. I hoped that was it. “It’s hard,” he said. “Getting old.” Lou scratched absently at his temple, leaving his thin, gray hair askew. “My memory isn’t what it used to be.” “It’s not her memory I’m worried about at the moment,” I said. “She’s seeing things, people, that aren’t really there.” Even as I said it, I thought of my own visions of my mother, occurring years before. In the decades since, I had learned to dismiss the episodes as products of a distraught state of mind. “I’m worried about her being all alone at her house.” “Ah,” he said, nodding. “That’s a tough one. I’ve got a cousin, a real academic type. He did a study on the aging mind. Had this theory that as we let go of reality, we tap back into other, more

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primitive parts of our brain. It allows us to reconnect to things we felt and understood as children—things that our sophisticated, adult minds can’t handle. So this intuitive part of the brain gets smarter, while the rest of it basically goes to hell.” “Really?” I felt the hairs on my neck prickle. “Did anyone ever follow up on his work?” “No,” he smiled broadly. “Everybody thought he was a whack job, including me. And I loved the guy. I mean, if I was religious, I might even think he was right. Maybe that’s part of the Big Plan and all.” He straightened the empty chair at my table as if someone might be joining me. “But I’m not a religious man, so . . .” “You think he was a whack job.” “Exactly. So what can I get for you?” “Just coffee, I think.” “Can do,” he said. “Nothing else?” “Not just yet,” I told him. “I want to settle my nerves first and figure out who I can call.” He smiled, headed off toward the counter. A moment later, he was back with a steaming cup. The mug, a thick ceramic diner variety, felt hefty in my hands. He stood at my table, unconcerned with other customers. But as I looked around, the few late morning stragglers still sitting at their tables looked content enough. “Your son,” Lou said. “Janey tells me he’s down there, where your grandmother lives.” “Yeah,” I said. “I’ve tried to reach him, but I only get voicemail.” “Is anybody else around who might be able to help out with her?” he asked. “I don’t know too many people there anymore,” I said. I hadn’t thought about it before, but it was true. My physical ties to Thaxton had dwindled down to almost no one. “I don’t even know if anything is really wrong. I have a stepmother who’s in town. If I

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can’t reach Conner, I’ll have her ride over. My half-sister moved to San Antonio a couple of years ago, so she can’t really get there.” I thought of Tina as my sister. A whole person. Calling her my halfsister implied something unfinished, and she was entirely complete to me. “You should call her and let her know,” he said. “It’s her grandmother, too. Right?” “No,” I told him, wishing it could be that simple. “She’s not related to my grandmother at all.”Lou’s expression spoke to the confusion of the situation, but he was nice enough not to press with more questions. “So your son, I guess he’s all grown?” He pulled out the empty chair across from me and sat down. “I forget how old you said he is.” “Not really grown. Well, I guess he is, sort of . . .” Was he grown? I never thought of him that way, but maybe that was my problem, not his. “He’s twenty. Still seems young to me.” “I’ve got a granddaughter about that age,” he said. A couple walked in, seated themselves. Lou waved and nodded, but made no move to get up. “We should get ’em together. She could use a little nudge in the right direction when it comes to boys. Terrible taste, that one. Two years at that Sarah Lawrence College has already ruined her for normal boys. She only has eyes for the hippies. Don’t know what they’re teaching her, but she can’t look at a fella who don’t have holes in his clothes. Holes in his ears, for that matter. Your boy’s not a hippie, is he?” “No, he’s not a hippie.” I couldn’t help but smile. “Think about it,” he said. “My granddaughter’s a looker. Might give him a good reason to come back from Texas, eh?” He raised his eyebrows and nodded as if we’d hatched the plan together. Janey at the drycleaners clearly hadn’t spilled the entire story about Conner. That he hadn’t gone to Texas alone. Lou might not be so keen on a granddaughter/Conner fix-up if he heard it all. My

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brilliant son, college dropout, now living with Kilian in a trailer on Raine’s back property, trying to save enough money to afford . . . what? Maybe a bigger trailer? “Well, I should help out those people,” he said, nodding toward the newly arrived couple. “Sure you don’t want some food? You look a little pale.” “I’m fine,” I told him. He headed off toward the other customers. I broke down and tried the number for Georgia, my stepmother. She was heinous, but at least she was local. And if Raine was in trouble, I couldn’t take any chances. Georgia’s machine kicked on and I left a message. Maybe I would try Tina. She’d been in San Antonio for a few years, but she still knew the ins and outs of life in Thaxton—might still have friends around who wouldn’t mind stopping by Raine’s house. I sipped my coffee, listened to the comforting sound of Lou’s conversation with the new customers. I thought again about Raine, about her absolute certainty that she’d spoken with my mother. Years before, I’d had my own hallucinations of my mother. At the time, I’d been in the process of losing a child, and in the middle of my hysteria, my mother seemed to be there. With an unsteady hand, I lifted the mug, wondered if Lou’s whacked-out uncle could have been right—if, indeed, a loss of sharpness in one part of our brain could call into action other abilities of intuition and connection that become lost to us in our normal lives? I realized that if I kept thinking those kinds of thoughts, I really would lose my mind. Having come up with no real solution to my dilemma over Raine, I settled on doing what still came most naturally, even three years after our divorce: I would call my exhusband. Harrison, with his head full of science, could at the very least be rational.

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Before I sent half the town over to check on Raine, I wanted advice. The commotion in her yard might have been nothing more than a stray dog getting into her flowerbeds. Fairy tales about my mother aside, she’d been in a good mood. Still, the phone call nagged at me. As my cell phone connected me with Harrison’s office, I left money on the table for Lou and walked back outside. “Hello.” Harrison picked up on the second ring, and the relief I felt at hearing his voice told me more than I wanted to know about how skittish Raine’s call had left me. “Do you have a minute?” I asked. “Sure. What’s up?” The day righted itself ever so slightly as I launched into the odd narrative of my morning.

Conner

Conner couldn’t find his cell phone. “Hang on!” he shouted. Kilian’s head was thrown back, her spine arched and rigid. Her effort to breathe was huge, but even so, it seemed only tiny bits of air moved through to her lungs. “Jesus Christ! Where’s my cell? It was ringing a second ago!” He rummaged under newspapers and take-out brochures, knocking everything in sight to the floor of the trailer in hopes of finding the small silver phone. “Conn . . . Conn . . . er . . .” she managed before going into another terrible fit of coughing spasms and throwing up that allowed her no breath at all. She hadn’t felt well for a while, but the seizing coughs and desperate fight for air that had taken hold of her left Conner terrified. She had some kind of inhaler that was supposed to help, but it wasn’t doing anything. Jesus! Scanning the room, he saw the phone wedged between the cushion and the arm of a small sofa chair Gran had given them. He ran over and grabbed it, tried to press the buttons, but his fingers wouldn’t work for shit, and he couldn’t tell if he’d put in the numbers right. He struggled in the dingy daylight of the trailer to see on the screen what he’d dialed when Kilian slipped off the couch onto the floor, coughing still and unable to hold her body upright. “Kilian!” he yelled and ran to her. “Oh, Jesus!” He was scared to

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touch her, afraid he’d do the wrong thing and she’d be gone. “Sit her up so she can get some air.” Gran was suddenly there, sharper than he’d ever seen her. Conner didn’t know how she’d known to come, but he felt profoundly relieved to no longer be alone. A small sound came from his cell phone on the floor beside him. He must have connected with 911. As he struggled to get Kilian upright, his great-grandmother picked up the phone and started talking. “My name’s Dorothea Raine,” she said. “We’ve got a young girl, about twenty, I suppose. She’s having trouble breathing. You need to get here quick.” There was a pause, and she continued. “Just off Shady Creek, about three miles from the highway,” she told 911. “You’ll get to a red silo. Turn left and you’ll see my house on the right, half mile or so down that road. We’re in the trailer out back.” Another pause. “Yessir. It’s a brick ranch you’re looking for.” Kilian had gone very pale, almost silvery blue. But she was using the inhaler again and seemed to be breathing better. Maybe knowing the call had been made calmed her. Conner tried to remember the brochures she’d shown him, all the literature on what to do if this happened. But his mind seemed so blank. God, how long would it take them to get there? “Settle down, son.” Gran sat on the couch just above the two of them, put her hand on his shoulder. He cradled Kilian, making sure her head was propped up with her airway open. She needed every slight bit of breath she could draw. They sat quietly for a time, he didn’t know how long. Kilian was breathing; that was all he cared about. “She’s going to be just fine,” Gran told him, as if in response to something he’d said. Her face was gentle. The lucid focus of her phone conversation with 911 seemed to melt, but she’d come through for him when he couldn’t manage to function. In those few moments, he’d seen the strong woman his mom remembered

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so clearly. “You just stay calm.” She patted his shoulder as he held firm to Kilian. “She’ll be fine,” she said again. “I hope you’re right,” he said, his eyes on Kilian’s neck and chest, willing the air, however slight, to continue going in and out. It seemed like years before finally, in the distance, he heard sirens. His legs, his arms, all felt like Play-Doh. “Thanks for coming in,” he said, suddenly overcome with the need to express his gratitude to the old woman. He was near euphoria that Kilian would get help very soon. “I was starting to lose it.” His great-grandmother nodded and smiled as she straightened the pillow on the couch and waited for the ambulance to arrive.

Holli

“She said she saw your mother?” Harrison leaned back in his chair, squinted his eyes as if the explanation for my grandmother’s revelation could be reasoned out in an equation. “Apparently, they had a talk. Raine thinks she’s seen her more than once, I guess. There was some kind of disturbance, and she ran off before I could get any better explanation from her.” After leaving the diner, I’d gone to the bus stop and taken the express into the city. Harrison had told me to meet him at his office, a closet-sized room on campus at Columbia. Regardless of the divorce, he acted as if I had every right to show up at his door with my problems. The kindness of it nearly brought me to tears. “And what did your mom do when she . . . appeared?” he asked. “I don’t know.” I felt crazy even talking about it. “She was just there . . . talking, I guess.” In all our years together, I’d never told Harrison about my own visions. Nearly two decades before, the day Challenger exploded—the day we lost the baby—I’d been sure I saw her there. But in time, I’d convinced myself that I imagined it. Raine’s phone call had me on edge. What was reality, anyway? Who, exactly, defined it? “Have you been able to reach anyone?” Harrison asked.

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“I tried to get Raine back on the phone, then I called Conner’s cell and got voicemail. I even broke down and left a message on Georgia’s machine. On the way here, I reached old Mr. Gray who lives just down the street. He said he heard sirens, but he’d been out in the back section of his property and didn’t know where they went.” “Did he check on her?” “Yeah,” I said. “After I pestered him to death. He wasn’t pleased, but I got him to go over there. He called me back after he saw her. He said she looked and sounded fine. Offered him iced tea.” “Well, at least her manners are intact. What’d she tell him?” “All she said was that something had happened out back a little earlier. He looked around and didn’t see anything wrong.” “But Conner lives out back.” Harrison followed my train of thought. “Holl, the man went over to her house. I’m sure Conner would have called us by now if there was a problem. And the old fellow would have seen something.” “I guess.” Harrison sat across the desk from me. His hair, still brown at forty-five, moved with the breeze coming through his open window. His eyes stayed focused on me, and I became the only person who mattered. It was the most endearing quality he possessed. The trouble was, all the competing realities inside his head—theoretical worlds of propulsion and trajectory—made that undivided attention an annual event. Part of me had thought the threat of divorce would clarify his mental priorities. I’d thought wrong. Harrison stood up. “Listen, I don’t have class until one. Let’s go get an early lunch.” “I’m fine, Harrison. You don’t have to baby-sit me. I needed to calm down a little, but I’m really okay now.” “Come on,” he said. “You’ve already made the trip into the city. It’ll do us both good to get out for a quick bite.”

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He was tall. I always forgot how tall until I’d been away from him for a while and then saw him again. I had to look up to see his face. At a time in life when most men had begun to thicken, he’d stayed thin, bordering on lanky. That one was easy to figure out. When he had a project going, he simply forgot to eat. All those years in Houston working for NASA and after, as a professor at Columbia, the life in his mind remained so compelling, it negated thoughts of simple, corporeal maintenance. He enjoyed food, sex, sleep . . . But it rarely occurred to him that he needed them. I used to wish I could travel inside his thoughts—just once. Share that with him. It would have been our most intimate moment. “Just a quick bite,” I told him. “Then I’ll head back home. I’ve got some work to finish today.” The last part was a lie. I knew I’d never be able to concentrate on work. Outside of the cool, stone building, the spring day threatened to turn hot. I thought of the crisp morning. The early promise. Suddenly everything seemed overripe and very nearly spoiled. Ollie’s buzzed with the Upper West Side mix of Columbia students and successful creative types, people who seemed to have money but no particular job to worry about. We’d just beaten the lunch crowd, scored a coveted spot near the back, away from the door. I looked across the table where Harrison sat and patiently waited for me to say something. I felt lost. “So how’s . . .” I stopped, ran mental images of the women Harrison had been with in the three years we’d been divorced, trying to come up with a current name. Nothing. I was grateful when the waiter came and took our drink orders. After the waiter left, I tried again to inquire about his latest friend. “I’m sorry, I was asking about . . . Laura?” “Karen.” “Right. How’s Karen?” I wasn’t sure I’d met that one.

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“Gone.” His voice had a resigned quality, something far short of regret. I nodded, fiddled with the sugar packets. No explanation was needed, really. Women in Harrison’s life came and went without much drama. For someone so basically self-contained, Harrison hated to be alone for any length of time. Since our divorce, he hadn’t gone after women exactly, but he’d allowed them to come to him for as long as they would stay. The women were mostly younger, research assistants or former grad students who felt the urge to protect him, care for him, make him dinner and nurture his genius. I understood. It was gratifying for a while, this care and feeding of cosmic thought. I did it for seventeen years. Through his years working for NASA, and for over a decade after he took the job at Columbia. He was always appreciative, always kind. But the warm satisfaction of feeling needed only lasted until you actually required something of him at a time when it conflicted with something more distracting at work. As the years went on, I found that I needed a real partner. Someone who could get free to meet with Conner’s counselor at school when I was stuck. Someone who could remember to put the electric bill in the mail when I was out of town. The satisfaction of fostering brilliant thought could not stand up to the frustration as, time and again, Harrison failed to live up to minimal expectations. All his girlfriends figured this out eventually, but he seemed to stay on good terms with them after they left. “How about you?” he asked. “What about me?” The waiter brought my tea and Harrison’s Corona, then took our lunch requests. I’d long ago given up on worrying about Harrison’s drinking habits. He rarely overindulged, simply ordered what he wanted regardless of the time of day. “Other than the weirdness this morning,” he continued after the

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waiter left, “how are you holding up in general? Are things okay with work?” “Yeah, work’s good,” I said, which was kind of a lie. I was coming to the end of one project—an arts council publicity package for a town in upstate New York—and nothing new would begin until fall. But I didn’t want to complain about money. He’d feel obligated to kick in more than he already sent every month, and I didn’t want that. “I’m still worried about Conner.” I changed the subject. “But there’s not much I can do. He’s down there fixing TVs. Who the hell gets their television fixed anymore? Doesn’t Wal-Mart practically give them away?” “Small towns are different,” Harrison reminded me. “People don’t see everything as disposable. And Conner sells TVs too.” I looked over at him, tried to decide if the disposable comment represented some sort of coded reference to our marriage. But that wasn’t Harrison’s style, and I knew it. He had his faults, but veiled sarcasm wasn’t among them. “Well, I keep trying to reassure Brown that he’s just taking a semester off,” I said. “He tells me he’s not going back.” Harrison took a long draw of his beer, drinking from the bottle while the frosted glass sat sweating on the table. “And I don’t think he is.” We’d both flown down, on separate occasions, after Conner got to Texas. At that point, I figured he’d be back at school by summer, making up the courses he’d missed. “I just don’t want him to close up his options,” I said. “But I’m trying not to badger him every time we talk.” “For the short-term, at least, I think he’s doing what he wants to. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I don’t agree with his decisions. Not all of them. But we can’t force him to see it our way. Not at the moment, anyway.” “I wonder what made them decide to do it,” I said. “To just up and leave like that.”

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“When you’re twenty, changing your life isn’t such a big deal. We forget that, I think.” “If he doesn’t go back, don’t you think that in five years, ten years, he might be frustrated with his lack of opportunities?” I couldn’t imagine Conner in Thaxton for the rest of his life. Maybe that part was more my problem than my son’s. “He’s got to sort it out on his own time, Holl. You can’t tell him not to be in love, not to make decisions based on that. If we’d made decisions based on anything practical, Conner wouldn’t have been born.” “I know, but you can’t compare our unplanned pregnancy to his decision to chuck everything to sell televisions and be a mechanic.” “An electronics repairman,” he corrected me. “And that girl . . .” I ignored him. I was on a roll—and since when did Harrison get to be the reasonable parent? “She’s . . . I don’t know. There’s something about her that really bothers me.” In a few months time, Kilian Mays had gone from being a nice, rather outspoken girl, to a scheming manipulator—at least in my estimation. I was trying to amend that view, for Conner’s sake, even though I’d convinced myself that she was behind the entire exodus from college. “That’s the mom in you talking,” he said. “Try to be openminded about her. At the very least, he believes he’s in love with her. And he may well be.” “I guess you’re right. But I can’t get past the idea that he’s a sophomore in college, playing house in Texas with a girl who’s only a year ahead of him. They haven’t even been dating for a year. And what’s going on with that aunt of hers? It seems that she should have some say over what Kilian does. A legal guardian would have to have some control while the girl is still in college. Right?” “Conner left school, and we haven’t managed to get him back,” Harrison reminded me.

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“You’re right,” I said, realizing I’d set up a double standard for the two of them. “She has just as much right to fuck up her life as he does.” “Damn straight.” He smiled, lifted his beer. “They’re going to have to sort out their own answers.” He put his drink down and looked at his menu; took reading glasses out of his pocket and put them on. “They’re not asking for money, not yet anyway. Maybe when that happens, we can have more to say about it. We always told him, the minute he started supporting himself, he got to make his own decisions. We’re going to have to let that stand, I’m afraid.” He scanned his lunch choices as he spoke. The glasses made him look more vulnerable somehow. When had he begun having trouble with small print? I felt the loss of him again in that small moment. “Besides,” he said, “you started your career after staying home with Conner for ten years. He’ll change if he gets unhappy.” “I guess,” I said, realizing how circular the conversation was becoming. “My nerves are too raw from this morning to make sense of anything.” Harrison laid his hand on my arm. His skin felt warm as he pressed lightly against the bones of my wrist. When he slid his fingers down the inside of my wrist, I felt quicksand in my belly. Desire that both surprised me and seemed familiar all at once. If he’d done it on purpose—hell, if he even knew what he’d done—he didn’t let on. I pulled my hand back, hoping he hadn’t caught the acceleration of my pulse. My life was too complicated to begin fooling around with my ex-husband. “Whatever mistakes we’ve made as parents,” he was saying, “Conner’s a good kid. It’s time to let go—at least a little.” I wanted to let go. Part of me wanted to be free of every thought with the exception of what I might eat for lunch. But with the uncertainty surrounding Conner and the disturbing fact of Raine’s

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imaginings, letting go seemed like a distant option. I felt relieved when the waiter arrived to take our orders. “I hate to say it,” I said after the interruption, “but part of me is glad Conner is so close to Grandma Raine at the moment.” Conner and Kilian had stayed with Georgia at first. They’d landed on her doorstep, thinking, I supposed, that she might be more open to their decision to run off together than Grandma Raine. When Georgia’s house—my old childhood home—had proven too small for anyone’s comfort, Grandma Raine had surprised everyone and offered Conner and Kilian the trailer on her property. She didn’t seem as bothered by their cohabitation as I imagined she’d be. I’d thought of her as keeping an eye on my son. Seemed it had become the other way around. “I know it’s hard on you,” Harrison said. “Have you looked into homes where she could go?” “I’ve looked around. But I feel like I’ve betrayed her every time I even make a phone call. She’d go downhill even faster in a home. I’ve thought of bringing her here, but she’d be frustrated as hell living at my place.” “If she can’t stay at home by herself, you’ll have to work out something,” he said. “It’s not your fault. That’s just the way it is. Maybe someone could move into her place with her.” “She’d hate to have a stranger underfoot. She won’t even let me hire a cleaning lady for her. She says it gets on her nerves. I’m at the end of the road with ideas.” “I wish I had something better to suggest. She’s a terrific old lady.” My grandmother loved Harrison. From her old-school perspective, his inability to stay reliable in the business of day-to-day life was consistent with being a man. And, in keeping with her oldtime Baptist reality, divorce hadn’t made us any less married. She

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still considered Harrison to be my husband and treated him accordingly. Harrison’s cell phone rang. He looked at the number. “A Texas area code,” he said, and answered the call. He got up from the table and walked just outside the restaurant to talk. I watched him pacing, saying something here and there, and I fought the urge to go outside and listen to his side of the conversation. After a few minutes he came back in, shaking his head. “What?” I asked. “Who was it?” “The plot thickens,” he said. “That was Georgia.” “My dad’s Georgia?” I asked. “Stepmother. Homewrecker. Nemesis. The very one.” “Why’d she call you? I’m the one who left a message for her.” I couldn’t imagine how she’d even gotten his number. “She said you called, but apparently, I’m more reasonable than you are,” he deadpanned. “Okay.” I let the insult go. I’d hurled worse at my stepmother, both behind her back and to her face. Besides, she and Harrison had always gotten along fine. It annoyed me to no end when we were married. “What’d she want?” “That’s the thing,” he said. “Nothing really. She kept saying that we need to call Conner. She didn’t want to speak for him. I think that’s the way she put it. But she sounded as if something had happened.” I thought of Raine, her hasty exodus from our phone call. “Why wouldn’t Conner call us if something had happened?” I’d yet to reach anyone in Thaxton except the reluctant neighbor who’d had an impromptu tea party with Raine. “I’m just the messenger,” he told me. “You saw. The conversation lasted all of about two minutes. She made some excuse and got off the phone. Damndest thing. I didn’t get anything clear out of her.”

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Usually, I had trouble taking Georgia seriously, but given the strange events of the day, I was getting more concerned. “I don’t imagine it’s anything too terrible,” I tried to calm myself. “I mean, if he’d electrocuted himself at that TV shop or something worse, she would have told you, right?” “One would hope.” Harrison sounded as perplexed as I felt. “I’ve got to go down there and sort out what’s going on,” I told him. “This thing with Raine will be a good excuse to see Conner without looking like I’m nosing into his business.” “You want me to go with you?” He said it casually, as if it was an offer I might have expected. I stared at him, unable to even fashion a response. “Holli?” he prompted, fiddling with his chopsticks. Jesus, was he serious? I thought of his fingers touching my wrist and felt my face flush warm. “I hadn’t thought of it,” I managed. “Do you want to?” “I’ll have to see if I can clear my schedule, get a couple of classes covered, but yeah, I’d like to see what’s going on with Conner. And I’d like to help with Raine, if I can.” “She might listen to you,” I said. I looked at Harrison, tried to gauge the tone of his offer. “I’d like for you to be there, if you can get away.” “I’ll see how fast I can get myself covered at work.” We ate our lunches, with little talk left to interrupt the meal. That seemed okay. It struck me that I’d learned something new in the months I’d spent tucked away in my little village home. Being quiet with someone was remarkably different from being quiet alone. Later, on the bus, I dialed Tina. “Hey, you,” she answered. “What’s up?” “It’s been a bizarre day,” I said. “You have time to talk?” I kept my voice low, trying to avoid disturbing people around me.

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“I’m all yours,” she said. I heard her settling down in some kind of chair. A clink assured me that she had her ever-present mug of coffee attached to her hand. “Shoot.” I told her about the morning, about every paranoid, what-if fear I could conjure to explain the situation. As crazy as I sounded, my sister would never judge me. She’d lived with Georgia, which meant she’d seen crazy from the fifty-yard line. None of my pathology came close. And in spite of Georgia’s best efforts, Tina and I had become real sisters. Which meant that no conversation was out of bounds. “I hear you,” she said, “but you have to remember that Raine’s tough. I think she’ll be okay.” “She’s getting old,” I said. It broke my heart to say it—to really believe it. “You say the word,” Tina told me, “and I’ll get in the car. You know that. I can be there in less than four hours.” “What about work?” I asked. “Not a problem,” she said. “The cowboys can make do for a couple of days.” I’d forgotten she’d taken a new job, setting up activities at a dude ranch. Last time I talked with her, she complained that the horse feed was worth more than her weekly paycheck. “How’s that job working out?” I asked. “Do you need money?” “I’m fine,” she said. “For a change, we’re talking about your problems.” “You can always ask . . .” “I know what to do if my bank account bottoms out,” she cut me off. “You’ve bailed me out before. I know the drill.” “Okay. Enough said. I’ll call you when I hear something from Conner or Raine. If I come to Thaxton . . .” “My tires will hit the highway the second you call.” I fell asleep halfway through the ride—woke up just barely in time to make my stop. I was glad to have passed the time asleep,

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instead of worrying. Work was shot for the day, I knew. After I got off the bus, I dialed my son again and hung up when voicemail kicked in. My cell phone was becoming far too great a focus of my life. I felt an overwhelming need to set foot in Texas. Walking along the quiet sidewalk toward home, I felt contracted somehow—unable to expand my torso and rise up to my full height. All my problems had become twisted together. Even though it was midafternoon, I decided a glass of wine would begin to unknot the tangle. Trouble was, if I succeeded in unraveling my nerves, what would be left? I had the awful feeling that, at some point, I had become the tangle, and without it, I might cease to exist.

Conner

Kilian looked small in the hospital bed. Conner had been with her all day. Most of that time he spent watching her breathe. He felt a slight panic when she seemed to be still for too long. The pause between her breaths felt endless to him. He’d been scared at first, listening to the deep rumble of sound moving through her chest, but eventually, the low noises that accompanied her breathing had become a comfort. A confirmation of life. She’d told him that this kind of thing happened sometimes. Told him what to do if it did. None of the advice had prepared him for the terror he felt during Kilian’s attack. She could have died waiting for him to get his ass in gear. Fortunately, Gran had been out in the yard. She heard him calling out to Kilian, trying to get her to respond. It still amazed him that his great-grandmother had taken command of the crisis the way she did, explaining things to the emergency operator and, to his astonishment, giving perfect directions. By the time the paramedics got there, she’d become rattled at all the commotion, but when he’d needed her . . . damn. It was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. The door opened and a doctor, one he hadn’t seen before, came into the room.

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“I’m Dr. Daniels,” she said, keeping her voice low so that she didn’t wake Kilian. Conner liked that about her. Most of them didn’t seem to care. “I’m Conner Templeton,” he told her. “Her boyfriend.” Boyfriend. Sounded like they went to the movies twice a week. The doctor picked up Kilian’s chart, and scanned through it. She looked thirty-five or so, but her demeanor was of someone much older. He tried to read the woman’s ID, but it was flipped over. “Are you another pediatrician?” he asked. Kilian had been diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis as a kid, and pediatric pulmonary specialists had been on the front lines with her for as long as she could remember, she’d told him. “No, I’m an adult specialist,” she said. “I’ve been called in to consult.” “Is something else wrong?” It seemed weird that they would bring in another doctor after the worst of her problems had passed. “We’re just checking a few things,” she said. “I saw her earlier. You’d gone down to get some coffee, I think. I’ll talk with her more when she wakes up.” An adult specialist. He wondered what that meant for Kilian. Maybe they’d figured out what he already knew—that Kilian wasn’t a kid anymore. Neither was he. “I’ll come back before I’m done in this neck of the woods. How’s it going with her breathing? Has the physical therapist been in?” He nodded, thinking of how upsetting it was to watch the small woman beating on Kilian’s back as if it were a set of bongos. Kilian assured him she was used to it. She had a disturbing contraption— some vest apparatus—at the trailer that she used for the same purpose. “She was here about an hour ago.” “Good.” Dr. Daniels closed up the chart, put it back in the slot on the door. “Tell her I’ll see her later.” She walked out, leaving Conner with an odd sense of being dismissed.

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He wished he had someone to talk to about everything—other than Kilian. He thought of breaking down and calling Jenson, his best friend back at school. But Conner had left school without even telling the guy he was going. Without telling anyone. He’d changed his phone number, convinced Kilian they needed a clean break from everyone they’d left behind. It had been the only way to make sure she didn’t hear about everything. About what he’d done. He wondered what that girl at school had said about him . . . It didn’t matter any more. He wondered if Jenson would even take a call from him at this point. Thinking about getting in touch with any of his old friends from campus brought back so many things he wished he could change. When it came to that awful night, the blank spots bothered him more than the stuff he remembered. He had to stop going over it. He couldn’t change anything. Nothing could go back to the way it was before. He knew he should call his parents back, but then he’d have to explain about Kilian, and he wasn’t ready for that conversation. He hated lying to them, even by omission, but he wanted to get Kilian home and better, explain it to them when everything was okay. Then again, he wasn’t sure what okay was anymore. Keeping everything from his parents was beginning to wear on him, and with all the stuff he was finding out about Kilian’s insurance, he felt more overwhelmed every second. He hadn’t told Kilian what her aunt had just discovered. Seemed he was keeping secrets from everybody. After the morning’s attack, Raine knew about Kilian’s condition, but he’d asked her to let him break it to his parents. The same with Georgia. His step-grandmother (Jesus, there were so many convoluted branches to his mother’s family tree) had been nagging him to come clean for a while. They’d stayed with her after first

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coming to Thaxton, and there’d been no way to hide the vest and all the medicines Kilian used to keep herself healthy. So far, Georgia had agreed to let him tell his folks in his own time, but with the latest crisis, he didn’t know how long she could keep herself quiet. Then again, Georgia and his mom talked as little as possible. That much was in his favor. Thoughts ran through his mind like crazy, and he didn’t know how to make them slow down. For the first time since he’d left school in January, Conner began to wonder if he’d screwed things up worse by coming to Texas. At the time, getting the hell out seemed to be the best—the only—option. Jesus, Conner, just think. He didn’t know what the hospital bills would come to, but after talking with Kilian’s aunt Maureen, he’d realized they were in real trouble. Maureen had put a call in to insurance after Conner had told her Kilian was in the hospital. They’d called her back and told her that since Killian was no longer enrolled as a student, she wasn’t covered. “Hey, cowboy.” Kilian’s voice was weak, broken-sounding. But her color had improved. “Hey,” he said, forced a smile. “You missed all the excitement. They brought in a food tray with green Jell-O.” “Did it have little squares of pear inside?” Her eyes were closing again and her words were slightly slurred, but she managed a smile. “Pineapple,” he said. “Damn. You should have gotten my lazy ass up for that.” She was dozing again, still weak from the ordeal. They said she needed to move around more to keep her lungs improving. He was supposed to help her with the nebulizer they brought in, but he didn’t want to force her to stay awake. “I know this is just really fucking weird for you, Conn.” Her eyes were open and she was watching him. “I don’t blame you if you want to bail.”

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He shook his head, leaned in, and rested his elbows on the side of the bed. “I don’t want to bail. I just want to feel like I know what I’m doing. We’ve gone through some strange shit since we came here.” “This doesn’t happen all the time,” she said. “I’ve been getting worse and ignoring it for a while. I’ll be out of here soon, and I’ll take better care of myself. I promise.” “Don’t worry about anything right now.” He felt less anxious when she was awake. The panic began to ebb away. “A doctor came in just a minute ago. Someone I haven’t seen before. Dr. Daniels.” Kilian remained quiet. “Have you met her?” he pressed. “Yeah,” she said, shrugging, “I think so. They all look the same after a while. Did you ever get through to my aunt?” she asked, clearly changing the subject. He thought it was strange that she always called her my aunt. Never Maureen. Kilian’s parents had died on a rafting trip gone wrong. Her mother’s sister had been her legal guardian ever since. “Has she gotten the insurance stuff transferred to the hospital here?” “She’s looking into it,” he told her, trying to sound unconcerned. He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with her as he spoke. “She said she wished she could fly out, but work is busy right now.” “Yeah, right,” she said. “There’s a bookkeeping emergency at the building supply company. You’re such a liar.” He thought about the insurance. He was better at keeping things from her than she knew. “You’re right. She didn’t mention coming out.” He picked up a cold cup of coffee he’d been nursing. Took a sip and immediately regretted it. “But screw her.” He tossed the cup in the trash. “You’ve got me.” He forced a grin. Kilian smiled. A genuine, feeling-better smile. He let himself

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relax a little. Thank God she didn’t know the real extent of their problems. She couldn’t handle any more stress at the moment. She pulled herself up a little, pressed the button on the bed so that it put her in a sitting position. Then she nodded to the plastic tube apparatus that registered the strength of her breathing, helped her to get more air into her lungs. Conner helped her with the gurgling apparatus that delivered inhaled medicine. She sucked puffs of vapor into her lungs, closer her eyes and expelled the mist, then leaned in to try again. “This is fun, huh?” She managed a weak smile. “It sucks—literally.” “You’ve got to do it,” he said. He wanted to pick her up. She was small enough that he could carry her easily. He wanted to take her someplace safe and cover her with his whole body so that nothing could get to her. But there was no safe place to go. The danger was inside her and she carried it wherever she went. “I want some barbeque. Ribs with a lot of sauce, from that place we went to the other night. Think they’ll let me have that?” “Fuck’em,” he said. “I’ll sneak it in.” He’d try to get anything she wanted. They’d only been together since September, but he’d fallen hard—so hard it scared the crap out of him sometimes. But he couldn’t imagine being without her. Trouble was, he’d have to imagine it sooner or later. Twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five . . . No one could predict how long someone with CF would have. For almost anyone with the condition, forties were old age. “I love you, cowboy,” she said, her voice as small as she looked. “Right back at you,” he told her, then raised the plastic contraption again.

Hollyanne

Mama had made a Jell-O mold with a can of fruit cocktail mixed inside. It was in the shape of a star, the closest thing to the moon she could find. People were coming for dessert after dinner, so I helped her with the dishes and then started getting out little plates. It was Daddy’s idea to invite people over. With the baby nearly ready to come, Mama told Daddy that dessert was the best she could manage—moonwalk or no moonwalk. “This won’t happen every day, Celia. Seems we could feed people some dinner. I could grill.” He argued with her, but she stood her ground for a change. “Ray Fielding, I can’t stand up for more than twenty minutes at a stretch. My back’s been giving me fits ever since this baby shifted low. I feel like my insides are falling out. I just can’t feed that many people.” Finally, when tears streamed down her face and he took a good look at her oversized belly, he gave up. I was glad she said no. She usually gave in. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t thinkin’.” But he didn’t sound all that sorry. He sure didn’t sound happy. Grandma Raine, who lived a little farther out in the country, said she’d come early to help set up, so she was the first to get to our house. She came in carrying a pie in each hand.

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After she set the pies on the counter, she looked at Mama’s beach-ball stomach. “You’ve dropped some even since yesterday,” she said. “That baby’s not going to wait a month to come. You need to get off your feet.” “I hope you’re right,” Mama said, putting napkins out by the plates and making no effort to sit down. Grandma Raine gave up on fussing at Mama and got herself a cold drink out of the refrigerator. On the TV, they explained that the bug rocket would sit on its patch of moon dirt for a good while before anybody got out, so the astronauts were still holed up in that thing. “I think they’re scared to come out now,” Grandma Raine said. “Now that they’ve got all the way up there, they’re realizing just what they’ve gotten themselves into.” “Like I said, I hope you’re right about this baby coming early.” Mama knew where she was headed and changed the subject. “I can’t get comfortable sitting or standing. Laying down’s not much better. Have you had supper?” “Yea, I ate a little something before I left the house, but ya’ll go ahead.” “We ate early, too,” Mama told her. Daddy went to the refrigerator and got an RC Cola from the side compartment in the door. On the shelf, I saw trifle Mama had made—strawberries, whipped cream, blueberries— the layers of fruit bleeding into the white cream and angel food cake. The vision of sugary stripes stayed in my head, even after Daddy shut the refrigerator door. “Who all’s coming?” Grandma Raine asked, settling into a chair at the kitchen table. “Well, let’s see,” Mama said. “Kelly and Luke, of course, and the Hargraves, and Hanson Anderson may bring his sister, I think. Who else, Ray?” “The Murchisons and Georgia and Mitchell Lansing.”

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Kelly was my aunt, Daddy’s sister. She was married to Luke. The rest of the crowd was from church, mostly people from the Couples Sunday School class. Hanson Anderson went to our church, too, but he wasn’t married yet. Since he worked for Daddy at the TV shop, he got invited anyway. “At least you’ll be with God-fearing people if the heavens split wide open and swallow us up. Although there’s one or two in that group I could do without.” She looked over at Mama like she expected some kind of reaction, but Mama didn’t seem to notice. “Anyway, if it was up to me, this whole moon thing would end right here and now.” “Don’t start that talk,” Mama said. “None of us need to hear it again.” Mama sounded tired. Daddy just shook his head and left the room. Ever since they announced that a man would step out and walk around, Grandma Raine had gone on and on about how flying a spaceship up there was bad enough, but having the arrogance to get out of it was an insult to God. “All those spaceships going out of our world are like firing bullets up at the Almighty. And now this, on a Sunday no less.” “This is an educational experience for Hollyanne,” Mama had told her over and over. “Don’t you spoil it with all that nonsense.” Grandma Raine set her lips together like somebody had stitched them with a sewing machine, which meant she was mad at Mama. “How ’bout we play checkers, Grandma?” I asked when everything got quiet for a little too long. “Or you could help me with the puzzle I got going on the floor in the den?” Grandma Raine got up and picked up her soft drink. She motioned for me to follow as she headed for the den. I smiled up at Mama, feeling proud for getting Grandma Raine’s mind off the rocket talk. But Mama looked distracted, her mind traveling out as far as any spaceship might go. I stood for a second, hoping she

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would look over, but she didn’t. She stayed far away, even though her arm was close enough to touch, so I gave up and followed Grandma into the other room. I leaned over, looking hard for a piece of blue sky. My forehead touched the poofy part of Grandma Raine’s teased hair. It tickled and I could smell the hairspray. The rest of her smelled like Clove gum. Mama and Daddy had gone out to the garage to get the folding trays to set up for the guests. When they came back in, Mama looked at the puzzle spread out over the floor and said, “Hollyanne, you’re going to have to move that thing. People are coming any minute now. They’re going to be in here watching the TV.” “She’s right, Dairy Queen,” Daddy said, on his way back into the kitchen. “You got to get that puzzle away from the middle of the floor.” “But Daddy,” I argued, “you can’t move a half–put-together puzzle, and we won’t finish before they come.” “I’m sorry, sugar,” Mama said. “I’ve got more on my mind than a puzzle right now.” She was holding her stomach, making a face. I suddenly wished it was just us, the four of us, watching the astronauts. All the other people coming seemed to be making Mama tired and out of sorts. “Did you get vanilla ice cream for the pie?” Daddy called out from the kitchen. “I didn’t get ice cream,” Mama told him, “but I got Cool Whip.” “Goddammit, Celia!” Daddy’s voice went mean with no warning. I felt all my muscles go tight at the sound. I hated it when his mood turned like that. Everybody stopped. Grandma Raine held a puzzle piece poised above the space where it ought to go. I saw the puzzle piece and the space, wanted her to fit it in, pretend like she hadn’t heard Daddy swear.

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“I told you to get ice cream.” His voice scared me. Mama’s flat palm went still on a card table, where she’d been smoothing out a checkered vinyl tablecloth. Her face fired red, and she looked down, stared at the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, Ray,” she said, her voice low and small. “I just forgot.” “People don’t want Cool Whip. Shit! You ought to have more sense than that.” He slammed the door to the freezer and walked back out toward the driveway. A minute later, I heard his truck start up and I decided he must be going for ice cream. I felt like I should go to Mama, but then I thought I ought to leave her alone, too. Mama went back to smoothing the tablecloth. Maybe she hadn’t really noticed how mad Daddy sounded. “He’s just anxious,” Mama said, finally, without looking up. Her voice sounded quiet and wobbly. “He just wants things to be right tonight, because it’s such a rare occasion.” She picked up a short vase full of flowers she’d cut from the yard and put it in the middle of the card table. “His temper gets the best of him when he’s nervous. He thinks having people over will help business.” Grandma Raine’s face had lost its surprised expression—had gone as flat as a Tuesday afternoon. After a few seconds, she blinked her eyes and sat back on her heels. “I’ve got an idea,” she said. Mama stood up straight. She and Grandma Raine exchanged a look. They both knew what they were saying, even though there wasn’t a sound between them. But I didn’t know. I wasn’t part of that language yet. I hoped someday I’d be old enough to hear it, too. “I remember a trick with puzzles,” Grandma Raine went on. She went and got a whole page of the newspaper, spread it open next to the puzzle and started inching the put-together sections of the puzzle onto the newspaper. She kept it up, little by little, until all of the completed parts were on the paper.

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“Okay, Hollyanne,” she said. “Now, you take hold of that side, and I’ll get this one. You’ve got to pull it tight, or else the pieces are gonna slide off.” We moved the puzzle, foot by foot, toward the rear hall and the guest bedroom. I walked backwards holding the newspaper, and Grandma Raine told me what to look out for and when to turn. Once in the room, we set it on the floor. Then I went back to collect the remaining pieces, while Grandma Raine sat on the bed to rest her knees.

Holli

Hollyanne Fielding. A country singer marquee, if ever there was one. No one outside of Thaxton called me by that name. I wasn’t that person anymore, but I couldn’t remember when I had fully shed the identity. Had I fully shed the identity? At the age of fortytwo, I hadn’t felt like Hollyanne for over twenty years. By the time I settled down for life with Harrison, the transformation had occurred, leaving my former incarnation to exist briefly during visits to my hometown. Conner’s move to Thaxton had taken my present very much into my past, and after the day’s strange events, I couldn’t think of anything but the girl I had been in that place. In the absence of any ability to focus after I got home from lunch with Harrison, I began to clean. I gathered from my refrigerator the crusted-over deli containers of old kimchee beef and lemon couscous (food that would have perplexed Hollyanne) and threw the smelly cartons away. I’d lived in the house for a little over a year. When my dad died and his business was sold, I used my part of the money to get out of the city. It seemed an odd choice, even to me. For someone who spent a good part of life escaping one small town, I’d opted for another one.

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Still, I loved my home. It sat on a small hill above the village, surrounded by trees with a sliver of view. Looking at water and boats framed by long, arm-like boughs, my house could have been a thousand miles from New York. But it wasn’t, and that’s what I loved. I could be in the center of the city in less than thirty minutes. I closed my eyes, slid my bare feet over the polished wooden floors of my kitchen. The room reminded me of Raine’s house but with a spare sensibility that belonged only to me. Clean lines and smooth, granite surfaces with just the occasional bowl or picture frame. On such a canvas I knew I could reinvent myself. As much as I’d missed Conner and Harrison populating my days, I’d also begun to embrace the unexpected thrill of creating, for the first time, a life that was entirely mine. Conner’s decision to leave school had soundly interrupted this discovery, this new self. With Raine’s issues surfacing, everything had become even more complicated. The years that seemed to hold the most freedom for me were suddenly bound up in problems I couldn’t have imagined. Then I felt guilty, even thinking about what was lost in my world. What had happened to Raine’s free years? She’d spent them raising me. If she was in trouble, I needed to give her what she’d given me—the safety of family. On the counter, my cell phone vibrated, sounded like some agitated insect trapped between a window and a screen. Caller ID gave Conner’s number. “Hey,” I said, anticipating my son’s voice. “I’ve been trying to get you all day. Are you . . .” “Mrs. Templeton?” A girl interrupted me. Kilian, I guessed, although she sounded out of breath. “Hi. Kilian?” “Yeah, I’m sorry to bother you.” She sounded far away, and I struggled to hear her clearly. “Listen, Conner went out for a little bit, and I

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wanted to call and talk with you for a minute before he gets back.” “Is everything okay? Raine called this morning, and it sounded as if something had gone wrong.” I hoped I didn’t sound as suspicious as I felt. “Everything’s fine,” she said. “Your grandmother’s fine. Listen, Mr. Templeton left a message for Conner a little earlier today.” She paused. I heard a funny sound. “We’ve both left several messages,” I said. Again an odd noise, as if she’d swallowed something the wrong way. “So Conner and Raine are both okay?” I asked. “Yeah.” Her tone was full of somewhat forced cheer. “Like I said—fine. Anyway, Mr. Templeton’s message said that you two planned to come for a visit.” Harrison had no guile. It wouldn’t have occurred to him that I didn’t want to give Conner much notice. An added advantage of flying down unexpectedly to check on Grandma Raine was that I would get to see how Conner was doing. How he was really doing, not just the parts he wanted me to see. “And anyway,” she went on. “I was hoping you’d wait a few days before you came. Mr. Templeton said he wasn’t exactly sure when you were planning it, but you see, Conner’s been working really hard, fixing up our place.” She laughed, even though nothing seemed funny. “But the thing is, it would mean a lot to him to finish before you got here.” I didn’t know what to make of her request. “I haven’t confirmed my airline reservations yet, but I’m worried about Raine. Like I said, she called this morning and seemed confused about a lot of things. Then it sounded as if something had happened while she was on the phone. You’re sure everything’s okay?” After all my fretting, I couldn’t believe there was nothing—nothing to report, except Conner’s desire to spruce up the trailer before we arrived. “Is Raine sounding like herself?”

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“Most of the time. Once in awhile, she’ll go off a little, I guess, but it’s not bad, really. She’s pretty old. I think she does okay, considering.” I stopped short of expressing my irritation. Kilian was a kid. Of course Raine would seem ancient to her. At forty-two, I’d already traveled a good stretch of the distance between Killian’s age and my grandmother’s. I’d come too far and I loved Raine too much to write her off as just old. “How about you and Conner?” I asked again. “Harrison and I got the feeling that something might have happened.” I didn’t want to tell her about Georgia’s call. I hated being in collusion with my stepmother, but if she was our eyes and ears, I didn’t want them to shut down that source of information. “Things are cool with us,” she said. “Why’d you think something was wrong?” “We just got a feeling.” I skirted around a real answer. “When we had trouble reaching Conner.” “No worries,” she said, again sounding a little breathless. “But if you could give us just a few days, it’ll make Conner happy. He misses you guys, but he wants everything to be right before you see the place.” She knew the right strings to pull. I think that’s what scared me the most about her. “I guess we could wait a couple of days,” I said. “If you promise to call and give me updates every day on Raine.” “Sure thing.” “Tell Conner I’ll let him know when we have everything set, or better yet, have him call me. He’s got to do better with answering his phone.” “I know,” she said. “I get frustrated, too, when he forgets to call me back.” She laughed, as if we should bond over Conner’s endearing negligence. “I’ll tell him he needs to do better. And Mrs. Tem-

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pleton? I appreciate you giving us a couple of days to get things looking right.” “You should call me Holli,” I said, suddenly feeling like someone’s grandmother myself. “Holli,” she repeated. After we hung up, I had the strangest feeling I’d been moved around like some life-size chess piece. And when it came to my son, I figured I no longer represented the Queen.

Conner

“Thanks,” Conner said, putting the phone in the pocket of his jeans. “She wants you to check on your great-grandmother and call her back,” Kilian said, smiling. “But she said she’d give us a few days. That will buy enough time for me to get out of here.” “I should have called her,” he said, settling back in his chair. “But I couldn’t have pulled it off. She’d know something was up.” “You’re a terrible liar. And with your mom? You would have definitely cracked under the pressure. She said they had a gut feeling something was wrong, anyway. She’s worried about your great-grandmother too. You’ve got to talk to them soon, Conn.” “I know. Shit, I hate this. But, at first, you were fine, and there didn’t seem to be any reason to worry them. Then, once this happened . . . They’re coming here together, my folks. That’s just weird, anyway. But we can tell them face-to-face.” Cystic Fibrosis. He couldn’t bring himself to even say it. And he wasn’t sure what his parents, especially his mom, would do when everything was out about Kilian. Oddly enough, her condition had been one of the things that had brought him so close to her. He’d had a lot of attention from girls before he got to college. He knew they liked the way he looked.

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Girls in New York weren’t shy—and often they liked sex as much as guys. But he’d never found the right balance with anyone. Smart, strong girls wanted to control him. Weak girls became clingy and wanted too much from him in other ways. But Kilian . . . She was smart, and tough as shit. When she opened up and told him about her CF, he’d been overtaken by a feeling. Love. That had to be it. She needed him, even while she was throwing punches at the whole damn world. He found it irresistible. He’d never wanted anyone so much in his life. “I’m already feeling stronger,” she said. Now she was lying; he could tell. She eased back onto her pillow as if the phone call itself had exhausted her. “I’m lucky to have you.” She closed her eyes. He kissed her forehead. The salty taste of her skin had become so familiar. It stayed on his lips long after he’d watched her fall asleep—was still there when he slipped out of the hospital to make the half hour’s drive back to the trailer, alone.

Hollyanne

Aunt Kelly asked me if Mama felt okay and, even though the preacher said it was a sin to lie, I did it anyway. “She’s fine,” I said, which seemed almost like the truth. She was staring at the TV, getting all excited about watching the astronauts come out of the bug contraption and walk on the moon. She didn’t seem upset anymore about Daddy’s temper. “She’s just beside herself,” I said. That’s what Grandma Raine had said earlier and, while I didn’t know what it meant exactly, it seemed like the right thing to say. It made Aunt Kelly laugh when I repeated it. I didn’t tell her about Daddy’s voice going all mean and Mama looking so tired. Kelly was Daddy’s sister, and it made him even more mad when she started in on him, so I thought it was better to keep her off the subject. Besides, Daddy’s mean spells hadn’t happened too much lately. Especially since the baby had started to get big in Mama’s belly. “Look,” Mama said. “They’re showing something. Maybe they’re getting ready to come out.” She motioned with her hand, pulled the crowd around her. Everybody stood in front of the television, bending over close to the screen. “It looks like a big beach without an ocean, don’t you think?” she said.

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She called to mind somebody watching a parade, eyes big and always expecting the next thing to come. She’d been announcing false alarms all evening. “I can’t watch this,” Grandma Raine muttered like she was really pained at the sight. “When those poor men get the nerve to come out, no telling what’ll happen.” “They’ll give us plenty of warning,” Daddy said. He still stood in the kitchen, not to be fooled again. “They say it won’t be until later, Celia.” Grandma Raine slipped off, and I watched her go into the hall toward the guest bedroom. I started to follow, to get Grandma Raine started on the puzzle again, but I couldn’t bring myself to miss what might happen on the TV. I couldn’t see the screen, so I slipped through legs, a forest of pants and nylon stockings, until I came into the clearing right under the TV. I touched the screen and felt the fuzzy crackle of static. “Keep your hands down, Hollyanne,” Uncle Luke said. I didn’t like Uncle Luke. He scared me the way clowns at the circus scared me, with smiles that are too big and not real. After a while, people gave up on the moon men and started moving away from the TV. “Are they all three in that little tin can?” Nan Hargrave asked. “Not all three,” Uncle Luke told her. “Somebody’s got to monitor the whole thing.” Luke sounded like he was reading from a book. He liked the sound of his own voice more than what he was saying. “So two of them are in that thing. Then Collins, the other one, is staying in the big ship, still circling, making sure they’re okay.” I pictured the one up alone, watching the others down on the moon. That’s the job I would like—the lookout. It seemed a lot safer. Everybody crowded around the counter, getting more dessert. Even Mama had finally given up on any action. She stood in the kitchen, poured coffee, and got out spoons. I cut myself a piece of

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pecan pie and put it on a napkin instead of a plate. Then I had an idea, something I wanted to check out. I took my pie and slipped out the front door and into the yard. The tree branches spread out a ceiling over the lawn and I couldn’t see, so I moved out away from our driveway to get a good look at the moon. Less than half a moon there, but otherwise it looked regular— too much like any other night to have anything special going on. I strained to see if I could make out the rocket ship that still circled. The curved piece of moon hung close over the trees. Clouds threatened to cover my view but stayed their distance for me to get a long look. I reasoned that I ought to be able to see some tiny movement around the moon, like a bright gnat around the edges. But everything looked the same as it always had. Around our house, all the neighbor’s lights came bright through the windows. Everyone was waiting. I stared hard again at the moon, ate pie straight off the napkin, and tried not to blink. I could have been the lookout. I knew that I shouldn’t be outside, but if anybody got worried, they’d start calling out and I’d go back right away. Mama usually stayed on top of where I was. It felt wild and reckless to be out in the dark without a grown-up watching. I crossed the two-lane highway that separated our neighborhood from the street where Carter lived. I wanted to look in the Javits’ house to see if Carter was up. I wondered if they’d let him stay awake to watch the men land on the moon the way I could. Carter didn’t have a light on in his room, but that could mean anything. He could be awake in the den or asleep in bed—either one. Looking in, I saw his nightlight, a round bright spot on the wall near his door. He was in his bed, asleep. I’d figured as much. His mama didn’t change the rules around for anything. Not even for astronauts stepping out onto another world. Through his door I could see the edge of their den and part of the television. They had a little TV, propped up on a metal stand. Since my daddy owned the television shop—sold new TVs and

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fixed old ones—we had a big television at our house. That’s why everybody wanted to come over and watch with us. After I’d crossed to my side of the street and made my way back to our yard, I had to thread through all of the Buicks and Chevrolets that were parked in front of our property, spilling out into the grass of our side yard. I started for the house, but had to get behind a tree when I heard the front door open. Georgia and Mitchell Lansing were coming out. “I should of known,” Mr. Lansing hissed, low and mean. I pulled tight up beside a tree, praying to be small and invisible until they were gone. “Dressed like a whore,” he went on. “Jesus Christ, Georgia! How could you do this?” “Mitchell . . .” Mrs. Lansing was sobbing. Early on, her hair had been twisted and pulled up in the back, but strands were starting to fall, to stick to her wet face. “You buy that dress just to show yourself off tonight?” Georgia Lansing had on a sundress, cut low enough that I could see the line between her two breasts, bunched up at her chest. She wasn’t answering her husband. They’d stopped near my hiding tree. I could smell her perfume. “Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out?” His voice cracked and got so loud I thought Carter might wake up across the highway. “Why’d you think you had to tell anybody at all, least of all that old woman?” “I didn’t tell her,” she said. “She knew already, somehow. She was baiting me.” She said all of it in a loud voice, but he acted like he didn’t hear. “You coulda’ kept your lying mouth shut, and you might of pulled it off. Had me counting the dates, I guess. Been some work to convince me it had come early, but you could of pulled it off. At least then it would just be our business.”

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“I didn’t tell her . . .” “But you had to have the last word, didn’t you? You never know when to leave your damn mouth shut. So tell me, were you with him the whole time? All those weeks I was off with the Reserves? Did you start with him the minute I left?” “Stop it, Mitchell.” Her voice had gone purely hysterical. “You lying bitch. All loving me on the phone. ‘I miss you, baby.’” He stopped talking, rubbed his whole hand over his face like he wanted to wipe away his own feelings. “I loved you,” he said in a different voice than he’d been using. “Jesus, Georgia. How could you do that?” I was twitching. Scared to stay. Scared to move. Mr. Lansing had always been nice enough. Maybe Grandma Raine was right—moon business changed everything, made God mad and people crazy. “Please Mitchell . . .” Mrs. Lansing had calmed a little. The sound of his name broke in half when she said it. “Please. Just stop.” He’d moved off toward their car and she tried to follow, but her heel got stuck in the ground under the grass. She took both shoes off, stumbling through the yard in her nylons, but he’d gotten in the car already, started the motor. “Mitchell!” Mrs. Lansing screamed, rising back to a high pitch. I watched, not believing what came next. He drove off without her—left Mrs. Lansing standing in our yard, calling out after him. She called for a long time after he couldn’t possibly hear anymore. I waited, hoping she’d see headlights. Hoping he’d come back. Finally, the poor woman walked off down the street, going in the direction that her husband had gone. I came out of hiding and watched her go. When she got as far as the streetlight on our corner, I could see striped runs in her good nylons, moving up the back of her legs like scars.

Holli

“I’m looking for Holli Templeton.” The woman’s strong New England accent suited her sturdy features. She stood at my front door, pale and overdressed for the mild weather—another suggestion that she had arrived from someplace more in need of the sun. “I’m Holli Templeton,” I said. “How can I help you?” At nearly noon on a Saturday, I still wore my robe. After the difficult day before, I’d decided to sleep in. I’d been briefly awakened by a hang-up caller a little before eight, but otherwise hadn’t roused at all until nearly ten. I’d been lazy, lingering over the morning paper ever since. My visitor didn’t seem to notice. She looked far more preoccupied with her own appearance, smoothing her hair and messing with the collar of her jacket—heavy wool in spite of the light air that was, at best, merely cool. She didn’t answer my question right away, but the awkward silence seemed to escape her notice as she squinted at me. It was as if she needed to confirm with her own eyes my claim that I was, indeed, Holli Templeton. I couldn’t place her, but she looked familiar. “I wasn’t sure it was you,” the woman said. “It’s been so long. I’m Maureen Clarke. Kilian’s aunt.” She extended her hand. “We

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met at Parents Weekend last fall. I’ve had a few conversations with your ex-husband since the kids . . . well, you know. But I don’t think the two of us have talked since Rhode Island.” “Maureen, sure. Come in. It’s good to see you again,” I said, opening the door all the way. “It’s been an interesting few months since we saw each other, huh?” After Conner and Kilian had left school together, I’d let Harrison handle what little interaction there had been with Kilian’s only apparent family member. She’d never seemed all that eager to do anything about her niece’s flight to Texas. I wondered if something had changed her mind. “I tell you . . .” She shook her head. “I didn’t see that one coming. Kilian leaving school. I mean, she’s a stubborn one, but taking off like that . . .” Standing in the kitchen, we regarded each other, our casual exchanges having run their course. She must have come for a reason, and as much as I wanted to avoid any kind of heart-toheart with her, I was curious about her motives for arriving unannounced. “Let me take your jacket,” I said, and as she removed it, I saw that underneath she wore a mauve blouse with a scarf-type tie at the neck. While her outfit wasn’t to my taste, she’d clearly worked on making herself look presentable, and I felt shabby in my robe and slippers. “Could I get you something to drink?” “Sure,” she said, without offering a preference. “Coffee?” She nodded, and I poured it black, set the milk and sugar on the table in order to avoid a round of twenty questions. I refilled my own cup, and we sat at the table. Again, silence took center stage. I wondered if I’d have to coax her to tell me why she’d come. When we’d met at Brown, it hadn’t seemed necessarily important that I like her. She was my son’s girlfriend’s aunt, her legal guardian. She’d now become an unofficial in-law under very strained

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circumstances, a situation that rendered light conversation more than a little absurd. “I’m sorry for just barging in,” she said, finally. “I’m not real smooth on the telephone. I called you earlier this morning before I left Lowell, then looked at the time and figured I’d just be a bother, so . . .” She shrugged her shoulders as if her words made obvious why she simply left her home outside of Boston and drove for nearly four hours without calling. At least one thing was clear—she had been the early morning hang-up. One by one, the pieces of the puzzle would come together. I gave her a wide berth and let her fumble around with her explanations. “I’ve tried to let Kilian make the decision about who to tell and who not to,” she said. “But it’s getting more complicated, and I’ve thought a lot about it. I finally came around to the idea that you had to be filled in on things. I should have said something before.” I searched her face for some hint of meaning. Her inscrutable disclaimer had only raised more questions about her real purpose for coming to my house. “Has something happened, Maureen?” I couldn’t make it any more plain than that without being rude. She took a nervous sip of her coffee, still black. “Well, as of yesterday, I’m convinced they’re both in way over their heads. I’m afraid there’s no easy answer for how to get them out of it.” My heart was racing as I thought of Georgia’s call to Harrison. I took a deep breath. “What’s happened?” “There’s a lot they haven’t told you, Mrs. Templeton. Kilian has a condition.” “What kind of condition? And please, call me Holli.” “I thought maybe they’d filled you in after she had a bad spell yesterday, but last night, I talked with your son. He told me they were waiting to tell you, and well, I decided to take it into my own hands. Rather than speak with Mr. Templeton on the phone, the

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way I normally do, I decided to talk with you about it. Men go marching off before they think twice, you know, and sometimes women can put their heads together and solve a problem a little better.” I thought of calm, methodical Harrison and almost laughed at the notion that anyone thought I might be the rational one. “What’s wrong with her?” I asked. “Kilian was born with CF. Cystic Fibrosis,” she explained. “She got real bad I guess, and yesterday she had to go in the hospital.” “She’s in the hospital?” I thought of Kilian’s call the night before, the odd noises she was making. She was calling from the hospital. That explained why they didn’t want me to show up too soon. “So your son called to let me know she’d been admitted and to ask if I would call the insurance company and sort out her change of address.” I searched my brain for anything I could recall on CF. I’d donated a few times. All I could think about was a rose emblem on the pre-printed return address labels they sent me every year at Christmas. “CF. I can’t remember. Is that a neurological disease?” “No.” She shook her head. “This is in her lungs. She gets a thick mucous on the inner lining and can’t breathe very well. Sometimes it gets real bad.” “Right, I remember now.” It came back to me. The letters that came with the mailing labels. Roses. Sixty-five Roses. Pictures of children, thin and pale. Always children. “It’s young people, right?” She nodded, her face grim. “It’s diagnosed early and they don’t usually live to be old people.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “Mid-twenties and thirties. That’s about normal. Forty is pushing it. Sometimes a little more.” Twenty to thirty. It came hard, the realization that my son was in love with this girl.

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“I was just going to let them sort it out,” she went on. “They said they’d find a good time to tell you themselves. Like I said, I’ve pretty much let Kilian decide over the years how she tells people. But after yesterday morning and then with this latest information I got yesterday afternoon . . .” “There’s more?” “Her insurance,” she said, “is refusing to pay. Conner’s trying to figure out what to do.” “Oh, Jesus. ” I thought of Kilian’s voice on the phone the night before. Breathless, saying everything was fine. “Please don’t be upset, Mrs.—I mean Holli.” Maureen looked skittish. She was probably wishing she’d gone with Harrison, after all. “I didn’t come here to get you all frantic. I just can’t sort this out by myself. I don’t have the resources.” She held her coffee with both hands as if they were cold. But the air in the kitchen had gotten too warm. I, for one, felt downright hot. “Kilian’s had these problems before. The worst of it is over, I think. Although I get that from your son. She won’t get on the phone with me unless she has to. But that’s another topic, altogether. Anyway, it’s the insurance problem that’s the last straw. Seems she has to be enrolled in school or they won’t cover her. She didn’t know, and I didn’t know that it was set up like that in the policy. By now, there are already a lot of bills with more to come. I just can’t think of what to do.” She talked without slowing, getting more agitated as she went along. She put her coffee down and began to fiddle with her pocketbook that sat on her lap. As she spoke, she worked the snap of the purse, a nervous clicking that punctuated her words. “I thought of flying down there, but I talked to Conner again last night and he told me you two were planning a trip already— and it’s real hard for me to get off work . . .” Her whole demeanor suggested she was putting herself through a major guilt trip, but

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not enough of one to get her on an airplane. Apparently, a road trip to my house was her solution. “I figured you oughtta at least know the whole story before you got there.” It was my turn to speak. To react or something, but for the life of me I couldn’t make any sound come out. Kilian, sick; Conner trying to take care of her, with Raine and her confusion literally in his front yard. Dear God. I had to leave right away. If I’d maintained any thoughts of my life becoming my own again any time soon, they were certainly gone after Aunt Maureen’s news. I needed to ask her more questions. I needed to know everything this woman could possibly tell me about Kilian. “Listen,” I said, forcing a calm that I in no way felt, “let me get you a soda or something. We can sit and talk.” The day had gotten later than I thought, and I realized I’d thrown out anything I might be able to feed Maureen in fridgecleaning frenzy the day before. “Better yet, why don’t we walk down to town? There’s a pastry shop there where we can get a bite. You can fill me in on what you know while we eat.” She seemed to like either the idea of food or of escaping to more neutral ground. I excused myself to get dressed, wondering what the hell more there was to hear about the girl who had taken my son on such a devastating journey. “Your accent,” Maureen said, apropos nothing. “You sound like a real Texan. I guess I should be used to it with the president, but it’s more authentic when someone has it in person.” We sat at the village pastry café, and I plied Maureen with croissants in exchange for information. “Did you really grow up saying ‘fixing to’ and ‘y’all’?” “You bet,” I told her, forcing a smile. Her attempts at lightening up the conversation seemed awkward, almost poignant, and only the tiniest bit insulting. But I

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gave her a pass on the last part. She could be described as provincial, but not mean-spirited. “You’d think that over a decade in New York would have taken care of my drawl,” I said. “But Texas runs pretty deep, I guess.” She looked around, settled her gaze toward the storefront window. Even with the change of venue, her hand still worked furiously with the opening of her purse. I felt sorry for her. A single woman, unexpectedly left to raise her sister’s often-ailing child. I knew from my brief interactions with Kilian that she would be no picnic as a daughter—even without the medical condition. Outside, somewhere on the outskirts of town, a siren signaled a disaster in the works. Everything around me seemed like an omen. “Kilian and I haven’t seen eye-to-eye on much, but that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about her,” she said, changing the subject back to the kids. I could see why she and Kilian had never gotten close. Maureen was nothing like the girl, either in looks or demeanor. Maureen’s ample face and arms squared off to a shapeless body. Not small, by any stretch of the imagination, but not overweight, either. I could guess at the description Grandma Raine would have for her. Every time she saw someone of a certain build, Raine would say, “Now that’s a useful-looking woman.” And watching Maureen, I realized that every inch of her was a bundle of nerves. “I’ve done my best,” she said, as the waitress put a chocolate croissant in front of her, “but she’s a handful.” “How did her parents die again?” I’d heard, but I couldn’t recall. “They were off on one of those rafting trips,” she said. “They were always gone on one adventure or another. Kilian stayed with me—and she didn’t like it much, even when it was just for a day or two. This last rafting expedition they were on wasn’t even supposed to be that dangerous. They’d done much worse. But a surge in the water—a freak thing, the guides told us—flipped the raft.

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There were eight on the raft. Five died. Kilian was twelve at the time. Old enough to understand what happened, but not mature enough to deal with it outright. She’s blamed me ever since. Mainly because there’s no one else left, I guess.” “Jesus. That’s horrible. And with a daughter like Kilian . . .” I stopped short of saying it was irresponsible to take trips like that when you had a kid with CF to care for at home. But Maureen Clarke felt no such restraint. “Damn selfish,” she said. “They both were. Nice people, and they loved Kilian more than life itself, but they never grew up. Either one of them. I’m the youngest, you know. By four years. But I never felt like it. Eileen was always needing something more than what she had in hand. Don’t get me wrong,” she backtracked. “I loved my sister, but . . .” She shook her head, took a bite of croissant. “To leave a child like that behind—and me, all of a sudden a parent. Like I said, I’ve done the best I could.” I got the feeling she had done her best. In spite of her awkward demeanor, she seemed like a decent person who wound up in an impossible situation. “And she was only twelve when it happened? I didn’t realize it had been that long,” I said, fiddling with the creamer on the table. “Yeah,” she said. “Six years ago, this summer.” Something sounded off, but it took me a second to process exactly what it was. “How long did you say it’s been?” I asked again. “Almost six years,” she said, taking another bite. “How old is Kilian now?” “Eighteen,” she said. “Hard to believe. She’s such a little wisp of a thing. Could almost pass for twelve still, if you didn’t look too close.” Eighteen? That couldn’t be right. “But Conner said she was a junior?”

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“Yeah, she’s a smart one, all right. Graduated high school before she turned sixteen. Couldn’t wait to get away from me, I guess. But to tell you the truth, I was relieved when she went off to school. I know I sound terrible, but you just don’t know how difficult she could be.” I was beginning to know. My son had gone into the deep end of the pool with a chronically ill girl who was barely more than a child, and I’d been sitting in New York for months now. Jesus Christ, Conner. What were you thinking? I took a deep breath and tried to focus on what I needed to know before I got on a plane for Texas. Kilian. This motherless girl. Not just motherless. Parentless. Hollyanne knew all too much about what that meant. Kilian, pushing her way to college early, then leaving college to go with Conner to Thaxton. She was really just trying to outrun the idea that her parents weren’t there to chase after her. They weren’t at her heels, worried or even angry. I understood all too well that if you run fast enough from place to place, it’s possible to forget all that for a while. It would take another round of pastries, I surmised, but this woman was my only source of reliable information on Kilian Mays. “So tell me more about Kilian,” I said. “I really don’t know her very well at all.” The woman leaned forward on her elbows. Her nervousness finally behind her, she seemed eager to talk. Crumbs of a previously consumed pastry dotted the corner of her mouth. Maureen Clarke did not seem like the type to seek out adventure, but Kilian had brought it to her doorstep. And the more I heard, the more concerned I became for my son. “So, are you planning to go down there?” she asked finally, when she had exhausted herself in stories of her niece. “As soon as I can get a flight out,” I told her.

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“Good. I’m glad. I mean, somebody’s got to help those two sort this out.” She seemed genuinely relieved to be spared the primary duty of travel to Texas. I didn’t blame her. I hoped to God Harrison could go with me on very short notice. Contrary to Maureen Clarke’s assessment of men, Harrison could only make things better. Everyday issues were a challenge for my easily distracted ex, but his focus in a crisis was keen. And the situation with Conner had apparently just become a crisis.

Conner

On the way home from his morning visit to the hospital, Conner had gone by a Wal-Mart to buy a few trays of flowers to plant in the yard. He didn’t know the name of the flowers, but the yellow looked pretty enough. He planted them around the front edge of the single-wide aluminum box he now called home. His parents—both of them—were coming to Texas. Together. He stood with the garden hose in his hand and tried to see the place, objectively, as they would when they arrived. As he watered, he worked to convince himself that he was turning his deception into some kind of truth. He was fixing things up before his folks got to town. But there were so many other things to think about. He had a job. Kilian was sick. Now his mom was expecting him to look out for Gran. He didn’t know what the fuck to do with that. He felt responsible for all of it, and no one had given him the instruction manual. He sprayed water over the plants, stray drops splattered on the side of the trailer exposing the dusty grime that had settled on the outside walls. He wondered if it would do any good to hose down the entire side, or if the water would only make a dirtier mess of things. Just months before, he’d had no real responsibilities. Exams, papers, and staying sober enough to get to class. His relationship

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with Kilian was heating up. Things were good. Too good, in some ways. When she told him about the CF, he’d told her it didn’t make any difference. He loved her. But inside, he could feel the panic rising. Then late in the semester, just weeks before the holiday break, he’d screwed up. The girl had just been there, and he’d been so fucking drunk. For the life of him, he couldn’t conjure up that girl’s face. Not that he wanted to anymore. He’d told himself that he deserved a little bit of stupid fun. He wasn’t fucking married, for Christ’s sake. What he remembered of the night had him playing a relatively passive role, but the girl was crying afterwards. Telling him he shouldn’t have fucked her. And she was right. For all the obvious reasons—and so many others. But godammit, he was twenty years old. He was supposed to fuck around and have a good time. Wasn’t he? Isn’t that what guys did when they were twenty? It was a mistake. He had known that immediately, even before he sobered up. Even before the rest of it hit the fan. He loved Kilian, and it had been wrong to cheat on her. But that didn’t mean he deserved the rest of it. Her illness was so damned overwhelming sometimes. Just thinking about it. He wanted to kick loose for just one shit-faced night. And he had been completely shit-faced. But in his heart he knew—he knew—he hadn’t forced the issue with that girl. Had he? What did it matter, anyway? He’d let Kilian down, even though she still didn’t know about it; and, a crying girl after sex is messed up, no matter whose fault it is. He’d felt like shit about it. He still did. And that hadn’t even been all of it. The lowest point came later, when he couldn’t find Kilian. He put the nozzle on full pressure and aimed at the paneling of the trailer. He would at least make the effort at washing off the dingy exterior. Steam rose from the hot ground as the water hit the surfaces.

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The dark, new dirt around the flowers contrasted sharply with the worn-out, hardscrabble yard. Suddenly, his attempt at making the place look better seemed transparent and more than a little pathetic. “Cain’t take the sun on this side of the place.” “Jesus!” He turned, startled at the voice. “Gran, you scared the shit out of me.” She shot him a disapproving look at his outburst, then moved closer to the flowers. “Sorry,” he said, but she had turned her focus to the plants. He saw that she was right. Already, they were beginning to give into the heat of the afternoon. “What should I do?” he asked. “This kind of flower will do better over there.” She pointed to a small strip of shady yard near the low gathering of trees that passed for woods in North Texas. Not his idea of a flowerbed, but he guessed it would do. “Come on.” She retrieved the spade he’d been using, was already kneeling, digging up the flowers low at the roots. She put them carefully back in the bedding tray. “I think they’ll work just fine here,” she said, walking toward the shade with the newly unearthed plants. “I don’t know why they sell some of these things in Texas. Not everything was meant to grow in this place.” He followed her. She moved with an economy of purpose that he couldn’t muster in the heat. “Is Holli bringing her boy with her when she comes?” She asked the question while patting the dirt around a newly planted flower. Conner squatted behind her, pretended to be useful. Her voice sounded different, younger somehow. “What boy?” he asked. She turned to look at him, seemed amused. “I know you’re a bit scatterbrained, but don’t tell me you forgot your own son.” Again, he was struck by the change in her, not just her voice, but

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her demeanor. She seemed like a younger, more playful version of herself. Conner realized she thought he was his father. Her confusion with his identity left him feeling helpless. He looked at her. She was still waiting for an answer. “Cat got your tongue?” she prompted. He suddenly felt five years old, wished desperately he could ask his mother what to do. “Conner got here before.” He spoke of himself in the third person, felt an eerie sense of stepping outside his own identity. “His mom’s going to meet him here.” She nodded, seemed satisfied, then turned back to her work. Maybe, he reasoned, the heat was getting to her. He changed the subject. Asked her mindless, endless questions about seasons and different plants to suit them—anything to keep her from asking anything else of him. There had been so many varieties of deceit lately. After the flowers were replanted, the two of them walked back across the field to her house. She poured two glasses of Coke and sat with him at the kitchen table. Just down the road, old Mr. Gray, Gran’s closest neighbor, struggled with his aging lawnmower, trying to control a half-acre of patchy grass growing unevenly across the property. Conner felt sorry for him. “How’s your girl?” Gran asked matter-of-factly after a long sip of her drink. She seemed more like herself again, but he still didn’t know how to answer. “My girl? I don’t have a daughter.” He laughed, tried to imitate his father’s light, relaxed manner. He felt himself sweating, looked across at her to see if she noticed his discomfort. In spite of her earlier exertion with the plants, her skin looked dry and cool. “I mean your girlfriend, son.” She leaned forward, studied him as if he was the one losing his senses. “The one in the hospital?” He was Conner again, he realized and felt relieved somehow. “She’s better. Might be coming home tomorrow. We’re supposed

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to talk with her doctors later today.” He wondered if he’d imagined the other conversation in the yard. “I don’t hold to this living together business,” she said. “You know that. I know times are different now, but I think you ought to get busy with a wedding sometime soon. “A wedding to Kilian?” He wanted to make sure she was still speaking to him, Conner, about his current life. “Well, yes.” She laughed. “Of course to Kilian. Did you have somebody else in mind?” “No, I . . .” “That’s an unusual name, don’t you think? Kilian? Anyway, don’t get me wrong. I like her to pieces, but you two need to be married, you hear?” “Yes, ma’am.” He sipped his soda, the condensation off the glass pooling like rain on the slick linoleum of his great-grandmother’s kitchen table. “We’re figuring everything out,” he added, wondering if that was true. Grandma Raine got up and turned on the radio. Gospel harmony added a timeless, surreal note to the already confounding afternoon. “My Bible group meets at five today,” she said. She was reminded, he guessed, by the earnest voices praising Jesus as boldly as the weak transistor permitted. “Georgia will be around directly, I suppose, so I best get cleaned up.” She went off to her bedroom, leaving him alone in the afternoon warmth of her small kitchen. While he sat, finishing his soda, the telephone rang. And rang. Conner didn’t know if his great-grandmother couldn’t hear it or just didn’t intend to answer, but since she refused to leave her answering machine on, he picked up for her. “Hey, hon.” Georgia’s voice sounded somewhat slurred. “Hi,” he said. “Are you okay? You sound a little weird.”

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“The pills,” she said. “Just got back from the doctor’s. I turned my ankle coming out of the DMV. Got my license renewed, and I couldn’t even drive myself over to have it looked at.” “How bad is it?” Conner asked. “It’s a pretty good sprain. They’ve got me wearing one of those boot things while it heals. How are you? Is Kilian feeling any better today?” “I think so,” he said. “She was hoping they’d let her come home, but she’s stuck there at least until tomorrow. I’m going back later to see her.” “Conner, you have to let your parents know.” She’d been irritated that he hadn’t called them from the hospital right after it happened. “I won’t pretend your mama’s my favorite person, but she and Harrison love you. They should be in on this.” “They’re coming for a visit soon. It will give me a chance to explain, face-to-face.” “Well, you know my opinion,” she said. “I think . . .” He couldn’t take another lecture. “What about your foot?” he interrupted. One thing Georgia could never resist was discussing her physical ailments. “You must hate that brace.” “Don’t get me started,” she said, but it was too late. She was off on a rant about everything from the emergency room staff to the constant pain. “ . . . and let me tell you, it feels like a knitting needle got jabbed straight through my ankle. Anyway, that’s one reason I’m calling, hon. I’d planned on picking up Raine for our group tonight, but I can’t get behind the wheel with this foot. You think you might be able to drive her over to the community center for me? I think I’ll stay put and keep this thing elevated like they told me.” “I’d be happy to drive her,” Conner said, wondering how late that would throw him getting back to the hospital. He’d still have plenty of time to visit. “I can drop her and then go see Kilian.” “Thanks, son,” she said. “I appreciate it.” Son. He thought of

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his mother, felt disloyal just talking in such familiar terms with the stepmother that she despised. His mother was convinced that Georgia was responsible for most of the problems in her childhood. But the Georgia he’d always seen and the one his mother talked about were two different people. He’d never told his mother how he felt, but he couldn’t bring himself to dislike her. He wondered if, now that Gran had become friends with Georgia, his mom might soften just a little. “Do you need anything?” he asked, hoping to God she’d say no. “Pain meds, anything from town?” “A hair appointment would be nice.” She laughed. “I missed mine this afternoon. But you can’t do much on that end, so I guess I’m all set.” As she got older, Georgia had managed to maintain a healthy dose of vanity. She’d kept herself looking younger than the sixtywhatever that she was. And while she fixed herself up pretty heavily, she still, more than anything else, looked like a nice church lady. Not at all the tight-dressing vixen his mother described from thirty years before—a woman who seduced Granddaddy Ray into cheating with her and then got him to the altar after his wife was killed. Conner knew about cheating. It wasn’t always as simple as it seemed. “I’m going to get this foot soaking,” she said. “I’m grateful for your help, Conner. I’d hate to keep Raine from going.” “No problem,” he said. “And I’m sorry about your ankle.” “Things happen,” she said, resigned to the fact that it was true. He hung up the phone, realized he needed to take a shower before he went anywhere. As he turned, he saw his great-grandmother standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Gran?” “Who was that?” She had a strained, worried expression, as if the answer to her question couldn’t come to anything good. “It was just Georgia. She’s hurt her ankle.” She closed her eyes and nodded. She seemed troubled, more

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troubled than she should have been over a sprained foot. “What’s wrong?” She let out a long breath, as if preparing for a confession. Her entire body seemed to become smaller as she spoke. “You know,” she said, “I should have told her by now, her and Ray both. But, of course, it’s too late for that.” “Told them what, Gran?” She sat down on her kitchen stool by the sink. “One minute, something appears one way, and the next minute, it comes clear as something different altogether.” She wasn’t exactly talking to him. She seemed to be in another place, talking, pleading her case. “Even Celia understands how much it weighs on me. But of course she would. For Celia, holding a grudge was like grabbing at air, a waste of time. She’d never stay mad at anybody for more than five minutes.” Gran’s reminiscing seemed to gather momentum. “Georgia was a few years younger than Celia. They were friends, I think. Although, if that was true, Georgia shouldn’t have been fooling around with Ray the way she was. That was wrong. Not everything they blamed themselves for was their fault, but that part was wrong. Anyway, Georgia and I have come to an understanding now,” she said, then added, “even if I haven’t told her everything.” She stood up from the stool, having sufficiently argued her point. Though, Conner had no idea what that point might have been. “It’s better this way,” she said. “Having made some peace with Georgia. Hollyanne will just have to understand. Of course, she doesn’t know the whole truth either. No one does but me.” His mother? “I don’t know what you mean, Gran,” he said with as much calm as he could manage. “What is it that my mother doesn’t know?” She shook her head, stood up and began filling the sink to rinse the few dirty dishes left over from the morning. “What did Georgia call for again?” she asked, clearly back in the present.

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“She twisted her ankle and can’t drive.” “Oh, that’s a shame,” she said, rinsing a cup and putting it upside down in the drainer. “So I’m just going to take a shower, and I’ll drive you to your Bible study.” Conner felt rattled. “That’s okay,” she said. “I don’t believe I’m much in the mood to go without Georgia. I appreciate the offer, though.” With that, she went off toward the back of the house. What the hell was that whole thing about? What could it be that his mom wouldn’t know? Conner stared around the kitchen—such a normal-looking room—and wondered how much harder it was going to get before he caught a break. With all the crap crashing in around him, it had been a mistake to start thinking about everything that happened at school. He’d been certain he was doing the right thing—for him and for Kilian—by leaving the way they did. But maybe he had made it worse. His parents were worried about him and they didn’t know the half of it. Kilian’s health had tanked. He couldn’t blame himself for Gran’s confusion, but even that seemed to have happened on his watch. A hot shower would make him feel better. He slipped out toward the trailer without calling any goodbyes. As anyone at school who cared about him had figured out, leaving without goodbye was one of his specialties.

Hollyanne

Georgia and Mitchell Lansing didn’t plan on coming back to watch TV. Some grown-up problems had to go on for a while before they got sorted out. I went into the kitchen. The lights were down in the den to make the television show up better. In the dark, no one had noticed I’d been gone. The couch and all the chairs had been moved close to the TV, and people sat in the dark with dessert plates on their laps, coffee cups on the floor just by their feet. They talked and laughed. It seemed ages since I’d left to go outside—since I’d watched Carter sleeping, safe in his own bed, and heard the awful fight between the Lansings. All that had happened and still, nothing had changed on the moon. Walter Cronkite was saying that the men would come out earlier than they’d planned. I wondered what he meant by early. It seemed so late already. I thought I ought to tell somebody about the Lansings. I looked around for Mama or Daddy but didn’t see them anywhere. Then I started thinking that maybe it hadn’t been as bad as it seemed. Maybe the Lansings wouldn’t want me to tell anybody. I knew it was something I shouldn’t have seen. “Get yourself some more dessert, if you want,” Aunt Kelly told me, passing by on her way back from the bathroom. “Are you okay?”

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I nodded, went over to the counter but decided I wasn’t hungry anymore. In the den, Hanson Anderson from Daddy’s shop was telling a joke, something about a cow and a preacher that didn’t make much sense. His sister looked embarrassed, and Aunt Kelly shushed him and nodded toward me as I came in the room. I settled on the arm of a chair by Kelly. “Where’s Mama?” I asked. “I don’t know,” Kelly said, looking around like it was the first she’d noticed anybody was missing. “She was here just a minute ago.” I decided that Grandma Raine might know where Mama and Daddy went. I thought of Georgia Lansing taking off down the road with her muddy-heeled shoes in her hand and her shredded nylons on rough pavement. That couldn’t be right. A grown person ought not to act like that unless something was awfully wrong. Mr. Lansing, too. All those ugly words, worse than Daddy had ever said. And Daddy would never drive off and leave Mama crying in the street. In the sink, dishes rose up higher than the level countertop— dishes dry and crusted with crumbs and berries and pie. Mama would have them soaking if she knew. I stopped, stood on the step stool I used when I helped with chores. Then I plugged the sink, ran warm water, and settled all the dishes that would fit underneath the suds. Then I went off toward the guest bedroom to find Grandma Raine. I saw her. The door was left open a crack. I saw the jigsaw puzzle, still unfinished, spread on the floor. Grandma Raine sat on the edge of the bed—the lights off so she could hide from the moon, hide from the television, hide from God. But she wasn’t hiding from the television. She had it on—the little TV Daddy had brought home from work so Mama could watch her programs while she folded laundry on the guest bed.

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“Where’s Mama?” I asked. I said it softly, but she still jumped, startled even by my littlest voice. “Come here, child,” she said. “You want me to turn on the light?” “I reckon not.” That’s all she said. I waited for more, and when it didn’t come, I walked over to her. “What’s wrong, Grandma?” She sat on the very edge of the bed—back straight, feet on the floor—like she was ready to get up any minute. But she was still—still as prayer. I could barely hear the mumbled voices on the television; the sound was down so low. I sat beside her and stayed quiet, too, ’cause that seemed like the right thing to do. We were in a bubble of quiet, all the sounds around us muffled. The party talk outside, the deep singsong of Walter Cronkite, and another sound from down the hall. I pulled my mind away from the television, tried to make out what the other sound might be. Arguing? People upset about something. At first I thought the Lansings had come back. That he’d turned around and seen her, pitiful with her falling hair and tattered legs. But the voices were more familiar than the Lansings’. They were the voices that I heard every day. Daddy yelled, not mad-yelling this time, but pained and pleading, right down to his muscle and bone. “Celia,” he called out. “We have to talk. You’ve got to settle down and let me . . .” Mama stopped him. Kept saying the words that he didn’t want to hear, although I could barely make out what they were. “ . . . leaving now . . . I have to,” and, “ . . . need to leave me alone now, Ray!” Her high voice got lost in the plaster and paint of the walls. “Celia!” he cried out again.

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Grandma Raine flinched, leaned in, and turned the television a notch higher. I looked at her. Saw her face through the moon-eerie light of the TV. Tears covered her cheeks. No sobs or hiccups like when I cried, but simple tears, spilling like water poured too high in a cup, the extra moving over her eyelashes and down the side of her face. “What are they doing?” I asked, but before Grandma Raine said anything, I heard doors—the bedroom door where they were— open and slam, then open again. Grandma Raine grabbed my arm—a tight grip that hurt but felt safer than not being touched at all. On the television, voices sounded more excited. Someone was getting ready, finally to come out. Static voices, talking from another world. Outside the window, I heard the door to the truck open and close and Daddy yelling as the motor started. “Dammit, Celia! I’ve had enough of this. Let me in the damn truck! I don’t care how upset you are. This is crazy! Why won’t you talk to me?” Grandma Raine tightened her hold on my arm. The man on the moon had started coming out of the opening in the bug; soon, he would be down on rocks and dirt that God had put out of anyone’s reach—until that very moment. Maybe it should have stayed out of reach. God is a jealous god. I’d learned that in Sunday School. I pulled away from Grandma Raine, who sat still as stone. I went to the window, moved the curtain back far enough to see. Mama sat in the truck under the carport. The streetlight came from the side, lit up the cab, and I saw my mama’s face twisted, smeared with make-up and tears. She looked around like she didn’t know what to do. My pretty mama, with hair like Mary Tyler Moore. Daddy pounded on the window with his flat palm,

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pulled at the handle and tried to open the door, but she had locked it. He was crying, too—something I’d never in my life seen before. She held the steering wheel with two hands, leaned over it like it was holding her up. “Celia!” he screamed. “Open the fucking door!” I looked back at Grandma Raine, looked at new tears falling down her face, saw her mouth mumbling one short prayer after another. The man on the moon was halfway down the ladder. “Celia!” Daddy screamed again. Grandma Raine seemed not to hear, she had her eyes fixed on the square face of the little TV. The man on the moon had one more step to go. I heard the truck clank into gear—saw it move over the dirt driveway and around all the cars parked in the yard. Daddy was running with it, barely keeping up, screaming Mama’s name. “One small step for man,” the moon man said, stepping light on the glowing screen. “One giant leap for mankind.” She’d gotten the truck to the road, but Daddy wouldn’t let go. One leg on the back bumper, his arm slung up over the side of the truckbed, he held on. But she wouldn’t stop. My heart ran like I was with them, hanging on the truck like Daddy, scared and out of breath. I could feel the wind as Mama pressed her foot on the gas to make the truck go faster. It moved out of sight, motor racing, Daddy holding on with all he had. The thing I saw as they rode away were all the neighbors, most of them staring out of their windows. Some had come all the way outside. All those faces I knew from our street. People who’d just missed watching what they’d stayed awake to see. The first man to step onto the moon. Mama missed it. She missed the man on the moon. The thought of it broke my heart. People up and down the street shook their heads like they were wondering what had gotten into Celia and Ray. The only one not

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watching the street—watching for Mama and Daddy to come back, watching the cars and the yard and the streetlight and the real moon outside—was Grandma Raine. She sat, twisting the hem of her calico dress, staring at Daddy’s little TV like it was all there was to this world.

Holli

Harrison looked too large for my den. He’d only been in my house a few times in the year I’d been living there—mostly when Conner was home from school. Sitting on my loveseat with his legs angled sideways to avoid bumping the coffee table with his knees, he could have been an adult having a pretend tea party with a child. I took it as a small confirmation that, as much as I missed being married to him at times, my new life was a better fit for me in a lot of ways. “Where is she now?” he asked after I’d filled him in on Maureen’s unexpected visit. “She’s visiting a friend from high school who lives in Queens. I think she’s going there for the night and then planning to drive back to Boston tomorrow.” “CF,” he shook his head, as if settling the news into a more comfortable position in his brain. “Why wouldn’t Conner tell us something like that?” “I guess he wanted to break us in gradually. First the move, then the full story behind it. I don’t know.” I didn’t know. I didn’t have a clue, in fact. Kilian not only had a chronic illness, but if Maureen’s insights told the full story, she’d been hell on wheels since the day she was born. “She ran away seven times,” I told Harrison, realizing that I was

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probably repeating myself. I still hadn’t fully processed the situation. “Did I tell you that one of those times, she ended up in a homeless shelter in Hartford?” “No, you didn’t mention that part.” He took a long sip of bourbon. He’d arrived in late afternoon and I’d put the glass and the bottle on the coffee table in front of him as soon as he sat down. He’d looked up at me. “Oh, boy,” he said. “She went through a period in middle school when she got caught shoplifting—more than once.” Maureen’s stories seemed even more frightening in the retelling. “Since both her parents had just died, they referred her to a child psychologist and charges weren’t pressed.” “Well, I guess the urgency to get to Texas just got cranked up a notch or two,” he said, leaning back on the ill-fitting couch. I sat opposite him in a chair, a glass of red wine in my hand. “The sooner the better,” I said. “Do you think you can get the first of the week covered?” “I’ve got a few favors to pull in. I can swing it. Have you talked to Raine?” Raine. She’d dropped momentarily off my radar after Maureen walked in my front door. “Not yet. I need to try and reach her again. When I talked to Kilian last night, she said that Raine seemed fine yesterday. But then again, she also neglected to mention that she was calling me from the hospital, so . . .” Harrison shifted, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees. “Do you want another chair?” “I’m fine,” he said. “I just can’t get my thoughts to slow down. This is all more than I bargained for.” “Yeah, well, that’s why the bourbon’s there.” My attempt at a joking tone fell flat, and neither of us laughed. I thought back, even a few months. I’d adjusted to the move

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outside of the city and then, had begun to embrace it. It surprised me, the contentment I felt. I wouldn’t call it happiness exactly, but definitely moving in that direction. Almost the minute I saw the possibilities of my new life, I got the call from Conner, saying he’d left school. With Raine’s growing difficulties thrown into the mix, too many crises had begun to crowd into my compact world. The things I wanted—things that I’d briefly had—were simple. I wanted to work, to watch the seasons change outside the window of my kitchen. I wanted to read books and the Sunday New York Times. I wanted to meet my friends for lunch. Maybe have a glass of wine at five o’clock. In the farthest reach of my imagination, I thought of going on a date once in awhile. Nothing outrageous or decadent. I was forty-two, and I’d weathered a divorce and raised a kid. All I wanted was to enjoy a little time on my own terms. But I couldn’t count on that happening. Not for the foreseeable future. Looking for small blessings, I was suddenly very glad that Maureen hadn’t taken me up on my offer of a place to stay the night. “I had a student at Columbia with CF a few years ago,” Harrison said after an extended lull in conversation. I realized with some guilt that he was thinking of our son’s problems instead of feeling sorry for himself. That’s what grown-ups did. Right? “Great kid,” he went on. “Good attitude. But he did risky things. Hang gliding, serious rock climbing . . . shit like that. If you need to compress life into a few less decades . . .” He let the thought trail off. Maybe he was right. Maybe all of this was Kilian’s way of getting the most out of life. Unfortunately, she’d taken Conner along for the ride. “This domestic experiment may be her way of coping or rebelling,” I said, “but what’s Conner doing?” “Give him some credit,” Harrison said. “He made his own decision to leave school, and he may have done it even without Kilian.

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Her enthusiasm probably moved the idea along, but we have to stop short of making her the villain.” “I know,” I said. “It’s just that she lied through her teeth last night on the phone.” “Oh, and Conner didn’t know about that, you think?” He was right. “I guess he did,” I said. I gave up on the wine, got a glass from the kitchen, and joined him in a shot of bourbon. There was too much to do. I’d have to tie up a few loose ends with work, pack, call Raine . . . I’d call Tina and ask her to come. That thought, at least, made me feel a little better. Harrison stared at nothing across the room. The two of us sat silent again, reeling from the blunt trauma of the situation. Finally, he was the one who moved into productive mode. “Let’s look at airline schedules,” he said. “We might as well go ahead and book something.” I tried to remember the last time Harrison and I had worked as a team. In the beginning, it had always been that way. My family problems, the unexpected pregnancy, the move to Houston—all those things had put us in crisis mode from the very beginning. It stayed at that pitch for a while. And when things were complicated, no one was better than Harrison. Oddly enough, I remember them as our happiest times. It was normal life that had gotten me frustrated, mostly after we moved to New York. I’d lost part of Harrison when there was little in our lives to distract him from the excitement inside his own head. Working closely with him again, bonding over our shared concern for Conner, I was startled to recognize the feeling of wanting him. I’d imprinted early on this particular Harrison, and the pull of that would land us in bed if I wasn’t careful. Camaraderie sex. Even under different circumstances, it would have been a bad idea. Maybe the wine/bourbon combination played a factor, as well. I had to remember that the current frenzy over Conner and Raine had nothing to do with normal life.

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“You okay?” “Yeah.” It was a lie. Harrison poured himself a reinforcement of bourbon before we headed off to the spare bedroom I had designated as my office. We settled two chairs in front of my computer. My shoulder pressed against his as we looked at the screen, and I was aware of my own body in a way that I hadn’t been in a while—my breasts and the skin along the ridges of my spine. This isn’t the time, Holli. Stop it. The cheerful logo of the airline website reminded me of the task at hand. It seemed surprising that flight schedules, as well as the rest of the commercial world, continued regardless of my personal upheavals. “Okay,” Harrison said, as if getting pumped up for some difficult task. “Okay,” he said again, letting out a deep breath. “Okay,” he repeated a third time, and I realized that he felt as paralyzed as I did. It was as if the magnitude of Conner’s situation had suddenly gone from black-and-white to color in his mind. “We’ll figure this out,” I said. I was bluffing, and we both knew it. I put my worries about my son, as well as my unsettling thoughts of Harrison’s body, out of my mind momentarily. Touching the keyboard, I felt tethered to something real—less tossed about by my emotions. In an act of will more than anything else, I began to fill in the information that would lead me back to Thaxton. As the list of flight options came up on the screen, I marveled at how many ways there were for me to physically go home. In reality, I wasn’t sure how long the notion of home could exist for me if I was losing Grandma Raine. Harrison stared with full intensity at me as I pulled up information on the screen. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it wasn’t lost on me that, after all these years, I had, once again, figured out how to get my ex-husband’s undivided attention.

Conner

“Kilian hit a speed bump.” That’s what the doctor had said. An unexpected complication. Conner worried when doctors began using vague road terms to describe health issues. There had to be a lot they weren’t saying. All he knew for sure was that they were running more tests. “You shouldn’t be overly worried,” Dr. Webster, the pediatrician, told him. What the fuck was overly worried? Better yet, how much was just worried enough? As he drove back toward Thaxton, the sky had already faded to dark. Conner tried to make sense of his visit with both the doctors. The new woman, Dr. Daniels, wasn’t saying much of anything, and he still didn’t know why she was there. The first one, the pediatrician, made the “speed bump” comment. She looked at him as if that ought to mean something. In the end, all he knew was that Kilian would have to stay in-house for a couple of days, which made the timing with his parents tricky. Even worse, the entire time the doctors were there in the room, he felt as if everyone—Kilian included—was speaking in code. After they left, Kilian seemed even more tired than usual. “I’m not going to rock anybody’s world tonight, cowboy,” she’d told him. “You should go home.”

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The night was mild, not too hot, and he rolled down his car window for the fresh air. Off to the right, in the darkest part of a field, he saw lights. Odd spotlights moving in the jerky, uneven motion of someone walking. It was probably the guys from NASA. Everyone in town had gotten used to seeing them around at odd times, day and night, looking for wreckage. Conner thought back to the day of the shuttle explosion. He and Kilian had been in bed. If it had occurred just moments earlier, the earth-rattling boom would have coincided with his own climax. Instead, he’d been holding Kilian when they heard it. As they ran down to check on Gran, he’d had the oddest feeling that the sound had changed something—had altered him somehow. Afterwards, the very thought seemed ridiculous to him. The cell phone laid silent on the seat beside him as he turned off the state highway and onto the farm road that would take him to Raine’s. He’d emailed his mom earlier in the day, feigned poor cell service—a lie, but not a very big one, in light of his overall deceit. It had been a shitty day—only slightly less so than the one before it—and he wasn’t sorry to have it come to an end. He didn’t recognize the car in the driveway when he turned in. A red Hyundai. No one he’d met in Gran’s world would drive that car. The lights were on in the living room of the house. That meant that whoever was visiting had to be considered company. He parked the truck and, as he entered the house, he heard Gran’s voice. Her tone, earnest. “I’ve prayed many times to see my Celia again,” she said. Conner stopped to listen. She sounded serious, almost desperate, as if conversation was intensely personal. “My faith is strong, most of the time, that there is a heaven. If I’m wrong, if I don’t have that, well . . .” her voice broke a little,

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“Celia, and Lawrence, too, are lost to me for good. And the things I’ve been seeing and hearing make me a plain lunatic.” Conner understood for the first time that Gran had been aware of her lapses. She knew she’d been slipping in and out of confusion. Whoever sat with her in there was someone she hoped could help her make sense of it. A horrible sadness took hold of him. Having your mind slip away from you sucked enough. Knowing about it . . . He couldn’t even imagine. She was holding onto her religion as a way to deal with concerns about her own reality. A calm voice broke into Gran’s troubled musings. “Sister, all of us in this world—Christians, Jews, Muslims—are born with the ability to find God. Our cultures, generations, and religions define us, but inside we have a kind of inner beacon that, if we follow it, will lead us to the Deity. And even more relevant to your concerns, we are connected by love to those that have passed on.” The woman’s voice lacked condescension. She met his great-grandmother’s words head on. “These things I’ve been hearing, seeing. Celia . . .” Gran said. “Faith at its core is belief without any absolute answers.” The woman’s deep voice arched and fell like a Motown diva, practically singing her response. “As human life evolves and changes, God is a constant. He finds us. It’s not surprising to me that He would do this through those we love who are with Him.” “You think that’s true?” Gran sounded as hopeful as a preschool child. “Sister Raine, the things you’re seeing and hearing—if it comforts you—are a gift of God, no matter the origin of the visions. Folks need to let go of the drive to know so much. It’s called a leap of faith for a very good reason.” The woman’s voice elevated the rhetoric, gave it credibility, but Conner was wary of religion. Spirituality was one thing, but religion—all religion, even a brand as inclusive as this woman’s seemed to be—was, in his mind, a cult waiting to happen. And the

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first credo of the cult? Believe and allow yourself to be led, even if it goes against all reason. Then again, his decisions with Kilian didn’t make much more sense than the zealots shaving their heads and passing out flyers. Conner wondered what his gut was really telling him. He loved Kilian. That’s the only part of his life that he knew was right. When had he known? When had he realized he loved her? He remembered when he first noticed her. She sparred on a daily basis with the professor in his geo-politics class. Her arguments sounded almost personal. Pissed off. He hadn’t liked her much. Then he saw her outside, on campus one day. She was wearing winter gloves on a warm, fall day, and she carried a box. As he looked closer, he saw what looked to be blood staining the corner of the cardboard. “What do you have?” He caught up with her. “Nothing.” She didn’t look his way as she answered, increased her pace. “Is that blood?” She kept going, didn’t even answer that time. “Hey!” he yelled. “I was just trying to fucking help.” She stopped, turned toward him, her mouth closed and set in a tight line. Tears were in her eyes, but she wasn’t crying. She opened the flap of the box and, inside, a squirrel lay on its side, one of its back legs mangled. “Jesus.” “Somebody’s fucking dog was loose on campus,” she said, not bothering to explain any more than that. “Those things carry rabies,” he said, looking down again at the small animal. “And it was probably sick to begin with, if a dog was able to catch up with it. You have to be careful.” He had the odd sensation of channeling his mother. “That’s why I’m wearing gloves,” she said, as if it was obvious. She started walking again and he walked with her. “There’s a place near campus that will take in wild animals if they’re hurt.”

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From that moment on, he felt something overwhelming about her. Something he knew had to be love. Later, when she told him about her condition, what he felt for Kilian was love, squared. He wanted to protect her, take care of her. It was the most intense emotion he’d ever experienced. But then, right after the holiday break, everything had begun to seem a little too intense. His feelings for her. Her medical problems. School, and the fact that he didn’t have a clue about what he wanted to do with his life. He’d cut loose for one night and fucked up everything. “I hope you’re right,” Gran was saying to the woman. “Everything I’ve done in my life has been built on what I believe.” What had he built his life around? Love? Guilt? The panic over what happened at school, along with the urgency of Kilian’s situation had made leaving the only apparent option. He didn’t know what that girl was saying about him on campus, but he sure the hell didn’t want to stick around and let his mistakes destroy Kilian. Her world was too fragile as it was. But his reasons for being in Texas? That’s where it got fuzzy. He’d made up some bullshit for his parents about needing an authentic life. Listening to Gran talk through her fears with this woman, he knew for a fact even with all his marbles intact, he didn’t have any more answers than his great-grandmother. “I may go to hell for my sin,” Gran said. The finality of her tone snapped his thoughts toward her desperate statement. She spoke the word sin as if there was just one. Something she couldn’t forgive in herself, much less ask God to give her a pass on. “But Celia and my Lawrence, I need to know they’re okay. That’s all I ask from God these days.” “God’s capacity for forgiveness would astound you, Sister. Don’t give up on yourself just yet.” “Celia’s at peace. I feel it,” Gran said. “Her visits—they do comfort me.”

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“Of course they do.” The woman’s voice coated the air like glaze on a donut. “Sister Raine, there are physical properties found in love. I believe that. Energy we don’t have the tools to measure yet, but it’s there. God and Science are not so dissimilar. I would argue they are one and the same. These comforting visitations are a mystery, but that doesn’t make them less valid. I don’t know how an airplane works, but I step on and trust it to fly.” “I do hate airplanes,” Gran said, breaking the spell of the discussion. “Only been on them twice and hope I’m never up there again.” Gran’s jump to a literal interpretation of her visitor’s analogy made Conner want to laugh. From the sublime to the absurd inside of a dozen words. “And those rockets,” Gran went on, “those things aren’t meant to be up there. Look at what just happened. Flying in the face of God. It’s too bold. I’ve always believed that.” He thought it was probably a good time to step in, before Gran got herself worked up about the astronauts. He’d heard her go off on spaceships and the moon business before. If he could head it off at the pass, it would be a more pleasant night for everyone. “Hey!” His best imitation of a Texas greeting fell flat to his own ears. As he walked into the room, the woman looked up at him. He felt an immediate sense of calm. He couldn’t explain it, but whatever it was, it came from her. “Hi, I’m Alicia.” The woman stood up, stuck out her hand. “I lead the Bible study Raine and Georgia attend.” She looked as much like a Motown diva as she sounded. Coffee-colored skin and a curvy, muscular frame. Mid-thirties or so, he’d guess, although she appeared ageless somehow. “Since the two of them couldn’t make it tonight, I thought I’d pay a visit on my way home. You must be Conner.” “Yes, ma’am,” he said, employing his best Sunday School manners.

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“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “How’s your girlfriend? Raine told me you’ve had a scare.” “She’s better, I think,” he said. “They’re still running tests.” He wasn’t thinking about Kilian for a change. He concentrated on the woman, Alicia, and tried to pin down what he responded to in her demeanor. It was as if she radiated something that brought his endorphins up to levels he hadn’t felt in weeks. “You know,” she said, still on her feet, “it’s getting pretty late. I should be going.” Conner smiled, nodded, but found himself unable to think of anything to say. “Walk her out if you don’t mind, son,” Gran said. He waited for Alicia to protest, saying she didn’t need an escort thirty yards out to her car in the driveway, but she gathered her things without any comment. On the way to the front door, she walked ahead of him, began humming a song. A hymn. Conner couldn’t place it, but he knew the tune. An old song. Hearing it from her was like retro furniture in an urban loft. Familiar and new, all at once. “What’s the name of that song?” he asked when she paused. “‘Whispering Hope,’” she told him. “You know it?” “I used to,” he said. “I haven’t been to church in a while.” More than a while. He hadn’t been to church since before his folks split up. They used to go all the time in Houston, he remembered, and then some when they moved to New York. His mother had started going to a little church near her house, but, personally, he’d given up asking Jesus to be Santa Claus for him. Still, he remembered liking certain things about going to church. He’d liked that hymn. “If you grew up with it, it never quite leaves you, does it?” Alicia looked back at him, tilted her head sideways and smiled. It struck him as a genuine, almost childlike smile, incongruous with the commanding presence the woman maintained.

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“I guess not,” he said. She’d slowed her steps, finally stopped her progress toward her car altogether to turn and look at him. “Do you still pray?” she asked. The question embarrassed him, made him cringe. She might as well have asked if he masturbated. She stood in the middle of the yard, holding keys in her hand, and waited. “Not really,” he managed. Did he? In spite of his discomfort, he thought about it. He’d sent up a lot of petitions on Killian’s behalf in the last few days, but it was more a general pleading. Were those prayers? “Maybe,” he amended. She pushed her hair back with both hands and took a deep breath. In the soft light that came from the house, he could see a glistening of perspiration on her face, her neck, even though the evening was cool. Serving as an instrument of God was obviously harder work than it seemed. “If you want to talk sometime,” she said, “your great-grandmother knows how to reach me.” He wondered if she sensed something in him. It made him uncomfortable to think that his insecurities were that transparent. He thought of asking for her opinions on Gran’s confusion, but then decided against it. He seemed to recall that preachers had some kind of privacy oath or something. Like doctors. “I’m not real big on the religion thing,” he said, finally. “I don’t blame you,” she said. “Religion is unpredictable, more given to the times than to the Word. Spirituality can be a more consistent focus.” He smiled. She was really good at shoveling it, he thought. But her face was kind and, like her smile, unguarded. It made him feel like caving, telling her everything that had piled up in his mind. It might feel good, he realized, to say it all to someone. To admit that

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he was a fraud and a failure as an adult, as a boyfriend, a son. He thought of the mess back at school and added human being to the list. Then the thought of actually telling a stranger his problems became unthinkable. “Thanks,” he mumbled, moving slightly toward her car, attempting to end the moment. She picked up on his cues and began to walk again. He was tired of talking to women. A girlfriend, women relatives, women doctors. And now, a woman preacher. There were too damn many women in his life. He was looking forward to getting back to the shop on Monday morning. Sitting with Hanson, his boss. Talking about fishing and baseball. He wanted to stop thinking so fucking much about everything. Alicia got into her car. “Thanks for coming to check on Gran,” he said. “She loves having you so close.” In the dim night, she seemed to radiate that energy that was, again, almost visible around her. “It’s a blessing you’re here.” As she drove away, he wondered if that was true at all. By his own estimation, he had yet to accomplish much of anything positive over the past year. If he really thought about it, he was afraid he’d done more harm than good. He walked back toward the house to check on Gran before he went back to spend yet another night in the trailer alone. Thin clouds covered the dark sky. He could make out a faint moon and no stars to speak of, but he knew they were there. Behind the haze, they stared at him like millions of eyes looking through a one-way mirror. He hurried in the house, hoping to block the feeling of their intense regard.

Holli

I looked out the airplane window, down onto the large stretch of land that was only a fraction of my home state. A fraction of a fraction. It seemed too much to consider. As I stared at the flat expanse revealed in an unforgiving morning light, I couldn’t shake a feeling of dread. The oddest part was that with all of the problems I needed to face, the thought I dreaded most was the certainty that I’d be dealing with Georgia. Focusing irrationally on my stepmother—maybe that was my way of not thinking about Conner. In all my imaginings about my son in Texas, she had been largely absent from the picture. But Georgia had been the one who called Harrison. She was clearly involved in all of this somehow. “Doesn’t change much, does it?” Harrison looked past me and at the landscape outside the window. “Not the look of it,” I said. “Everything else is moving pretty fast, it seems.” Harrison smiled and I realized that my words, even my thoughts, were taking on a Texas cadence. He leaned back. “You’re right about that. Are you okay with the idea that Georgia is part of this picture?” “I don’t have much choice.”

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Contrary to what Harrison—what everyone—believed, my feelings about my stepmother were more complicated than hatred. The genesis of my problems began long before I had the capacity to understand my mother’s death, before I could blame Georgia or my father for what happened. If I was honest with myself, at the inner core of all my baggage with Georgia, I could still find no pure hatred. Anger maybe, but mostly the intense pain of a rejected ten-year-old. In many ways, that kind of buried rage was more dangerous. I covered it with a hard, malignant veneer; an outward persona kept it more contained. “Holli? Are you sure you’re okay?” Harrison asked. I felt the body of the plane descending lower toward everything that waited on the ground beneath us. I shook my head. He put his arm over the back of my seat, leaned over to look more closely at the landscape. His arm touching my shoulder seemed like a protective gesture, but maybe he simply wanted a better view. Regardless of his intent, as he pressed near me, the muscles in my thighs gave way. From my belly to my knees, it was quicksand again. I made a slight motion away from him toward the window, and he withdrew his arm. Showing that much self-control made me feel better. I reminded myself that whatever was, or was not, happening with Harrison, I was glad to have him with me as a partner in the coming ordeal. Without touching, we both faced the window, looking out together as we watched Texas rise up to meet us from below. “Since we don’t know what hospital she went to, I guess we head for Raine’s house,” I said after we’d picked up the rental car. Harrison offered to drive, so I stared at the landscape and tried to fashion some sort of plan. “Does Raine know we’re coming?” he asked.

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“I called her last night. I think I woke her. I asked her about the hospital and she said it was in Waco, but she didn’t know which one. I told her we were coming, but I’m not sure that it sunk in that I meant today.” Harrison hit speed dial, waited for Conner to pick up. When that didn’t happen, he ended the call before the voicemail came on. “He’s definitely avoiding us,” he said. “We’re going to have to just find him.” Strong wind shimmied the car as we picked up speed on the highway going south, and I was glad we hadn’t opted for an even smaller car. “It’s coming at us pretty hard,” Harrison said, looking out his window. I nodded, thinking that his assessment summed up our entire hasty trip south to find our son. As the rural landscape began to overtake the outskirts of Dallas, I noticed a large van with a NASA logo ahead of us on the two-lane state road. “Looks like they’re still around,” Harrison said, as we slowed for it to turn off onto another road. “Seems to me like they’ve always been here,” I said. And I wondered if it would be that way forever. If I would go out of this world at the same moment when some rocket fired hot, pushing some brave, helpless soul right along with me, into another world. There was too much going on for me to get maudlin and superstitious. I had to put thoughts of government vans and broken spaceships out of my mind and concentrate on the more immediate concern of figuring out how to get to Conner. But a short time later, pulling into Raine’s front yard, I once again lost my resolve to stay practical and gave in momentarily to sentimentality. Raine’s house had been the backdrop for the larger transformations of my youth. Getting out of the rental car, I recalled vividly a time—before I fully understood what had happened with my parents and Geor-

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gia—standing in the yard, looking at the road. I had been daydreaming all morning of Tina, my new little sister. I thought of her as a kind of twin for the baby who died, and I imagined Daddy and Georgia showing up in that driveway, telling me it was time to move from Grandma Raine’s and go back home with them. I watched the road for hours it seemed, although it could have been minutes, willing their car to appear. But it never did. Often my memory would go to just that point. That small window when I still thought a regular family might be possible. “Nobody’s home.” Harrison stood at the kitchen door. People always came in through the kitchen at Raine’s. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen anyone use the front door, except for the occasional salesman. “I’ve got my key,” I said. “I guess we just wait for her.” Raine’s car was in the carport, but that didn’t mean anything. She never drove herself anymore. I looked out back toward the trailer, didn’t see any movement. Kilian’s truck wasn’t sitting out front, so it wasn’t likely that Conner was home either. “It’s Sunday,” I said. “That means Raine went on to church. She must not have processed that we were coming today. Otherwise, she would have stayed home and cooked for us.” I laughed, pushing away the small disappointment of not being greeted. If she was having trouble with her mind, her absence wasn’t a lack of regard, and I couldn’t take it to heart. “Georgia, too, I bet,” Harrison said. “We won’t be able to reach her until she gets home.” Let’s go inside for a few minutes. Unless she goes out for lunch after church with someone, she should be back soon. Conner might even be with her.” “My guess is he’s at the hospital,” Harrison offered. He was right. Still, I still held out some, small hope that Conner would show up before we tried to find him. I didn’t want to be with Kilian when we first saw him. I felt as if we’d have a more

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level playing field if we talked to him away from her. It wasn’t rational. She wasn’t keeping him with her against his will. But in my mind, most of the mess had to be her fault; otherwise, Conner had become someone I didn’t know. “Wonder what Raine’s got in the fridge?” Harrison said, his face breaking into a grin. “How old are you?” I smiled back at him, feeling transported momentarily back to our early days. Fiddling with the key inside the ancient lock, I could see the whole kitchen through the sheer curtains on her door. Everything looked tidy, as usual. Raine believed in keeping tables wiped and counters clear. At least her problems hadn’t altered her cleaning habits. Warm wind went through my light clothing, touched my skin. The feel of the place, the smells, they never changed. I closed my eyes for a second, letting the air wash over me like a shower. I hit the sweet spot on the lock and it gave. “I’ve always loved this house,” Harrison said, looking around. It was true. By the time he was seven or eight, Harrison’s grandparents lived in a nursing home outside of Tyler. And his parents’ house was a standard, seventies split-level they’d bought after renting one place or another for years. He used to tell me that he’d always wanted a homestead—an old, grandmotherly place like Raine’s. Inside, absent the strong wind, sunlight gave the room a justbaked quality. The wood floor was showing signs of wear, but everything else looked as if it had been kept up. It smelled like Raine, all her particular kitchen soaps and spices. In all the times I’d been there with her, I never actually looked at all the things in it. In her absence, I felt free to examine the house where I’d done most of my growing up. I sat down in one of the four dinette chairs at the table, and Harrison went straight for the refrigerator.

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“Looks like chicken and dumplings, squash, and some kind of leftover soup.” He lifted lids and prodded back farther in the shelves. “Jackpot,” he said. “Cobbler. Peach, I think. You want some?” “No thanks,” I told him. It was too early in the season for fresh peaches. She would still be using the ones she froze the year before. Seasons at Raine’s revolved around fresh produce, canning and freezing, only to begin the cycle again. “I can heat it for you,” I offered. “Cold is fine,” he said, sitting down beside me with a good-sized bowl. I watched him eat, thought of all the days we’d spent together at Raine’s house, enjoying food she’d cooked. Part of me suddenly envied Conner’s new life. When I was in New York, I rarely thought of all the things I liked—missed even—about where I’d grown up. Having gone that far, I couldn’t help but think about all the things I could have had in my life still, if things had gone differently back then. My mother might have been alive—not relegated to the desperate hallucinations of those who loved her. Harrison held over a bite of cobbler on a spoon for me. I leaned over and took in the taste. The starchy sweetness was thick with memory. I felt unexpected tears come into my eyes. Why, exactly, I couldn’t say. Harrison offered a kind smile and, blessedly, didn’t ask.

Hollyanne

I’d grown too big for Grandma Raine to lift me, so Uncle Luke held me up to look through the tiny rectangle of window so I could see my daddy in his hospital bed. It didn’t look much like Daddy, that man with the swollen face. His body was a mess too, his arm and chest scraped nearly raw when he hit the pavement. A nurse stood by him, checking one of the machines, writing something on a pad of paper. “See?” Luke said, his voice cheerier than anybody around us looked. “He’s all right. Didn’t I tell ya? Just a little banged up, that’s all.” Nobody would tell me where Mama was. Grandma Raine said she’d seen her and they’d taken her to surgery, wherever that was; but that was it, all they offered. “Can I see her?” I asked. “Not right now, child,” Grandma Raine told me. She looked miserable. Luke took me to the cafeteria, offered to buy me whatever I wanted. A few people sat around looking worried and sad. All the cafeteria workers had gone home. They’d closed down the hot food service for the night. But machines lined the side of the room— machines that sold ice cream, cookies, coffee, and chips. I picked

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a cup of vanilla ice cream, the kind with the pull-tab top. I chose it to make him quit asking, but I didn’t plan to eat it. Ice cream was for birthdays and church socials, not hospitals in the middle of the night. Luke got me a real spoon so I wouldn’t have to eat with the flat wooden one that came with the ice cream. “Let me have a little bite of that.” He could have the whole thing, for all I cared. He looked at the scattering of people in the room. Hoping to find someone other than me to talk to, I figured. Every television on every hospital floor showed the men still hopping around on the moon, two of them. They looked like kids from my grade, having the time of their lives. I wondered how long they could play around like that before they ran out of air. From my class at school, I knew there wasn’t a molecule of air on the moon. The supply they had with them couldn’t go on forever. I hoped the two of them weren’t having so much fun that they forgot about the air. Like Cinderella and the midnight pumpkin. It didn’t matter to me, anyway. Not anymore. With Daddy and Mama in such a mess, astronauts could run out of air and die, and it wouldn’t change anything in my life. “It’s melting, Hollyanne,” Luke said, tapping his foot and still looking like he wanted to go. “You go on and eat it, okay?” I took a little bite. The cold hurt my teeth, gave me a chill. I put the spoon down. “Sit here for a second,” Luke told me. “I’m going to get cigarettes out in the hall. I’ll be right back.” Luke was skinny. Daddy said it was because with his twitchy ways, he was burning fuel constantly, every minute of the day. “I couldn’t live with it,” Mama always said. “Would make me a nervous wreck.” Hunched over my hospital ice cream, conversations like that between Mama and Daddy seemed like something from a long time ago, not just earlier in the same day. I could hear Luke in the

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hall at the cigarette machine. He’d started talking to somebody, another man. “Yeah,” Luke was telling him, “He’s doing pretty good, considering what he went through. He was hanging off the back, they said, when she goes into this spin. He fell off before she hit the light pole. Would’ve killed him for sure, if he’d been on there then.” “What the hell was she doing?” Luke’s friend asked. “I never heard tell of Celia acting like that. Hell, I went with her for a year in high school. She was so calm all the time, I had to quit her, you know? I needed a little more fireworks, girl with a temper. Celia Raine never said boo in her life.” “Not ’til tonight, she didn’t.” I wanted to hear more about Mama. What she was like in high school. What boyfriends she had. But they were done with that, got off that subject and onto talking about a dirt track race over the weekend. On the other side of the cafeteria I saw a door marked EXIT. I figured if they wouldn’t take me to Mama, I’d have to find her on my own. I left the ice cream on the table and went out the other door. Most of the rooms were empty. The ones that weren’t had people sleeping—old people or people whose diseases made them seem that way. Their mouths gaped open and their skin looked like dead-people skin. I had been to three open-casket viewings at the funeral home. The one thing I’d decided, dead skin always looked the same. I took a close look at every person I found asleep, made sure it wasn’t Mama. If Daddy didn’t look like Daddy in that hospital bed, then Mama might have changed too. Twice, I had to hide in somebody’s bathroom until a nurse came and went. One old man woke up and called me “Jenny.” He was a good bit older than Grandma Raine.

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“Jenny,” he said. “Come give your old Grandpa a hug.” So I did. I figured it was the right thing to do. He smelled old, but his wrinkles were soft as Kleenex. At the end of the hall, I came to a stairwell, went up a flight and ended up outside the waiting room where Kelly and Grandma Raine sat together. Luke wasn’t with them. He was either still talking to his friend or going crazy looking for me. Either way, he’d be in trouble for losing track of me. I knew that much. I walked down the hall in the other direction. Went to the room number that I remembered was Daddy’s. Somebody inside was talking, a woman. For a second, I thought it might be Mama, and I started to let go of all my worry. Then I opened the door a crack and listened some more. It wasn’t Mama. It wasn’t the nurse either. I opened it a little more to see better. All it took was one look at the woman’s legs. Nylons, shredded to pieces from walking on the street. Sob-choked voice saying she was sorry, and Daddy too out of it to care. What was Georgia Lansing doing in Daddy’s room? I heard the nurse talking around the corner, coming in our direction. I moved off behind a cart that sat in the hall. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the nurse said when she walked in Daddy’s room. “You’ll have to leave. The others are in the waiting room, if you want to go there.” Georgia Lansing left, going the opposite direction from where everybody else was waiting. Her shoes were still in her hand. After the nurse had gone, I went into Daddy’s room. His face was swollen, and blue from bruises. He had a tube going in his arm and new bandages over his shoulder and chest. Bruises and scrapes still came out the sides of the big white gauze, like they couldn’t find enough of it to cover all his trouble. I thought of all the broken TVs at the Zenith shop, wondered how he was going to fix them when he was all broken, himself. “Daddy?” I said it softly, so he wouldn’t jerk. They’d bound him

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up so tight, something was likely to come loose if he moved. “Hey, Daddy,” I said, a little louder. He opened his eyes a little. When he saw me, the look on his face made me sad that I’d roused him. I realized he must hurt something awful when he wasn’t asleep. “I was looking for Mama,” I told him. He opened his hand. It was the only part of him that moved. I walked closer to his bed. Through the yellow light they left on at night, I could see that he had tears in his eyes and on his face. I hated to see that. He’d been crying when Mama was in the truck, and he was crying again. He never cried. Daddies just didn’t. I wanted to run away from him, from anything that could make him do that. “I love your mama,” he said. The words were low in a voice I didn’t know. Maybe pain changed your voice, like the flu or a bad cold. “I’ll tell her when I find her,” I told him. My legs kept twitching, wanting to go back out into the hall. He closed his eyes, like that soothed him. The thought of me carrying his message to Mama seemed to ease whatever was hurting him. I walked backwards to the door, careful to watch him, make sure he stayed asleep. When I walked out into the hall, the commotion of grown-up bodies was centered on me all of a sudden. One doctor and a nurse, Grandma Raine and Kelly—the last two crying out and calling my name. “Oh, baby!” Kelly said, grabbing me too hard with a hug, Grandma Raine holding on and pulling the other way. Uncle Luke stood back with the doctor. He looked awful. They must have been pretty mad at him for him to look that upset. “I was looking for Mama,” I told them, stepping back so I could explain. “I wanted to find her. Daddy wants me to tell her he loves her. I’ve got to go tell her.”

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Grandma Raine pinched her eyes together, her whole face red and wet from crying. The noise that came from her sounded angry and sad all at once. Kelly’s wails were pure heartache. “I just want to give her that message from Daddy, and then I’ll stay with you,” I said, hoping that my purpose got through the fury of their feelings. “Baby?” Kelly said, still bending on one knee to stay eye level with me. “Your mama’s gone.” It was quiet all around. Like Jesus putting His hand out on the Sea of Galilee. The storm stopped. “Where’d she go?” I asked. I knew the answer wasn’t found in the hospital anymore. I was little, but I knew what gone meant. “Your mama died,” Kelly said, still quiet. But the tears were coming again. “Your mama and your little sister. They’ve gone off together to be with God.” I tried to picture them, packed and traveling off to a vacation somewhere, Mama and the baby we’d cleared closet space to welcome. I wanted to go, too. I wanted to be with Mama and see the baby I’d been waiting for for all this time. I turned. It was Grandma Raine’s face I needed to see. Mama’s mama. It was as close as I could come to her. Grandma Raine’s expression looked just like I felt. I let myself move forward and fall some at the same time. She caught me, took me in. There were lots of rooms in the hospital. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe Mama took the baby to be quiet in a room somewhere, and they just thought she was gone. “I want Mama,” I said, tears stopping my words from coming out right. “Me too, honey,” Grandma Raine said and held me tight. “Where is she?” “She’s with God, baby. Her earthly body, hers and your sister’s, are off in a room down the hall. But the two of them . . . They’ve gone off to be with God.”

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She was there in a room somewhere—but gone, not just missing. That meant they knew then for sure. I felt like I was broken. Not hurt like Daddy, but a useless heap of pieces that needed to be thrown out. Grandma Raine sat on the floor. She was small, but gentle against me, pressing soft against all the new feelings I had that were sharp and scattered. I stayed there, quiet and still against my grandma, hurt in places I’d only felt happiness before. I wondered if, on the way to God, Mama, and the baby would pass by those men playing on the moon. If the two of them—those astronauts—would maybe wave at Mama and make her happy. Make her have that look on her face that I loved and already missed.

Conner

Hanson Anderson, Conner’s boss, was at the shop when Conner got there. Sunday morning, Conner had thought he’d have the place to himself, but apparently Hanson’s routine was to attend the early church service with his family, then escape to the shop to get away from the noise and chaos of grandchildren. “I’ll get on home when Ayla calls and tells me it’s time to eat,” he said. “I love those children one at a time, but when the pack of ’em get together, you might as well be stumbling through a yard full of geese.” Hanson owned the TV shop, even though the sign still said Fielding’s. He’d worked for Conner’s Granddad Fielding for over thirty years; then when the old man died two years before, he’d been the logical one to buy the business from the family. Hanson had been good to Conner—had given him a job at his granddad’s old place without thinking twice. “You need to pick up Raine after the service?” Hanson looked at his watch. “No, she and Georgia are together. I dropped them off, but they have another ride back.” Conner had driven Gran and Georgia to the Baptist church for Sunday services. He’d gathered from the two of them that they didn’t say much about their weekly Bible Study with Alicia when

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they were around people at their regular church. Conner smiled thinking of the conversation as they drove up to the clapboard church. “Would you look at that?” Georgia squinted to see more clearly. “They’ve changed the paint on the shutters.” “You’re right,” Gran said. “They used to be green, didn’t they? I’m not sure what that new color says about us. What would you call that shade of red?” “Burgundy. Maroon, maybe.” Georgia was still staring out the car window as she offered her opinion. Conner wondered if he would ever get to the point in life when painted shutters took up even a second of his attention. He’d watched them make their way toward the sanctuary door. Even with the boot contraption on her foot, Georgia looked nice. She’d been a little younger than Celia, his real grandmother. His mom told him that. Conner remembered his Grandaddy Ray as a face full of weathered wrinkles, but he must have been goodlooking at some point to have gotten Georgia interested in having an affair with him. Conner thought of his family’s history without any of the first-hand emotions that made his mother suffer so much. He wondered if that was wrong—if, on principle, he should resent Georgia the way his mother did. Gran had come to rely on Georgia for company and for practical help. The younger woman seemed happy to oblige. Anyone looking at them would mistake them for mother and daughter. He felt another wave of disloyality to his mother—and to the sainted grandmother Celia—even letting that thought into his head. He wondered again what his mom would do when she figured out that Gran and Georgia had actually become friends. “It’s the damnedest thing, those two,” Hanson said, as if picking up on Conner’s mental musings. “They were at each other’s throats for thirty years. Maybe more. Your grandfather dies, and they’re ducks on a pond.” Hanson’s sudden, broad smile made his

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face all angles. “I don’t understand it myself, but women and reason go together about as well as beer and goats, best I can tell.” Geese, ducks and goats. A menagerie of farm creatures populated Hanson’s conversation every day. “I hear they go to that wacky woman’s Bible Study at the Wesleyan Center. Is that right?” Hanson asked. “Yeah,” Conner said. He was staring into the guts of a large RCA that had perfect sound, but no picture. “I met her last night. The woman who runs it. She seems okay.” “She’s a dang loon, that’s what she is,” Hanson said. “She’s got some of them people at that place going off the deep end with that new religious stuff. You keep clear of it.” “Yes, sir,” Conner said, glancing up from his work. “All you need to do is get yourself baptized.” Hanson continued, on a roll. “People want to figure it all out. Explain it. Hell, the less we know about the big picture, the better, most of the time.” Conner didn’t bother to tell him that he’d heard Alicia say almost the same thing the night before. “Your granddad used to say his goal, sun-up to sun-down, was to do more good than harm in the world, which is harder than it seems.” Tell me about it. “You liked him, didn’t you?” Conner asked, shifting the topic away from Alicia. “Ray Fielding? I certainly did. I know he had his failings. He had a temper that got the best of him when you weren’t expecting it. And after he married Georgia, I know he wasn’t much of a daddy to Hollyanne, but I tell you the truth—he never got over what happened to Celia. He suffered for it—don’t think he didn’t. I think this shop was the only little bit of peace in his life after she died.” Conner liked stories about Granddad Ray, ones that showed him as a regular guy. He wished he’d known the old man better. His mom’s accounts of life from when she was little went hot and cold. She’d been pretty close to her dad, and then everything

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stopped after Celia’s accident. It was like Ray died, too. After that, his mom’s memories centered around Raine—or Georgia. “You don’t have to be here, you know.” The older man put his pliers down and stood up to stretch. “You’ve had a rough couple of days. I can cover anything you don’t finish.” “I know,” Conner said. “But I’d rather be here than anywhere else at the moment.” “Didn’t you say you had some kind of appointment with that gal of yours this afternoon?” Hanson asked. “Yeah, I’m supposed to ride over and meet with Kilian and one of her doctors. I’ve got a little time before I need to leave.” “Do you know what it’s about?” Hanson settled again on his workbench, held a screwdriver suspended over the television like a surgeon getting ready to cut. “Not a clue,” Conner told him. “But I’m worried. Kilian won’t say, but I get the feeling this is some kind of specialist being brought in for a bigger problem than they were expecting. Her breathing isn’t back where it should be, and they don’t want to let her come home.” “Ah, hell, Conner,” Hanson said, looking genuinely distressed. “I’m sorry. She’s a sweet kid. I hate to see the two of you go through this.” Conner felt strange, confiding in the man. His own mother didn’t even know about Kilian’s problems, and the whole town might hear about it before he got around to telling his parents at this point. But he liked Hanson, and it helped to talk. “I just want her to get better,” Conner said, feeling the helpless sense of panic begin in the pit of his stomach. He took a deep breath, forced his mind to concentrate on the television in front of him. As he worked, it occurred to him that his grandfather had the right idea about problems. When they got too big, the best thing to do was to keep your thoughts trained on something you knew you could fix.

Holli

Harrison finished his cobbler then went back for more. Raine would enjoy seeing him eat—if she ever got home. “Church should be out by now,” he said, bringing his bowl to the sink. “Let me get my phone, and I’ll try Georgia,” he said. “Let’s see if we can figure out where to find Conner.” Implied was his intention of sparing me the phone call to my stepmother. It amazed me that he could be so clueless about some things and so insightful about others. He left the room, and I began rinsing his bowl out of habit. Harrison came back, cell phone in hand. “Somebody’s driving in.” He looked out the side door toward the road. I didn’t recognize the car that had come into the driveway, but then I didn’t know what anyone in town drove anymore. “Must be somebody bringing Raine home from church.” I watched as they stopped near the carport. A woman was driving. No one I recognized. Just someone dropping Raine off, I guessed. As the passenger side door opened, another woman got out. Still not Raine. From a distance, it took me a second to recognize her. It was Georgia, and she had something wrong with her foot, she was wearing a big, oversized boot thing that went halfway up her shin.

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She shuffled to the back door of the car and waited for Raine to get out. Harrison immediately went out to greet them both. “Hey ladies,” he called out. In spite of her infirmity, Georgia helped Raine get steady on her feet, coming up from the low seat of the car. Georgia thanked the driver for the ride, and the woman circled around and headed back out the driveway. Raine smiled but looked a little uneasy when she saw Harrison. He bent low to hug her as the two of them reached him; then he said something to Georgia, and she looked at her foot and nodded. I stood on the landing by the side door, waited to be noticed as the three of them came closer. “I wasn’t sure what time you were coming in.” Raine tried to appear off-hand and cheerful, but I could tell she was covering, embarrassed that she’d forgotten. She’d likely never fully processed our impending visit. “I was just going to get out leftovers so Georgia and I could have a bite of Sunday dinner.” We’d come to the part of the country where lunch was dinner and dinner was supper. “Hope you’re not counting on cobbler,” Harrison said. “I finished most of it.” “I’m glad you found it,” she said. “We’re just going to have chicken and dumplings. I’ve got a fair amount made up from yesterday. There’s plenty if you’re still hungry.” She looked up and saw me. “Hollyanne!” Her face looked like pure joy. I hugged her. She felt even smaller than I remembered from just months before. I went into the kitchen with her and let the others follow. “Hey there, Hollyanne.” Georgia came in, sat down at the table and put her hurt foot up on a stool. I had to admit she looked good. Her skin, her hair. She’d kept herself together through the

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years. I wondered if Daddy had been proud of the way she looked, if they’d been at all happy together. It was a hard place to let my mind wander. “Hi, Georgia,” I said, still wondering what the hell she was doing, making herself at home at my grandmother’s kitchen table. I kept waiting for Raine to explain. “You need a pillow under your foot?” Raine spoke to Georgia as if it was perfectly natural for the other woman to be there at her table, propping up her leg. They both acted easy in each other’s presence. “I’m fine,” Georgia said. “Harrison, it’s good to see you.” “You are a sight for sore eyes,” Raine said, hands on her hips as she regarded the two of us. “And that boy of yours has sure been a treat to have around. We had a ball yesterday, out back planting flowers. He’s not here at the moment. He’s at the hospital, I guess.” Georgia looked up sharply at Raine, seemed to want to convey that the subject might be off-limits. “We know about Kilian,” I told Georgia. “Her aunt came to the house and told us what was going on, and then I talked to Raine last night. I caught you half asleep when I called,” I said to Raine. “Sorry I woke you.” “I should have gotten up early and had some proper food for you.” She looked upset. “Georgia, did I tell you that these two were coming?” Raine offered a pleading look to my stepmother. I wanted to go hug Raine—to tell her it was all right—but that would have made her feel even more ashamed. “I do think you mentioned it.” Georgia offered up the obvious lie, and I felt grudgingly grateful. “But you know how scattered I am with this foot. In one ear and out the other.” Everyone in the room, including Raine, knew that if she’d remembered our conversation at all, she wouldn’t have invited Geor-

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gia to lunch. And if Georgia had known, she wouldn’t have come. Best to move off the subject. “Well,” I said. “I’m just glad to be here.” “I told Conner he needed to talk to you,” Georgia said. “We both did,” she nodded over toward Raine. “I don’t understand fully myself what’s wrong with the girl, but I guess it’s some condition she’s had since she was little.” Her casual claim to such intimate conversations with my son ran against the grain. Harrison was occupying himself pouring a glass of tea from the pitcher Raine had sitting on the counter. Finally, I couldn’t contain myself any more. “Why are you here?” I looked at Georgia. The question came out abruptly, more accusatory than I’d planned, but nevertheless, I didn’t backtrack or apologize. I wasn’t the crazy one. Georgia had all but put my mother in the grave before she married my father. Then she made sure I didn’t live in the house with the two of them and their baby. Raine’s house was the home I claimed. She had no right to be sitting at the kitchen table with the rest of us. “Raine’s needed more help with things lately. I’ve been around a little more. Just to see to things.” Georgia didn’t blink as she said this. She always had nerve. “Well, I can help my grandmother with anything she needs at the moment. Consider yourself free for the afternoon. Do you have a ride home?” Georgia didn’t bother to answer my question. She settled back in her chair, shifted the elevated leg slightly, my suggestion that she leave producing no visible results. “Last I checked, Hollyanne,” Raine spoke up, her voice firm, but gentle, “this was my kitchen. I’ve invited Georgia for some Sunday dinner.” She addressed me the same way she had when I was twelve. Hot nerves flushed up through my neck. I could hear the blood

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moving in my ears. I’d forced the moment, and my grandmother was taking her side. “You’ve been a little confused lately, Grandma Raine.” I struggled to keep my tone in adult octaves. “I wouldn’t want anyone taking advantage of that.” Harrison had been quiet during my display, watching all of us with the helpless expression of a man out of his element. “Could I talk with you a second?” He motioned toward the hall. We went into my old bedroom, and he pulled the door closed behind him. “Listen, Holli,” he began. “We’ve got a lot going on at the moment. Don’t get into it with Georgia. You’re running on too little sleep as it is—and we haven’t even gotten to the hard part yet.” “She shouldn’t be here.” I sounded juvenile, even to myself. But it was true. “I’m more than a little possessive of the tiny bit of family she left intact for me. This is not something new I’ve come up with, Harrison. Raine has changed the rules here. Not me.” “Raine has changed, period,” he said. “And she knows it. We have more to worry about than Georgia. Raine invited her in for some food,” he said. “It’s not a crime. And it’s not the time to get into old family business. Maybe Georgia is making an effort to reach out here.” He almost had me, until he threw in that last part. “She and my dad could have reached out a long time ago. To me and to you. Did my father ever say more than a dozen words to you? He wasn’t that way before he married her. I remember actually having a father. You didn’t know him then, but he was different. Everything was different.” “Maybe you were different, too, Holli.” His tone smacked of condescension, and it got under my skin. “I was ten years old, Harrison. A little kid. He had a chance to make things better, and he sat back and let Georgia keep me from him, from my sister, from my home.”

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“A chance?” Harrison said, more animated than I’d ever seen him. “He had one chance when you were ten years old, and that was it? That was his last opportunity? How long was that window of possibility actually open? Maybe he didn’t even know he was withdrawing from you. He’d gone through a lot, too, and I know you were a kid, but you grew up, Holli. There shouldn’t have been a statute of limitations on fixing your relationship with your father.” “It wasn’t like that, and you know it,” I said, getting flustered. “I saw you shut him out, too, Holli.” “So you think it’s all my fault?” I was too stunned at his arguments to feel anything but accused. I tried to retrace our words, to think of what could have brought it on. “I’m not taking their side, Holli, but it sounds as if you set up some sort of test that he failed—that both of them failed—and, after that, there was nothing to be done. Are you sure that this—I don’t know—this distance, you felt with him . . . Are you sure it was all his fault?” I looked at my ex-husband. His face was flushed, and he looked deeply vested in whatever answer I might give. “Are we talking about my father, Harrison? Or are we talking about you?” He looked at me but didn’t speak. His shoulders, his chest, everything about him deflated just a little. There seemed to be nothing right for either of us to say. “Harrison?” I didn’t even know what I wanted from him. “We need all the information we can get,” he said, his tone flat. The moment had ended, but I couldn’t get his impassioned words out of my thoughts. He put his hand on my arm, and I realized I was trembling. “Georgia called me. Remember?” he asked. “She knows what’s been going on and can probably articulate it a little better than your grandmother, whether we like it or not. Come on, Holl. Let’s

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sit down and get through one meal with her. She may be able to explain some of this before we get to Conner.” He was right. I hated to admit it, but I needed to look at the larger picture. Later, I could sort out my grandmother’s strange new defense of my dad’s second wife—not to mention what that was all about with Harrison. In the meantime, I’d pretend to eat dumplings that I seriously doubted I could swallow, and find out all I could before I saw my son. “Can you do this?” Harrison asked. I nodded, feeling spent. Then he took my hand, gently pulled me back toward the kitchen; more of a parental gesture on his part than anything else, but nevertheless, my body took notice. In just two days, so many confusing emotions had surfaced. And Harrison was wrong about one thing—the hard part had already begun.

Conner

Kilian was sitting up when he got to her room. She looked better than he’d expected. More alert. The doctor was already there, but Conner found it impossible to read anything in the woman’s face. She had the flat expression of someone who had, over the years, given all kinds of news—good and bad—without blinking. “What’s going on?” he asked, settling in a chair by the bed. Kilian glanced at the doctor. “It’s just that,” she paused, “there’s been a complication to my condition.” Her voice still came out raspy, but at least sounded stronger than the day before. That had to be good, didn’t it? “What kind of complication?” “It’s kind of a big deal. I didn’t want to talk about it until I’d thought about it some.” He waited, but Kilian didn’t say anything. She kept looking over at the doctor. “So just tell me.” He looked at the doctor too. It might be better to hear bad news from her. He could feel his pulse moving fast inside the sides of his neck. He wanted the words to be delivered in a sterile and flat tone so that he could maintain some sense of control. “I’m an obstetrician,” the doctor said, apropos nothing, it seemed. She looked at Kilian.

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“I’m pregnant, cowboy.” It came out rushed and urgent as if she’d been holding back with a fair amount of effort. Her voice was shaking. “I know this isn’t anything we ever talked about, and I’m really sorry to dump the news on you like this. I was surprised as hell when I found out. But it’s there.” He’d expected to hear something about dying—I’m dying, cowboy. The word pregnant didn’t register for a second. All that he heard was the absence of dying. Then it hit him, what she’d actually said. “Jesus, Kilian. Are you sure?” A stupid question. He was stalling. What was he supposed to say? “They ran it through twice,” Kilian told him. “I’ve known for sure since yesterday.” “Well, you don’t want to be sort of pregnant, I guess.” He went for a joking tone, but it came out hard and slightly mean. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Are you okay?” Dr. Daniels was leaning toward him. He figured he must look pretty bad if he was the focus of attention when there was a pregnant girl with CF in the room. “Mr. Templeton?” “Just call me Conner. If I was Mr. Templeton, I’d know what the fuck to do right now.” The words came out almost as laughter. He really couldn’t breathe. “It’s okay, cowboy.” Kilian was leaning toward him, too. “Honest, it is. You don’t have to take this on. I don’t expect you to. We can figure out something.” He already knew all of the options, and none of them worked. He suddenly knew how his parents had felt when they found out about him, and he wished he’d never had that thought. He felt close to throwing up. “We don’t have insurance,” he said. This time, it was a whisper. He wondered if he’d even said it out loud. “What?” Kilian looked surprised. Apparently, he had spoken the words. He should have told her before. It was her life, too. And a baby’s

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life. Jesus. “Your aunt. She tried to set things up for the bills from here. But it looks like your insurance is voided if you are no longer enrolled in school. She’s looking into it, trying to find something that might help. Some loophole in the policy . . .” He just kept saying words. They sounded like gibberish to him. He told himself to concentrate. Think about the situation one part at a time. “Listen,” Dr. Daniels jumped in. “Sounds like you two need to talk. I’m available here in-house this afternoon to go over your questions.” She laid a card on the nightstand beside the bed. “You can page me or reach me on my cell when you’re ready.” Conner nodded. He felt oddly disconnected from the floor. “Thanks, Dr. Daniels,” Kilian said. She’d lost her brave front. She looked as scared as he felt. A baby under the best of circumstances would be complicated beyond belief. A baby in someone with Kilian’s condition—it had to be risky. Then without insurance . . . The doctor left the room and, as the door closed behind her, Conner felt the silence. He didn’t know what to say or do. He didn’t even know where to start the conversation. Kilian got out of bed. Her white legs looked too thin to hold even her slight weight as she came to him where he sat in the room’s reclining chair. She settled herself on his lap, curled up like a small child and buried her head in his chest. “It’ll work out,” she said. “I’ll make it all right somehow.” Those should have been his words, he realized, but they weren’t there for him to say. In his wildest stretch of optimism, he couldn’t imagine an outcome that didn’t leave them all devastated and broken. He thought of Alicia, the Bible woman, and all her strong words the night before. He held Kilian and closed his eyes, tried to feel something bigger than himself, some guiding power. But all he felt was Kilian’s small body pressed against

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him. Inside her, an even smaller life had declared itself as real, and he realized that no matter how he looked at the situation, he was the strongest one in the room. That thought scared the living shit out of him. “It’ll be all right, Conner,” she said. “Really.” But he couldn’t honestly believe that anything would ever be all right again. Kilian had fallen asleep in his lap. He was amazed that she could find rest so easily. He carried her and put her on the bed. Without waking, she pulled the covers up under her chin and turned away from him. She held the edges of the sheet as if gripping the last inch of a cliff that kept her from falling. He needed to get out of the room. The enclosed space made him nauseated. As he headed out into the hall, he told himself that he should stay and be stronger than he felt, to be there for her when she woke. But he couldn’t do it. He halfway hoped Dr. Daniels would be in the hall. She dealt with pregnant women all the time and might have some perspective beyond the near-terror he felt. But she was nowhere in sight. All he saw as he stood there, trying to take a full breath, were the yards and yards of beige walls that could have been in any hospital, anywhere in the world. It was the most anonymous sight he could imagine—no place to be having such a specific, intimate crisis. He felt the panic rise as he stared at the equally featureless floor, a sight that stretched forever down the empty hallway that seemed to honestly have no end. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there, bent over staring at the floor. Time seemed anything but linear as he relived Kilian’s words over and over: I’m pregnant, cowboy. He stood up, threw his head back to allow every molecule of air possible into his lungs. He’d learned this from Kilian. It helped. He felt the spasms in his gut subside. At least he wasn’t going to throw up. That was something, a small victory. Down the hall, a couple stood near the elevator. His gut regis-

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tered their presence before his brain could really take it in. Then he knew who they were. His parents. Jesus, his parents were in the hospital. He looked away from them, wondered if there was time to slip away before they saw him there. He couldn’t deal with anything else. He just couldn’t. He felt light-headed. By the barest thread, he kept himself in check. The thought of passing out horrified him almost as much as puking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them talking to each other. It was the very last thing he’d wanted—for them to come to Texas before Kilian was better—but to his surprise, he felt an enormous relief go through him. His parents were there. Together. Whatever that meant, he suddenly felt less alone than he had since the ambulance had arrived to take Kilian away from their life at the trailer. He’d have to tell them. What else could he do, anyway? He’d just tell them fucking everything, and somehow, some way, maybe it would all be okay. Looking at them standing there, some little part of him almost believed it.

Holli

They’d added a small wing to the hospital since I’d seen it last. I’d been there several times since my mother died. Once, when a friend in high school had a water-ski accident. More recently, when my dad was sick. Other times, I was sure; I just couldn’t remember. But all I could think about standing in those halls was the night my mother died. “Georgia said she was on the third floor,” Harrison said. “Do you remember the room number?” “I think she said 309. Left off the elevator, then past the nurses’ station on the right side.” Standing outside the elevator, I suddenly lost my bearings, couldn’t sort out left from right, so I looked around for the nurses’ station. Harrison was searching down the hall. He saw Conner an instant before I did, I think. Our son was standing alone. He looked five years old, staring back at us. I wondered if he’d known somehow that we were on the way, if he was waiting for us. Harrison and I both stood and watched him, but we didn’t move. It made me weak to see him. He looked as if he’d misplaced something important. “What do we say?” I whispered to Harrison. He shook his head, his mouth slightly open. “I don’t know.” Harrison walked ahead of me, and I was grateful not to be the

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first to speak to Conner, to confront him with all we now knew. If I led the way, I’d come on too strong, would pounce on him. It wasn’t what he needed, and I knew it, so I stayed behind Harrison and forced myself to stay calm, quiet. “Conner.” Harrison spoke his name when we were just feet away. Conner still didn’t say anything, just looked at us, and I knew that things were even more wrong than we’d imagined. His expression suggested some horrible crime or an accident had occurred. Something bad had happened. I wondered if Kilian had died. Dear God, I hoped the girl was all right. I felt a conflicted sense of urgency pushing toward the surface. I felt bad for Kilian, for all she’d been through. But part of me wanted to get Conner out of town, away from her, from everything. A chronic illness did not give her the right to hijack my son’s life. Even as I thought these things, I felt the ambiguities of the situation. If I felt them, they had to be killing Conner. Nothing about the situation could ever be simple. “Conner?” With effort, I echoed Harrison’s low tones, his restraint. “What’s happened, Conner?” “Why are you here so soon?” he said, his voice small. “We know,” Harrison told him. “About Kilian’s illness. How is she?” Conner bent forward, resting his hands on his knees. Hard breathing caused lurching spasms of his shoulders and I was afraid he might be getting sick. “My God, Conn,” I said, getting to him as fast as I could. Still slightly bent, he fell against me, giving in to comfort without hesitation. He’d always been a sweet, physically demonstrative kid, but such complete surrender was unlike him. He’d taken possession of himself years ago—even before the divorce—and his unguarded regression left me without a plan. I looked at Harrison, who stood close enough for me to feel his breath going in and out.

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“Come on,” I said, guiding Conner to a nearby waiting room. “Let’s sit down and sort out where we all are right now with this.” Once in the room, Conner walked away from us, his back turned. I wanted to press him, to insist he tell us everything. No more unanswered voicemails and evasions. Harrison was more patient than I could imagine being. He put his hand up, motioned for me to calm down, give our son a few minutes to get a handle on himself, on his emotions. I looked around at the room. We were in the original section of the hospital, the same one imprinted in my childhood memory. I knew that the room had undoubtedly been updated since I was a kid, but I couldn’t swear to it. It was a marvel of thin carpet and vinyl furniture. It looked too familiar, too reminiscent of the horror of that night, for me to feel comfortable. “Why don’t you sit down, Holli?” Harrison was close at my side. “You don’t look any better than he does.” Conner sat at one end of a couch, elbows propped on his knees supporting him. I went to the chair opposite Conner, looked around some more and waited. I waited for him to be ready. After a couple of minutes, he took a deep breath, sat back up. Harrison chose the chair by mine. We looked like officers poised for interrogation. “I thought you were going to wait,” Conner addressed both of us. “I thought you were coming later. I asked you to come later.” “Kilian asked me,” I reminded him, and he realized he’d been caught in his collusion. “It’s okay, Conner. I know you’ve had a rough few days. Kilian’s aunt came to my house.” “Maureen came to New York?” Conner looked curious for a second, before it dawned on him, no doubt, what she had come to tell me. His expression slipped back into the mild desperation of a kid in over his head. “She told me about Kilian’s CF,” I told him. “Said her condition had gotten bad and she was in the hospital. How is she?”

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He hesitated a second, but finally said, “She’s better. She’s looking a lot better today.” “Thank God,” I said. “You could have told us, Conner. I hate that you went through all this by yourself.” “Grandma Raine helped at the time,” he said. “She was amazing, actually.” I thought of the commotion, Raine’s sudden clear focus after all her rambling about my mother. Things were making some sense, at least. “Maureen said that the insurance is all messed up.” Conner nodded. “I haven’t sorted that out yet.” “This is more than you can take on, Conner. I know you think you’re in love, but—” “Think?” His expression hardened. I’d made a wrong turn into a bad neighborhood. “I didn’t mean . . .” “What did you think you felt for Dad when you were my age, Mom?” “You’ve only been dating this girl for a few months.” I was still barreling down the wrong road. I knew it, but I just couldn’t stop myself. “You have to know that you’re in over your head.” “This is why I didn’t want you here,” he shot back. “Either one of you.” “I didn’t say anything,” Harrison protested—the high-pitched indignation of the falsely accused. “I’m sorry, Conner.” I had to work my way back inbounds. “This is a lot to take in.” “So she’s better?” Harrison asked, trying to redirect the conversation. Conner hesitated again. I wondered what he wasn’t saying. If she was dying, he wouldn’t have lied, but I could tell there was more. “Conner?” I asked. “Has something else happened with her?”

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He stood up from the couch, walked diagonally across the room and then back again. Outside the door, another family gathered around a doctor. Most of them smiled. They’d gotten good news. “Conner?” Harrison prompted again, standing up and walking over to our son. Conner was tall, but Harrison still had him by an inch or so. I sat, waited and watched the two of them. “What’s happened?” Harrison put his hand on Conner’s shoulder. “There’s something I might as well just tell you,” Conner said, finally. He didn’t look directly at either one of us. “Kilian’s pregnant. I just found out. I guess she’s known for a day or so.” I couldn’t make my legs move to stand up and go to him. They were shaking—my arms, too. I wanted so much not to have heard that. I wanted to go back even two or three minutes when it was still possible that he would say something else. “We haven’t had much time to talk about it,” he went on, filling the silence left by our lack of response. Harrison’s arms fell limp by his sides. He looked as if someone had hit him square in the chest, knocked the wind out of him. I found my legs and made my way over to Conner. “With her condition,” I said, “is it dangerous for her to be pregnant? Won’t they tell her she can’t?” I don’t know where I came up with that, but dear God, I wanted it to be true. I wanted a medical, if not moral, reason why this thing shouldn’t be allowed. “What does the doctor say?” “She’s got an illness, Mom,” Conner looked at me with surprising sympathy. Maybe the same thoughts had gone through his mind. “I haven’t talked to the doctor yet. Not really, but I think she can do normal things—like have a baby.” Normal. A nervous sound, almost a giggle, rose in my throat. “Did you plan this?” I asked, finally. The question came out small, almost a whisper. I wanted to know what he was thinking. Had he wanted a baby with Kilian?

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“Jesus, no,” Conner said. “It just happened. I was careful, but . . .” He stopped, to everyone’s relief, I think. It was getting too personal for any of us to want to continue. “You’ve got to consider the consequences of all this. Neither of you should rush into something that’s going to dictate the rest of your lives.” I knew it was a mistake, even before the words were even fully out of my mouth. But I couldn’t suck them back in fast enough to make them remain unsaid. I was talking to a child conceived when I was in college, born just after I graduated. I opened my mouth to apologize, but knew it was too late. “You would know, wouldn’t you?” He looked at me with an expression I’d never seen before. Not even when I told him his dad and I were divorcing. “Conner . . .” I began but had nothing to follow with. He left, walked down toward Kilian’s room. I might as well have slapped him. Jesus, how stupid could I be? Then again, this wasn’t a smashed car bumper or lost textbooks. He had to understand how hard this was for everyone to take in. He’d gotten a seriously ill girl seriously pregnant, without any decent means of support—and, apparently, without any insurance. It had been different with me and Harrison, way back when. No matter what Conner told himself, it wasn’t the same. Harrison had gone back to his chair again at some point during my sparring match with Conner. “Thanks for stopping me,” I said, sitting down beside him. “You were on a tremendous roll.” He looked spent. “I didn’t exactly make things better, did I?” “Most likely, you didn’t make them any worse.” He raised his eyebrow, offered a weak smile. “God, Harrison, what do we do?” I rubbed my face with the flat palms of my hands. It felt good. I wanted to rub all of it away. Everything I knew, and especially all there was to come. “What do we do with this?”

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“Jesus, I don’t know,” he said. “I came here planning to deal with a lot. But this . . .” He looked at me. “There isn’t even a whole lot of preaching we can do. I mean, you were giving it your best shot, I’ll grant you that. But truth is, we don’t have much of a leg to stand on in the premarital pregnancy debate.” “It’s different, Harrison. You know it is. Even under the best of circumstances if they have this baby, at some point he’ll probably end up raising it alone.” “You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Harrison said. “We don’t know her exact condition, and we don’t even know what she plans to do. Hell, Conner doesn’t even know. He said he just found out.” He ran his hand through his hair. “But, yeah, I’m worried too.” As parents, we had good reason to be worried. Love was one thing, but a baby was a special kind of glue. The emotional kind of super-glue. Georgia had certainly known that. On some level, although with much less calculation, I’d felt it with Harrison. Men— good men—did not abandon the women carrying their children. Conner was Harrison’s son, my father’s grandson. His soul, his very nature dictated that if he had a baby with Kilian, he was in it for the long haul. I wondered if Kilian knew this. She was a smart girl. She had to have sorted that much out. Maybe Kilian, Georgia, and I had more in common than I wanted to admit.

Hollyanne

The window unit growled and shuddered, putting out such a little bit of air for all the effort. I stood in front of it, my face inches from the plastic grate. Sweat made the cool stay on me, on my neck and at the edges of my hair. I didn’t let myself think about the counter full of food Mama would have had ready to take to Kelly’s Labor Day cookout. Potato salad and pickled beets. Pies with tic-tac-toe strips across the top. “You’re blocking all the air, Hollyanne,” Daddy said. “Get away from the front of that air conditioner.” I moved to the other side of the room, tried to figure out something to get his mind off of whatever had caused his mood. “We ought to take something to Kelly’s,” I told him. “Mama always took food whenever we were invited places. We could make soupy potatoes. I watched Mama make those a lot, and it’s not too hard. We’ve got a sack of potatoes already.” Of all the usual things Mama made for us to eat, that was the only one I could remember how to do. It made me sad that I wouldn’t taste all that other food again just the way Mama did it. “That sounds fine,” Daddy said, standing up. “I’m going to shower and get dressed—see if I can cool off a little before we leave.”

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I wasn’t sure I could do it by myself, but he didn’t seem inclined to help. I peeled the potatoes the way Mama taught me, had them boiling by the time he was done with his shower. Daddy came back into the room. The cool water must have made him feel better because he was smiling and not complaining about the heat, even though the simmering potatoes made it worse. “Mama used to add milk and a little flour and salt, I think. After they cooked through, she’d thicken it and make it soup,” I told him. “I don’t know exactly how much to add though.” “I expect we’ll figure it out,” he said, suddenly helpful. He bent down on one knee, brought me to him for a hug. His shirt wasn’t buttoned up all the way yet, and I felt the slick place on his chest that had been hurt and had healed. Beside it, curly hairs grew thick and brown, but nothing grew on the pink skin where the bandages had been. “Let’s sort out those potatoes,” he said, pulling away. “Sure.” I followed him to the stove. I wished I could always figure out how to keep him happy and nice, but there was too much to remember and I usually messed up somehow. Mama knew so many ways to keep his face smooth and free of worry, but even she was lost about what to do sometimes. His worry made me scared and his ease made me happy. That was the simple fact of my life after Mama was gone. Feeling that way gave me a clear idea of what her days must have been. Always trying so hard. “Ray!” Kelly called out the side door for Daddy. “Are you getting that lighter fluid out of your car? Luke’s about ready to start the charcoal.” If Daddy heard her, he didn’t answer. Out on the street, he stood beside a green car that was stopped there. He was leaning over the driver’s window talking to somebody. I went closer, by the side

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of the house, and watched him, listened. His shadow covered the face inside the car, but I heard her voice. Georgia Lansing sounded upset, using a pleading tone that Mama would have called whiny. She wanted something from Daddy. “We can’t just ignore this, Ray,” she said. “We’ve got to make some decisions here.” I’d heard him talking on the phone with her that morning. His face looked dark again and I wondered if that was where his mood had come from earlier in the day—talking to her. Twice, I’d seen her at the Zenith shop when Mrs. Suggs dropped me off after school. Both times, she stooped to say hello to me, rubbed my head like I was a pet. Only it was for show. If Daddy hadn’t been watching, there wouldn’t have been any stooping, any petting. I don’t know how I knew this, but I was certain it was true. “Ray!” Kelly shouted again. “In a minute,” he called back, sounding mad at Kelly. I watched some more. After a few minutes, Georgia Lansing’s car pulled over to the curb, sat idling while Daddy went to talk to Kelly. They argued, Daddy and Kelly. Mumbles and whispers that I strained to hear. I heard Georgia Lansing’s name, heard Kelly say a word that would get your name on the board if you said it at school. Finally, Kelly nodded and Daddy left her and went back to the green car. Georgia Lansing turned off the engine and got out. “Hollyanne,” Daddy called out. “Come here, Dairy Queen, and say hello.” “Hey, Mrs. Lansing,” I said when I got close to them. Georgia Lansing looked at Daddy. Her look made me feel like I’d messed up somehow, done something wrong. “Why don’t you call me Georgia, hon?” I looked at Daddy. Grown-ups didn’t get called by their first names. Except for Kelly and Luke, who were family. Anybody else,

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it was disrespectful, unless every rule in the book had changed since Mama died. I reasoned that Daddy would say something, so I looked at him and waited. “Miss Georgia,” he said, like Georgia Lansing was somebody’s old maid aunt sitting by herself at church. “Call her Miss Georgia.” “Okay,” I said, because I had no idea what else to say. But what I was thinking was that the world had flipped, and I was the only one still right side up. The certainty of that thought came into my head, but I kept my mouth shut. When the food was ready, I got myself a plate. Hamburger, potato salad, baked beans. Kelly served off of the picnic table on the patio. “You want me to get the potato soup that me and Daddy brought?” I asked when I didn’t see the pot out with the rest of the food. “Aw, Lord,” Kelly said. “I forgot to heat it back up. That’s okay. Me and Luke, we’ll heat it up with pork chops tomorrow. Let’s just eat what we have now.” I tried to blink so that she wouldn’t see tears coming into my eyes. They would come for sure if I didn’t breathe hard and think of something else. It was the wrong thing. Warm potatoes. It had been the wrong thing all along. Thick soup on a hot afternoon. Bowls of the stuff balanced on laps around the patio. I felt so stupid. I looked over to see if Daddy noticed, but he’d gotten Miss Georgia a plate and sat with her on the double-seat glider. “You want a beer?” Uncle Luke asked Daddy. “Sounds good.” “How ‘bout you?” Luke asked Miss Georgia. Kelly shot him a look and he apologized. Then Kelly asked if she’d rather have some iced tea or Kool Aid. Miss Georgia said water would be fine and seemed all pleased with herself. She was the only grown-up not looking at the ground. For some reason, the whole

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thing kept Daddy real quiet, and I didn’t know what the big deal could be. I’d seen Miss Georgia drink beer at our house before. I felt like even teams had been picked for kick-ball, and I was left just to watch. In my mind, the picture of Georgia Lansing, under the streetlights with her torn hose and her tears, came up clear. Georgia Lansing wasn’t Georgia Lansing anymore. She was Miss Georgia. Daddy wasn’t part of Mama and Daddy anymore. He was just Daddy, and he was sitting too close to Miss Georgia for her to be somebody else’s wife. Time went haywire. One second could have been the whole afternoon; or maybe I’d been sitting cross-legged on the chair with a full plate in my lap for hours, and it only seemed like a minute. I couldn’t tell and was scared to guess at which way it might be. I wanted the dark to hide me, but it was bright and hot still, the sun like a spotlight, trained squarely on my head. If I’d gotten it right. Brought something other than potatoes. If I’d done better . . . Dark edges appeared around everything. The world through a tunnel. Then I heard a sound. Was it a secret sound in my head or could other people hear it? A low humming, almost a moan, like Mama humming when my ear was pressed to her round baby stomach. “Stop it!” Daddy was up, standing over me. When did he get up? “Have you gone plumb crazy?” I looked down to see what was different. My plate still sat in my lap, food untouched, but not spilled. Just on the plate like regular food. The sound kept on, the humming moan. I felt it nearby. Vibrations ran through my arms and shoulders. “Stop it! Godammit, Hollyanne!” He yelled again. This time Kelly came and pulled him back. “Ray,” she said. “Leave her be. She’s been through a lot.” She looked at Miss Georgia when she said this. Then they were all looking at me. Miss Georgia, Georgia Lansing, whoever she was, shook her head like I was pitiful. Luke

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might have been watching something funny on TV, judging by the expression on his face. But Daddy still talked at me, loud words that didn’t seem to make sense. Maybe he was saying them to Kelly now, I couldn’t quite tell. Kelly took the plate and put it on the ground beside my chair. Then she took my hand and headed indoors. The cool air inside cleared my head a little, and Kelly seemed like the kindest creature to exist since Glenda floated in to save Dorothy from the greenfaced witch. “You sit there, hon,” she said, putting me into a chair at the kitchen table. She got a cold cloth and held it to my forehead. I listened. A rotating fan on the counter hummed a cool song. The refrigerator sang alto underneath. Then Kelly brought a bowl with orange JellO from a dessert mold she’d made. “Don’t tell your daddy I gave this to you before you finished your other food outside.” She smiled while she talked. “I heard a noise out there,” I said, finally, when my arms and stomach had stopped feeling jittery. “Sounded like a cat purring or something humming.” I didn’t say it sounded like Mama. “What was it?” While the question came out of my mouth, the answer filled up my brain. Even before Kelly answered, the hot shame went through me. It felt like a fever. “Sweetheart, you were making all those noises.” Kelly used the same voice that the teacher used when she talked to the slowminded girl at Sunday School. “That’s what got your Daddy so upset. That sound you heard was coming out of you.” I looked down, ate my Jell-O in pea-sized bites to make it last. I kept my eyes down until Kelly moved off and started working on some dishes. By the time I finished eating, the high sun had cooled behind the fence in their backyard. Then Daddy came inside and told me it was time to go home.

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“I don’t want to see you pull some shit like that again,” he said when we were driving away. His angry voice filled the car and I wished he’d roll down the windows, add some space to his temper. “You looked like a damn fool. All that rockin’ and moanin’. Kelly may be stupid enough to coddle you, but I’m not. You hear? You were making a scene on purpose, and I won’t stand for it.” He didn’t talk the rest of the ride, but I couldn’t think about anything else. I hated the thought of Luke and Georgia Lans–Miss Georgia, watching me act the fool. I wished that Daddy knew I didn’t mean to act crazy. I wanted to say something, anything to make him soft and happy again. I’d read in the Weekly Reader about animals that ate and stored fat all summer and fall, enough food to last the winter. I figured that was what I had to do with Daddy. Feast on all the nice when it was offered, and store the extra in my mind. I thought maybe that was how Mama had gotten by. He didn’t put me to bed that night, but I had already figured out that cinnamon toast the next morning would make everything okay again. I went to sleep thinking about how the smell of morning would hit him the very second he opened his eyes, and then everything would be all right again.

Holli

Storms were predicted for the evening, but they would most likely arrive sooner. Unbothered by the forecast, the paddleboat churned through the gathering chop in the Brazos River that ran through Waco. It moved with purpose as if the vessel had someplace to go. I’d slipped onto a private tour, chartered by some company, then found a quiet place where I could be by myself as the boat made its way up the river and back again. The sound system played Dixieland music of a thin, manic variety. An extended evening cruise, open to the public, promised dinner and live music. I considered putting down my money and riding again because, storms or not, I was in no mood to go back. Not to Raine’s house. Not to the hospital. I knew that wasn’t realistic. I needed to get back to Conner. But the paddle wheel hitting the water offered a rhythmic distraction, and I thought I might stand there forever. After a time, I realized that the reprieve only lasted for short intervals, and my worry would come back in gale force. In the middle of all the concern for my own child, his child had begun to factor into my thoughts. I didn’t want to think of the baby as one of us. Not yet. That little life remained too much at odds with the things I wanted for Conner. But it had already begun to happen. I couldn’t keep the baby from taking up residence in my soul.

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Then my thoughts came full cycle and there was Conner again, his entire life marked by an accident—somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to think mistake. It had become a circular struggle for which no resolution existed. After our less-than-productive talk in the waiting room of Kilian’s hospital floor, Harrison and I had gone to her room. The child looked awful. Thinner than two months before, a pale, otherworldly color had taken possession of her skin. She didn’t seem like a young woman capable of sustaining her own life, much less carrying a child to term. She certainly didn’t look like the villain that my imagination had conjured on the trip down. She took one look at us coming into the room and moaned to Conner, “Oh God, please Conn, not right now. I can’t do this.” We backed out into the hall. Conner came out. “I’m not trying to shut you out of this,” he said. “Honest. But right now, I think we just need to talk.” I realized by we, he meant that he and Kilian needed to talk. “Can you both go somewhere and hang out for awhile?” he went on. “I’m sorry I freaked out. It’s okay—good, you know—that you came. I’m glad. I really am. And all that in there . . .” He nodded toward the waiting room. “I know it was a shock for you guys. Let’s don’t be mad, please. Kil and I just need a little time.” “We’ll call you later. We can figure out where to meet, okay?” I said, trying to sound sane and supportive. “If you want it to be here, the four of us, that’s fine. If you want to be the go-between with Kilian, I understand, but we’re your parents, Conner. Let us help.” He nodded, but I wasn’t at all sure he’d actually heard anything I was saying. He desperately wanted us to leave. I watched the agitated movements of his hands, his heel tapping nervously at the hard floor. “Conner,” Harrison said. “Will you promise to answer your phone? I don’t want to be leaving voicemail after voicemail . . .”

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“I know, I’m sorry.” My son was so transparent. He’d sing the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’ if it would get us out of the hospital. Kilian really had a grip on him, and we clearly weren’t part of her big picture at that moment. “I’ll call you in a little while,” I said and hugged him before he disappeared into Kilian’s room. Harrison said he didn’t want to leave the hospital. We took the elevator down to the main floor, and he said he was going to find the cafeteria. “I don’t think I can stay here,” I told him. “I can’t think straight.” He knew why. It didn’t take the genius that he was to put together my history with the place. “That’s fine. I’ve got a book,” he said. “Go drive around and clear your head.” Then he bent down and kissed me, in that spouse-going-off-towork way that you never think twice about. But we weren’t spouses anymore and those kinds of gestures weren’t part of our current status, whatever it was. It stopped us both, embarrassed him. But I smiled, gave a little wave, and we both let it go. “My phone will be on,” I said as I went out the front doors to the parking lot. After I got in the car, I drove with no particular destination in mind. I called Raine, just to let her know we’d caught up with Conner. “Do you know there are Russians living up there in space?” she asked, after I’d filled her in minimally on the details of our visit with Conner. Baby announcements could wait, I decided. “Russians?” “A space station up there where they live for months at a time,” she said. “Can you believe that?” I wanted to cry. How could she be as together as she’d seemed when defending Georgia, then suddenly sidetrack a normal conversation with talk of Russians in space?

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“I know about the space station,” I said, playing along. “Did you see it on the news?” “They can see earth all the time,” she said, ignoring my question. “They look at us the same way we look at the moon. Only they’re a lot closer to us than that, I guess.” I saw a sign for the river. That seemed as good a place as any to go. A park ran along the water in town, and there was a steakhouse somewhere that I remembered from a visit years before. Harrison and I had spent the night at a B&B. “Where are you?” Raine asked. “I’m in Waco, near the river. I needed to get out of the hospital so I could think straight.” “How’s Conner’s girl?” she asked. I didn’t know how in God’s name to answer that one. “Conner says she’s better. She looks pale to me.” “She is fair-skinned. That’s a fact,” Raine said. “You know, there’s a boat ride there on the Brazos that’s nice. You’ve been there before, haven’t you? I recall you went there with Harrison once.” “Yeah, we did. Conner stayed with you.” It seemed like a thousand years before. “Maybe I will go for a boat ride.” Somehow the idea held nearly irresistible appeal. “Celia says it’s shiny when the sun hits it at a certain angle,” she said. “The river?” “No, no,” she laughed. “That Russian station up there. Shines like a brand new quarter, she says.” “Is somebody with you, Grandma Raine?” I asked, wondering if I needed to turn the car around and head back to Thaxton. Between Conner and Raine, I felt split in half. How long could things keep spiraling in the wrong direction? “Georgia’s still here.” Apparently, the spiral would continue at least a little longer. “She’s down for a catnap. Walking with that

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boot wears her out, I think.” Raine sounded defensive, waiting for my response. Georgia wouldn’t have been my first—or second, or third— choice, but I realized that, more than anything, I felt relief that Raine wasn’t alone. I pushed images of my stepmother napping in my old room out of my mind. “I’ll call you later,” I said. “I love you, Raine.” “I love you too, hon.” I looked around town as I drove and memories of a different time with Harrison followed. Harrison had gotten a couple of unexpected days off of work, and Raine insisted on keeping Conner so that we could have some time to ourselves. We took the dinner cruise on the paddleboat and stayed overnight in town. I recalled that it had seemed wildly expensive at the time. I stood by the railing near the stern. In spite of bright sun, whitecaps crested over the surface of the river, the water itself gasping for air. I looked around at the low shoreline that held barely enough elevation to keep the restless water in place. “We will be docking momentarily.” The captain’s voice sounded deep and assuring, even through the crackle of ancient speakers. “We ’preciate you joining us this afternoon. Ya’ll come back and see us anytime!” Shifting colors of the sky reflected on the water, causing a kaleidoscope of shadow and light. It seemed a physical manifestation of the day’s events—the past and the present suddenly stirred up and spilling over. “Please use the ramp down the portside exit of the vessel,” the Captain said. “Thanks again for joining us this afternoon. Make sure you look around for all your belongings before you leave. Otherwise, we’ll have us a yard sale.” He laughed, and a few people around me chuckled along with him. Passengers crowded down the stairs and toward the exit, as if the first one off got a prize, but I lingered apart from the exiting

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masses. Below, ducks skirted the rumbling wake of the big wheel without fear. It had been three hours, maybe a little more, since I left the hospital, and I was no closer to finding any peace than I’d been when I drove off by myself. I glanced at the dock and saw a man. He stood there, out of context, and I didn’t realize at first that it was Harrison. When it dawned on me, I had the absurd notion that I was making him up. But he was truly there, and I wondered if he knew more about Conner. Maybe there had been mistakes made and things weren’t so bad after all. More than anything, Harrison was the most comforting presence I could imagine under the circumstances. I joined masses to get closer to the exit ramp, waited while grimfaced dockhands handled the giant ropes that secured the boat to land. When they finally opened our gate, Harrison waited for me there. The sun had made his forehead pink. “How long have you been here?” I asked. “Twenty minutes or so. Maybe a little more.” “How did you find me?” I stepped onto the dock. “And how did you get here?” We walked toward the end of the pier where a bench waited, unoccupied. “I called the house to check on Raine,” he said. “She told me she thought you might take a boat ride. This was the only boat I could think of, so . . .” He shrugged. “Did she mention the space station?” “What?” He scrunched his sunburned forehead and tilted his head. Both gestures, I knew by heart. “Never mind,” I told him as we sat down. “She’s been visiting with my mother again, I think—or technically, it’s the other way around, I guess.” He just nodded, looked out across the river. What could he say? “So did you steal a car or thumb a ride?” I asked.

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“Conner loaned me Kilian’s truck. He found me in the cafeteria, and we had a few minutes before he went back up. He said he was staying the night—that I could take it if I wanted.” He stopped at that, as if that was all there was to say. “And?” “And . . . I don’t know,” he said. “He was calmer, but still pretty much a wreck. He asked me what I did when I found out you were pregnant with him.” “And what did you tell him?” I was almost afraid to ask. “I told him that I did what I’d been planning to do anyway. I went out and bought you a ring.” I just nodded. As romantic as it had been when Harrison proposed, I hoped Conner resisted the impulse to run to the nearest jeweler. We stared out at the water, and my stomach made a noise. I hadn’t had an appetite for the dumplings at Raine’s, and my hunger was catching up to me. “We should do something fun,” Harrison said out of the blue. “Get our minds off everything.” “Are you kidding?” I asked. “We haven’t even been in Texas a whole day yet.” “Yeah, but it’s been a hell of a day. We need some food,” he said, “and something else. A distraction. We need to get back on that boat for the evening cruise. I don’t know about you, but I want to stop thinking about all the shit that’s hit the fan today.” “Believe me, I understand,” I said, “but don’t you think we need to get back to Conner?” “Conner doesn’t want to see us until tomorrow. He wants to have the night to spend time with Kilian before we all meet up again. Let’s stay here tonight. Go back and face everything in the morning.” “Conner can’t get any sleep at that place.” The mother in me wouldn’t yield, even though my own son had basically asked me to back off.

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“Just stop, Holli. Let it go.” Harrison sounded almost angry, and it threw me for a second. “The lounger in her room opens up almost flat. He’ll be fine.” He finished with a more gentle tone. I tried to picture the chair, Conner sleeping, restless and crookednecked. “And Raine . . .” I added. “I spoke to Georgia,” he said. “Harrison, I don’t want to deal with that wo—” “But I already have,” he cut me off. Clearly he’d made some executive decisions, and he was braced for anything I wanted to throw at him. “Sounds like she stays there a lot, Holli. Whenever Raine needs her. I don’t understand it either, but it seems to be true. And with Conner spending so much time at the hospital, at least for the moment, that’s not such a bad thing. We’ve got to let her help us, Holl.” “You know how I feel.” My voice sounded as rung-out as I felt. “She hurt my family. Destroyed my family. And now—” “Now,” he interrupted, “for some reason—and I don’t believe it’s her mental state—Raine has chosen to let go of it all. I’m not asking you to do the same. I’m just saying, allow Grandma Raine to get help from someone who’s offering. At least for one night.” I looked at him. He was so much older than the last time we’d been here. God knows I was, too, but I was certain it wore better on him. I thought of the place we’d spent the night, a bedand-breakfast in some historic house. We stayed in a small room with what looked to be the original ceiling fan rattling overhead. I remembered a large bed and a small closet. The bathroom had a claw-foot tub. And we’d had sex on almost every inch of real estate available in that tiny space. “They’re serving dinner on the night cruise,” I told him, giving in. “It’s BYOB, and there’s a live band scheduled to play.” “I bought two bottles of wine at the quick stop on my way into town,” he said. “And I booked a couple of rooms at the same B&B. It’s still up and running over there.”

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“Well, you’ve certainly arrived prepared.” I meant for it to come out light, but instead, my words sounded resentful of his assumptions. The moment took on more baggage than I’d intended. “Holli, we’ve gotten punched from every direction today,” he said. “Will you please just make one damn thing easy?” “I’m sorry,” I said. I truly was. He was trying. Three ragged-looking people, a woman and two men, walked the length of the dock toward the boat. A couple of them carried guitar cases. “I think those same guys played on the dinner cruise the last time we were here,” Harrison whispered. “The years have not been kind.” I watched them board the boat, holding the rail to steady themselves as waves rocked the world beneath them. “You buy the tickets,” Harrison said. “I’ll get the wine out of the truck.” We went along the dock, separated at the shore, and as I walked away from him, my thoughts went back to Georgia. I thought of her sleeping in my old bedroom at Raine’s house. She’d taken so much from me already. All I could imagine was that she was gearing up to do it again. Steal the one corner of my life she’d left intact at my grandmother’s house. Maybe she’d grown tired of the knick-knack museum she’d turned my dad’s place into over the years. She was trolling for new territory to claim. I hadn’t been in Georgia’s house—my old house—in a few years. Certainly not since my dad died, and rarely before that. Conner went there occasionally when we were visiting Raine. When he was in middle school, he seemed to like spending time with my dad. But more often than not, I would pick him up out front. As much as possible, I needed to preserve the child’s-eye images of what home had been before Georgia claimed it as her own. Just after my mother’s accident, the house still held the essence of her. Things remained where she’d placed them. The smells of her

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toiletries permeated the bathrooms and laundry. Right after she died, it was easy to imagine that she was close by. Maybe visiting someone for a few days. But her constant absence made the feeling harder to capture. With Georgia’s arrival, she ceased to exist. “How many?” the man selling tickets asked. “Two.” I fished out my credit card and handed it over. Harrison came up beside me, holding a brown bag. “It’s brisket night,” I told him, pointing out the sign up by the counter. “Doesn’t get any better than that,” he said. I signed for the tickets, and we made our way back toward the dock. Harrison walked close beside me. Our hips and shoulders pressed together in the casual way of bodies that have traveled each other many times before—and I felt myself responding. Desire is a funny thing, always familiar and new at the same time. I thought of his skin. His legs, his belly. I remembered all too clearly how he felt against me. It could be equally healing and destructive to go headlong in the direction we were pointed. And where would it lead with Harrison after that? I was sick of thinking so damn much. With an overwhelming number of reasons to reject any feelings I had for Harrison, I decided instead, if only for one night, to attend to them—to put Raine and Georgia, even Conner and Kilian, to rest for a brief moment. Tomorrow, they would still be there. Harrison’s natural stride was more than twice mine and when I’d fallen behind, he stopped to wait on me. “You coming?” he teased. I smiled and walked with him onto the covered part of the boat just as the first drops of rain began to fall. The long-anticipated storm had arrived, but for a few hours, at least, I knew we could stay dry.

Conner

Conner heard the rain when it began to hit against the hospital room window. Fat drops that sounded like cherries being lobbed against the glass. He watched Kilian sleeping. Something about the way she looked, along with the raging storm outside, made him feel the need to cover her with his body, physically shield her from the elements. The urge to protect—maybe it was evolution’s way of binding mate to mate. Then, when he thought of himself in bed with her, he realized he also wanted her. His Anthro professor had been right. Civilization had progressed about a millimeter since the cave man. Everything could be traced back to sex. “What are you doing?” she roused briefly. “Looking at you,” he said, embarrassed that she somehow knew his thoughts. He went to sit in the chair beside her. She closed her eyes again, was instantly back asleep. Kilian had worn herself out, having what amounted to a fullblown tantrum after his parents had left the room. She’d apologized, said her hormones were going nuts. Maybe that’s what had him so worked up. Too many hormones running the show with both of them. She slept, and Conner waited, thinking about what he should say when they got back to talking about the baby. The wind picked

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up outside, hurling the downpour toward them in a series of violent scattershot waves against the window. “I’m sorry,” she apologized again, some time later. He looked up, wondering how long she’d been awake. “I was such an asshole about your parents.” She tried to smile, but only managed to look sad with the effort. “It’s all right, Kil. This has been the weirdest fucking day of my life. Let’s don’t blame each other for anything that’s happened in the last twelve hours. Okay?” She nodded, sat up and took a sip of water from the bent straw coming out of her Styrofoam cup. He went over to stand at the window. Below, the drenched parking lot was more empty than full. Families had gone home to their Sunday evenings, leaving patients with flowers and piles of magazines. “So your parents, where’d they go?” Kilian asked. “They took off. I asked my dad to keep Mom busy for the night so we could talk things over. Try not to be pissed at them, okay? You can’t blame them for being freaked-out.” “I’m not pissed,” she said. “You did a pretty damn good impression,” he said, trying not to sound accusing. “I especially like it when you threw the plastic throw-up bowl at me. I’m surprised you didn’t barf in it first.” “Shut up!” She was laughing, suddenly seeming genuinely happy. But he didn’t trust it. In the last couple of weeks, even before she got so sick, she hadn’t felt well and her moods had been erratic. He’d figured maybe it was her period, but a baby . . . Jesus. “Wanna watch TV?” she asked. They still had everything to talk about. His folks had actually been a diversion from the real issues they had to settle, but they couldn’t put off talking much longer. Before he had to answer her, the door opened. “Okay, boyfriend. Out!” A young, black nurse—his favorite of

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the rotating posse of RNs that paraded through, day and night— walked in and began her shtick of bossing him around. “I’ve got to check some things you don’t need to see.” “I’ve seen it all,” he joked, as he turned to leave the room. “Uh-huh,” she mumbled under her breath. “You keep thinkin’ that.” Kilian shook her head at the two of them. “Roll over on your side, darlin’. I need to listen to your back.” Her tone with Kilian was completely different. Patient and gentle, regardless of any attitude Kilian threw at her. He closed the door behind him, walked down to get some bad coffee in the waiting room. Decaf, he decided. He was jittery enough as it was. Cup in hand, he walked the length of the hall and back again. Walking kept the churning sense of vertigo at bay. Pacing the corridors, he thought of his father. Oddly enough, finding his dad in the cafeteria a little earlier had been the most comforting aspect of the entire day. “This is a damn mess, Conner,” his dad had said as they sat together, hunched over a cold order of fries. “I won’t pretend it’s not. Your mom’s a wreck.” “I know. I’m sorry. I know this is hard on you guys.” He felt helpless, wanting to make things as right as they could be. Harrison shifted in his seat, came closer toward him, and Conner had the urge to lean forward, lay his forehead on his dad’s shoulder. But he didn’t. “We’re just out-of-our-minds worried, that’s all,” his dad said. We. Conner was aware that his dad was using the word a lot. He wondered what it meant. He didn’t even know what he wanted it to mean. But from what little he’d seen of them together since they arrived, they looked like a unit. Like a married couple looks when they’re actually together and getting along. “Getting knocked on your ass is part of life,” Harrison said, “but it’s damn rough on parents who have to watch it happen.” In ad-

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dition to the fries, Harrison had in front of him two empty bags of chips and a Diet Sprite. Conner remembered that his father ate massive amounts of junk food when he was stressed. From the looks of things, Conner figured he’d been there for a while. “I sorted out the getting-knocked-on-your-ass part when you guys split,” Conner said, realizing too late how the comment would hurt his father. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take a jab at you.” “It’s okay. That was hard on all of us.” Harrison stared at nothing across the room. “Dad? What’s going on with you two? You seem . . .” Conner didn’t know what to say, exactly. Married was the obvious word, but that didn’t feel right to put out there. “Together, I guess. What’s up?” Harrison let out a long breath, raised his eyebrows. His classic response when he was buying time to answer a question. “I don’t know,” he said. “We’ve got this situation with you. And Raine’s having trouble. We’re trying to sort things out together.” His explanations came out in a random collage of reasoning. “Do you still love Mom?” Conner surprised himself asking the question, but he wanted to know. Not so much from the perspective of a son, but from that of another person in a complicated relationship. “What happens to that when, you know, everything falls apart?” “I wish I had good answers for you, Conn.” His father shifted in his seat, took his time coming up with a response. “I think about it a lot—my feelings for your mom—and I don’t know. They didn’t just go away. They couldn’t.” “But you’ve had other relationships since you two broke up.” Conner felt some universal truth was on the line. He and Kilian wouldn’t likely end in divorce. But they would end. Was it possible to move on? He should have considered the questions before, but the baby made it unavoidable. He and Kilian had to tackle the future right away.

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“I don’t know exactly what you’re asking, Conner. I’ve been involved with women since the divorce, but . . . Whenever I start going out with someone else . . .” He stopped, looked a little flustered—a rare sight. “No matter how much I like the person, I can never shake the feeling that I’m cheating on your mom. Maybe that’s why they never work out, these relationships of mine. I don’t know. Divorce didn’t make me unmarried enough. I’ve come to terms with the idea in my own mind. And it’s really okay. It’s not like I want to go out and marry again. If I couldn’t make it work with your mother, I wouldn’t be any better at it with anyone else.” Conner thought about his dad’s girlfriends—at least the ones he’d met. They all seemed like they were on a mission. And whatever the mission was, they’d all failed. Conner knew that “going out with someone” was a euphemism in his father’s world for moving in with someone. Or rather, allowing them to move in with him. His father’s way of dealing with relationships had always followed the simple law of physics—the path of least resistance. As much as he liked to see the new closeness between his parents, he hoped his mom remembered that. He’d seen the toll the divorce had taken on her. He didn’t want her to go through it all over again. But this idea that his father still felt some kind of post-divorce infidelity. That was pretty fucked-up. Was Kilian the person he’d still feel committed to in twenty years? Would she be with him that long? “Conner?” His dad was watching him, waiting for some response. “You all right?” “Yeah, I was just thinking that it’s a relief that you’re not planning on giving me a stepmother any time soon.” Conner tried to divert the conversation, put everything in a lighter tone. “Don’t think I could handle any more life changes at the moment.” “No,” Harrison smiled. “Imaginary adultery is hard enough. I don’t think I’ll tackle mental bigamy on top of it all.”

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“We’re both pretty screwed up, huh?” Conner felt lighter, giddy almost at the camaraderie with his dad. But he knew not to rely on it. His world was still out there, waiting to crash on him when he left the cafeteria. “I don’t know that we’re anything special in that department,” his dad said. “Everybody’s messed up, in one way or another. You’re actually better off if you know it.” “Did you feel this confused when you found out Mom was pregnant with me?” “I don’t remember exactly how I felt. I really didn’t question that we would get married. I went out and bought the ring the minute I found out about you.” Harrison squinted his eyes, looked as if he wanted to squeeze the details of his memories back into conscious thought. “I guess I was scared; I don’t know. I’m not saying you should get married. It was a different time twenty years ago. But it never seemed like the wrong thing to do.” Conner thought about his mom’s wedding rings, the same ones his dad had mentioned. Conner knew they were still in her jewelry box. She’d never wanated to replace them with a more expensive set, even after they were making more money. Knowing the two of them, Conner understood why. When he bought them, Harrison had been thinking about her, what she might want. That hadn’t been a daily occurrence in their marriage, and Conner knew it. Not from lack of love, but from distraction with other things. “Has Kilian settled down?” Harrison asked. “Yeah,” Conner found himself sharing a smile with his dad. “I know she can be hard to take sometimes, but she’s funny and smart as hell. And she’s got this really sweet side. You’d like her, I think, if you knew her better.” Conner looked around the room. A handful of other people—all men, oddly enough—occupied a few scattered tables. Everyone he saw sat alone. Each had a universe of concern that belonged only

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to him. His dad was right. No one was terribly special in that regard. “I’d love it if you could buy me a little more time to sort some things out with Kilian,” Conner said. “Find Mom. Keep her busy for the night.” “I can do that,” Harrison agreed, but made no move to get up. Conner gave his dad the keys to the truck and left him there, holding court among the down-and-out population of the cafeteria. Then he’d gone back to a sleeping Kilian. She’d slept all afternoon into early evening, and he envied his dad off somewhere with his mom. With no one to talk to he’d grown more and more nervous with his own thoughts. Conner cracked open the door to Kilian’s room to see if the nurse was still around, but Kilian was alone. He watched her there for a second before going in. Unguarded, her face looked younger than she liked to act. She seemed scared. He watched her brush her hair back with both hands, squeeze her eyes tight and make a face, as if she was frustrated with her own thoughts. “Hey.” He gave a little knock, and her expression changed instantly. He wondered if, in that small moment before she saw him, he’d seen the real Kilian for the first time. He wanted to tell her she didn’t always need to be tough and funny for him. “You okay?” She nodded. “I survived Hell Nurse if that’s what you mean.” “That’s not what I mean at all, Kil. We’ve got to talk about what’s going on sometime. If you’re up for it, it might as well be now.” She stared out toward the window, even though from her distance the only thing in her line of sight would be a darkened sky. He followed her gaze and looked outside. Nothing. “Killian,” he tried again. “I don’t want to push you, but this stuff isn’t going anywhere.”

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“Are you?” The question was loaded, but she made it sound casual. He went over and sat on the edge of her bed. “I’m not leaving. Is that what you thought?” For a terrible instant, he wondered if she knew about what happened with that girl at school; if she thought he was the kind of person who took off every time trouble arrived? “I kind of lied,” she said. “About what?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear. Was he ready for the unedited version of Kilian? “When I said that I was surprised about this. I mean, I was. I didn’t plan it. But I sort of knew it could happen.” “Had you stopped taking the pill?” Months before, they’d gone against every lecture they’d ever had in Sex Ed and had thrown out the condoms. She was on the pill and had never slept with anybody before. He’d gone to the health center and had gotten tested for everything. They’d figured it was safe. Considering his idiotic mistake at school, he’d driven all the way to Dallas and had himself checked again after they got to Texas. The concern over some STD was the only problem he considered. The possibility of a baby never occurred to him. “No, I’ve been on the pill, but right before we left school, I got antibiotics for that sinus infection. I had to take it for like two months. Remember?” Before they left for Thaxton. A lifetime before, it seemed. “I guess they told me that the other medicine could make the pill not work so well, but I didn’t think much about it. I mean, I guess I knew, but . . . I don’t know why I didn’t tell you.” “Did you want a baby?” He felt a tightening of the muscles in his arms, his wrists. “We should have talked about it if you thought that’s what you wanted.” “We would’ve never decided that, Conner.” She took his hand, and he let her hold it, but he remained passive, unwilling to of-

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fer any concession until he knew what she’d done. He stared at her fingers. The blunt, rounded tips—a common sign of her illness, she’d told him—were at odds with her other delicate features. They made her hand look clumsy and child-like. “I think that’s why I just ignored the whole thing,” she said. “Part of me said,‘If it happens, then we have to deal with it, right?’ Kind of like looking for a sign. And it happened. Honest to God, I was surprised. Who would have thought I’d really get pregnant?” He thought of her, playing this game with herself, with both of them, and not even telling him. Anger wouldn’t solve anything, but he felt it anyway, pushing hard in his chest, his throat. Close to becoming words he couldn’t take back. But before he said anything, she spoke again. “I don’t feel sorry for myself, Conner. I’ve understood for a long time what a lousy set of cards I drew when I was born, but I always figured that if I got caught up in self-pity, I’d just be wasting time I didn’t have. Especially after my parents died. Besides, I’m not naturally sentimental, and I know I’m kind of a drama queen, but there was seriously no audience to play to when it came to getting sympathy. I mean, Aunt Maureen? Please. So I figured, if I’ve got twenty or thirty years, that’s my twenty or thirty years.” He let her talk. Partly because it sounded like she needed to. Partly because he couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. And in the back of his mind he worried that now, he’d become her audience. “I remember I used to play Barbies with my friends. We were like, seven or eight, and all of us had some Barbie clothes for the dolls, but this one girl had a whole trunk of clothes. She had a big sister who had collected a ton of outfits and then given them to her. “Anyway, every time we got together, all the other girls, they used to fight over whose Barbie got to wear the wedding dress that day. That was the big deal, if your Barbie got to wear the wedding dress and then do it with Ken. I don’t think we exactly knew what

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do it meant—turns out, neither did Ken—but the doll who was the bride was clearly the Alpha Doll for the day, you know?” Conner nodded. She was getting to him, and he was letting her. But that was okay. Wasn’t that what couples did? And it was better than feeling pissed at her. “But I never argued for the wedding dress.” She said it with some measure of pride. “Why not?” He felt her fingers tighten slightly around his hand. “I’d heard my parents or the doctors, I don’t remember . . .” she said. “I’d heard them talking about how long people with CF lived. Or how long they didn’t live, I guess. From the sound of it, I didn’t figure I’d have a wedding in real life, so why should my Barbie? And like I said, I wasn’t having a pity party about it. I just thought, that’s the way it was. I mean, I wasn’t even scared about it then. Living until I was thirty or living until I was sixty-five. Those are all big numbers to an eight-year-old. Even fifteen seems old. But I tried to figure out what it was that I got if I didn’t get a wedding. And there was this bitchin’ black dress in the trunk. It was a formal deal, and not really appropriate for what I had in mind. But hell, it was black. So I made it my Funeral Barbie dress.” “Jesus, Kilian.” He flinched, instinctively pulled his hand away. “This was before my parents died, and I hadn’t actually been to a funeral, but I’d seen them on TV, and it seemed pretty special to be the one everybody was crying and wailing about. Of course, I hadn’t really figured the death thing out yet either, so Funeral Barbie was just the guest of honor in my book. And Funeral Barbie didn’t even have to share the fucking limelight with Ken. I mean, how sweet was that?” Her voice sounded thick, and he could see that her eyes were tearing up, but she was pushing through. “And when I got a little older and started really dealing with the short life thing, I thought I’d pull a Mozart or something and do all these incredible things

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before I was even twenty. That’s what I thought about when other people were talking about being doctors or architects. I just had to figure out what brilliant thing I would end up doing.” The room felt hot. Conner wished he could open a window, turn on a fan, something. “I’m damn smart, Conn, but so are a lot of other people. And I’m past the point of becoming a child prodigy at anything. I don’t get to be real old. Ever. And I don’t get to be any more special than I already am. And this is not a pity-me speech. I hate that shit, and I’ll be pissed as hell if that’s what you get out of this. I want attention, I know that much, but I don’t want fucking pity. It’s just that this is the truth. My truth, as plain as I can explain it.” He couldn’t listen to her much longer. It was too much. He’d wanted her to open up, but this was more than he could take responsibility for knowing. “One reason I fell in love with you in the first place is that you never gave me any of that sympathy crap, so don’t start now. I just need for you to understand. I honestly haven’t thought through how this is going to work. We could even think about having someone else raise her or him. I don’t know. Maureen might sign on. Now that’s an argument for abortion, huh? But maybe this baby is the amazing thing I get to do. Maybe this life is what I get to leave when I’m gone. It’s my only shot at being special. I know that’s a selfish way of looking at it, but I’m being honest. This kid could be anything.” He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. Jesus Christ! Funeral Barbie? How could he fucking deny her a baby when she’d gone through shit like that? He thought of his dad, the lack of confusion, at least in his memories, of becoming a father. Maybe the thing to do was just shove forward, stop thinking so damn much. “I love you, Kil,” he said. “I’m just damn confused right now. I don’t know if I can be a dad to this kid. I mean, if you want to get married, we can. I’m sure that I love you. But the thing with the

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pills. I feel pretty betrayed about that. You’ve got to admit, that’s messed up. You shouldn’t have done that.” He felt his stomach churning, the skin of his neck go hot. “Do you want to get married? Is that what you think we should do?” She was crying. She hated to cry almost as much as he hated watching it. It horrified her, and he knew it. He knew too much about her to be blindsided every five minutes, but she managed to do it anyway. Her tears made him feel like shit. “That was a lousy way to propose, Kilian. I’m sorry.” “It’s okay.” She brushed tears away with the heels of both hands, battling them like gnats swarming in her face. “I don’t blame you for being mad about the pills. I’m mad at myself. It was stupid, but I didn’t really think it would happen. Honestly.” He believed her. And he loved her. Those two things seemed momentarily enough. “Will you marry me?” He said it with all the sincerity he could muster, thought of how it sounded. Like the last scene of every chick flick he’d ever been dragged to by a girl since middle school. “Yeah, cowboy,” she said. “Let’s do it.” She smiled, gave up on her war with the tears, and let him hold her. He felt the dampness through the front of his shirt. His folks were in for another stunner in the parenting department. But that wouldn’t be until the next day, or maybe the day after that. In the meantime, he hoped to God his dad had taken his mom out to a nice dinner or something. All too soon they would have to jump back into another episode of the riveting new reality series—The Real World: Conner.

Hollyanne

When school started after Labor Day, mornings were the hardest part of the day. Daddy had gone in late to work through the summer because he had to rest and get better, but I heard him tell Kelly that work was falling way behind and Mr. Anderson, who worked for him, couldn’t keep up. But it turned out, Daddy didn’t wake up all that well on his own. He never had. Mama always got up first. I figured this out and decided I had to try and make sure he was out of bed before I left every day. In the beginning, I’d been scared to wake up by myself to a quiet house. Mama had always come in, rocked me a little and said, “Mornin’ sleepyhead.” Then she’d helped me sort out what to wear. After breakfast, we’d walk to the bus stop. I’d never stopped to think about what Daddy was doing while all this was happening. I guess I knew he was in the house, but it didn’t matter one way or the other. Mornings were just for Mama and me. When I went back to school the September after Mama’s funeral, I’d missed the bus three days in a row. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Sleepy and mad, Daddy would find his clothes from the night before and pull them on. “Can’t you get yourself one damn block to the bus on time?” He

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drove me in, but I was tardy all three mornings and by the third day, I got scared he might start throwing things. “Grandma Raine?” She’d picked me up from school and I’d gone to her house for the afternoon. “Can I have that old alarm clock in there?” “What alarm clock?” she asked, pouring hot water over several tea bags in a metal pot. “The one in Mama’s old room by the bed?” “What do you need that old thing for, hon?’ “We’re going over telling time at school,” I lied. “I need to practice.” “My goodness, Hollyanne, you’ve been telling time since first grade.” She looked suspicious. “I’ve forgotten some of it, that’s all,” I told her. “I don’t have to tell time much in the summer.” I kept my eyes down so I wouldn’t give away that I was being deceitful. I knew it was a sin, and I hated sinning on purpose. “All right,” she said. “Go get it.” After that, I wound the clock every night and set it before I went to bed. It seemed like there was so much to think about, so much to remember. Getting myself up was only the first part of the problem. Most mornings, I had to make Daddy sit up with his feet flat on the floor before I left for school. If I didn’t, he might get up or he might sleep all morning. It was hard to tell. I heard Kelly tell him if he didn’t open up the shop on time, he was going to lose all his business, and I knew that was the only way we had to get our money. Beer cans anywhere in the house meant it was going to be harder to get him to put his feet on the floor. After a week or so, I’d sorted out the routine pretty well. After a month, it was second nature. The alarm went off as usual one morning, but it felt different somehow. The day seemed odd, and I tried to think of what it was.

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Saturday. It was Saturday. I’d set the alarm out of habit. Since I was already awake, I decided to get up and watch cartoons. Daddy opened the shop at noon on Saturday, so I didn’t have to worry about him. I pulled on socks, then fished through the pile in my closet and found Mama’s lime green flannel robe. Daddy used to tell Mama it was ugly as sin, but Mama loved the color. She wore it almost every day. It hadn’t been washed since she used it last, so it smelled the same way she used to smell. Shampoo and Jergen’s lotion. A little baby powder thrown in, too. If I dozed while I was watching TV, I thought I might dream Mama alive again. Good dreams, most of the time. Dreams that left me feeling like she’d been close by. Just outside the kitchen, I was surprised to hear Daddy moving around. The only thing I could think of that would get him up on his own was the first day of deer season. But that wasn’t for a while. Then I heard another voice. “Ray, I’ve been trying to think of what to do,” Georgia Lansing said. “I know it’s been just terrible for you with everything’s that’s happened, but we don’t have much time. Just look at me. We’ve got to figure out something.” I peeked around the doorframe. Miss Georgia looked like she’d been through the dry cycle, hair all over the place and no make-up at all. Her shirt had too many buttons undone at the front and when she moved just right, it was easy to see her bra. She didn’t seem to know it though. “Georgia, we’ve got Hollyanne to figure into all this. Hell, I don’t know my head from my ass right now. My arm’s still weak from the accident, and I’ve got to work and keep the shop going. Seems like nothing is coming easy. I know things with you won’t wait, but I need a little more time.” I moved low, rested on my heels in the hall outside the kitchen door. I knew it was private talk, but I figured I better know all I could if I was going to help Daddy.

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“I understand, Ray,” Miss Georgia said. “But I’m wearing out my welcome at the Murchisons’, and even if I go to San Antonio, I can’t stay with my sister for very long. She says I can come for a few weeks, but after that, her husband’s getting back from Vietnam. They’ve had him in a hospital somewhere over there ever since his hand got shot off in some explosion. They’re going to have about all they can handle once he gets back.” “What about your mama and daddy?” I peeked around to look at them again. “That’s Florida, Ray. Do you really want me to be that far away?” She leaned in close to him, her shirt gaping open in front. I thought Daddy might close his eyes, but he didn’t. I closed my eyes instead because for some reason, it made me feel funny to look at the two of them. “You want me so far that we can’t see each other, Ray?” “Not for good . . . but,” I heard Daddy stop. He made a funny sound, then all I could hear was how hard he was breathing. I thought something might be wrong with him, but when I opened my eyes, the whole front of Miss Georgia was pressing next to his arm. And even though he wasn’t exactly trying to touch her back, he wasn’t going anywhere. His eyes had gone half-closed. Grandma Raine watched her programs in the afternoons, and people on those shows were always acting like that, with the breathing and the eyes. Again, I felt funny inside, just watching the two of them. “Florida’s not an option anyway, Ray.” She said this with a small voice. “Daddy might let me come, but Mama won’t have a thing to do with me at this point. I’m damaged, Ray. That’s the way they see it. She might change her mind, but in the meantime, I’ve got no place to go. And some things just aren’t going to wait.” She pushed in harder against him, and he made a sound that could have been a word, but it wasn’t, best I could tell. “Just give me a day or two,” Daddy said, stepping sideways, away

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from Miss Georgia. Even though it was morning, he sounded worn out. “I’ve got to sort it all out in my head. We’ve got to get a feel for Hollyanne, too. How she’s going to take everything.” I heard my name and eased back, away from sight again. The kitchen stayed quiet for a minute or so, then I heard small sniffle sounds. Miss Georgia was crying. Once when Mama had cried, Daddy threw one of her little figures from New Mexico against the brick fireplace. I listened for whatever kitchen item might be close at hand, but instead I heard Daddy walk across the room without saying anything. Part of him came into view. He hunched over the sink, started coughing, sounding like he might be sick. Then he stood straight up, sucked in fast, huge gulps of breath. “Look at what I’m doing to you,” Miss Georgia came up beside him again. “I hate to see what I’m putting you through. Just think about what we can do to fix all this. Okay?” He nodded. “I better go, hon.” But she didn’t seem to be leaving. Instead, she laid her face against his arm like she wanted to wipe her tears on his sleeve, then she put her hand flat on the front of his shirt, slid it down until it touched his belt. She left it resting there for a long time. This time his eyes were all the way closed, air forcing its way in and out of his nose. When Miss Georgia finally did leave—heading away from where I was hiding and out of the back door—all I could think of was that Miss Georgia looked awfully easy, touching my Daddy like that. He seemed ready to let her do it as much as she wanted. I didn’t know why, but I felt lonely just thinking about the two of them in the kitchen like that. Daddy was still standing there after she’d gone, so I went around the hall the long way, back to the small TV in the spare room. I turned on cartoons, let the pictures on the little screen fill up all the spaces in my head until Miss Georgia was hardly there at all.

Holli

I could feel the motion of the boat under me even after Harrison and I got to the car. The wine exaggerated my disorientation. I was just drunk enough to acknowledge—to myself, anyway—how much I wanted to sleep with him. We decided to take the rental car back to town and pick up Conner’s truck on the way out in the morning. I’d had too much wine to even think of driving, but Harrison was kind enough not to bring it up. “When’s Tina coming?” he asked. “She should be there my now,” I said. “I guess she’s got Georgia’s place to herself.” I wanted to keep images of Georgia staying at Raine’s at bay, but I had trouble getting it out of my mind. “Those singers were something else, weren’t they?” he said, changing the subject. “You think they have normal lives during the week and just get dressed up like that on the weekends to perform?” I looked at the dark two-lane road ahead of us. The twisting curves made me glad to be in the passenger seat. “I don’t know,” Harrison said, taking my silly question to heart. “It’s hard to fake looking that down and out. I think what you see is what you get.” The squall had raged throughout the dinner buffet, making the

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short walk between the table and the food an adventure on its own. Even in the throes of the storm, the band played on. The game trio cranked up the amps to drown out sounds of wind coming through the loosely joined edges of the boat’s windows. The woman smoked between sets, and I marveled at the clarity of her voice, given that age and tobacco had to be working against her. They sang of pain and deceit, bad women and reckless men. And worry. Worlds of worry. It seemed that the three of them carried enough on their hard-luck, clichéd shoulders to free me up for a while. “Civilization,” Harrison said, as streetlights greeted us. While Dallas and Houston shape-shifted into newer models of themselves on a daily basis, Waco remained Texan to its core. We passed bright lights coming from an ice cream parlor. “Want a sundae, or maybe a milkshake?” Harrison asked. “Not unless watching me throw up is part of your plan for the evening.” “I don’t have any plans,” he said. “I’m flat out of ideas at the moment.” We drove in silence and parked on the street near the B&B. Harrison had found the same place from more than a decade before. Neither of us moved to get out of the car, and the moment settled into an awkward stillness. Two rooms waited for us at a place where one room had been so memorable from years before. The small part of my brain that was still capable of rational thought stepped forward and told me that taking things a step beyond where we’d already gone could be a big mistake. What the hell would we do after that? Reconcile? I’d never stopped loving Harrison, but I had stopped liking him by the time we divorced. I couldn’t stand to have that happen again. Still, we were talking about one night—the end of a very stressful day, no less—and not a lifetime commitment.

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“How do you feel about getting laid?” I asked. Might as well be blunt I decided, steering well clear of sentimentality. “How much wine did you drink?” he asked, smiling. “Too much,” I said. “But the question stands.” I looked at him. With nothing but a streetlight coming through the window of the car, I tried to discern his reaction. He didn’t seem surprised. And he shouldn’t have been. We’d danced slow and close on the boat a couple of times, and if there had been anywhere to go, we would have re-consummated our physical relationship hours before. “That’s one plan that’s never turned out poorly for us, huh?” he said. “What about you? Think you’d be looking at any regrets? We’ve got a lot to deal with, as it is.” “I don’t think so. I’m not thinking this is some big turnaround event for us. It’s just that, I don’t know . . . We deserve to feel good, just a little. Don’t we?” He nodded, reached his hand out and brushed the side of my face. “Yeah, we do,” he said, his voice gentle. Then he sat back, as if it had become too much for him, and he looked straight ahead toward the empty storefronts of the town. I thought about the things he’d said at Raine’s house about the distance I kept from my father. He’d never answered me, but it seemed obvious that he thought I’d done the same thing with him before our divorce. I wanted to ask him. Had I been the one who changed? Had I manufactured his distance from me because I was still blaming my father? After a moment, he broke the silence, saved me from questions I wasn’t ready to ask. “Well, it’s not the most conventional proposition I’ve ever gotten,” he said, “but you’re right. We should be kind to ourselves tonight.” “Well, you’ve had more recent practice than I have on both the

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giving and receiving end of propositions.” That part wasn’t in the script, not if we planned to end up in the same bed for the night. But suddenly they were there—the other women he’d been with since we divorced. It seemed that I had to push my way through their existence to get to him. “Have you liked being with other women?” He looked over at me. His expression wasn’t angry, but it did seem sad. “This conversation will definitely not get me laid,” he said, attempting a light tone that fell flat. “I’m serious,” I said. “This is not an indictment. Honestly. You haven’t done anything wrong. I just . . .” What? I tried to sort out my own reasons, but came up short. “I don’t want to pretend we’re back where we were three years ago, I guess. Things have happened.” Harrison leaned his head back on the seat, closed his eyes. I wasn’t sure he would answer at all. And really, why should he? I’d asked for the divorce. He didn’t owe me any explanations. But in all the times I’d thought about maybe being with him again someday—physically, even without any idea of any reconciliation—I hadn’t counted on all the other women following us to bed. I hadn’t thought of them at all until they suddenly appeared in our conversation. Then it seemed impossible to make them go away. “I don’t like to be alone,” he said. “You know that about me. Before we got together, I’d always had family, roommates, other people sharing space with me.” “But part of you is always alone,” I said. “With your thoughts— your theories and ideas. Being in a room with you can be a very isolating experience.” “But the physical presence of people is important to me, Holli. When I come out of my thoughts, having someone in the room brings me back to a real place. I don’t know how to say it any clearer than that. If you’re asking me what the other women were

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to me . . .” He stopped, looked pained as he tried to sort out how to say what he meant. Finally, he turned to me. “They weren’t you. That’s it, really. They weren’t you.” “I’m not asking for assurance, Harrison. I know we loved each other. It’s okay if you had other relationships. I just . . .” “And I’m not trying to establish some grand moment here, Holli. Some huge profession of faithfulness. I’ve slept with other women. You know that. I just never considered myself as belonging in a relationship other than ours. I guess that’s why when they were around and then, when they eventually left, it didn’t seem like anything had happened in the interim. I missed the company, that’s all. But when you left, I mourned your absence. It was different. It will always be different from what I have with anyone else. That doesn’t sound healthy, but . . .” He’d run out of ways to explain. I didn’t know what to say. I’d been so caught up in my feelings about the divorce and trying to do the right things for Conner, it never occurred to me that the end of our marriage would be so terribly hard on Harrison. How could I have missed that? I thought again of Harrison’s words about my father. Had I given either of them a proper chance after mistakes had been made? Or had I put up defenses that no one could breach? “If you make your move now,” I said, my voice unsteady, “you can still get lucky. I promise.” He reached over, touched my breast with light fingers, as if it was something he realized he had permission to do. I felt it down the entire length of my body. Then he let his hand move down over my belly, letting it rest at the place where nerves and muscle had come alive in ways I’d almost forgotten. The thin cotton of my pants had become an encumbrance. I wanted to go to our room and be free of everything but our bodies. As if our minds had seized on that thought at the same mo-

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ment, he pulled away, smiled, and pushed the button by the steering wheel that opened the trunk. Our bags, still in the back from our morning arrival in Texas, seemed to have traveled a lifetime with us since the plane landed. We locked up the car, headed for the B&B. In many ways, the house was the very picture of the stalwart homestead of Harrison’s longings. I thought about the two rooms paid for, the one bed we would share. We would make use of a small mattress on creaky box springs and, if memory served, the large dresser top, as well. The ceiling fan, with its unchanging rhythm, would keep time. Maybe, we might even find new corners and surfaces to explore—the experiences of nearly twenty years behind us now.

Conner

Conner recognized his Aunt Tina before he even saw her face. The door to Kilian’s room was ajar, and he saw her decorated arm— dozens of thin, shiny bracelets running between her wrist and elbow—reach up to knock. “Come on in,” he called. Tina pushed the door open. Tanning-booth brown, her curly black hair was shorter than a few weeks before when he’d seen her last. Tina lived in San Antonio and had driven up a couple of times since he’d been in Thaxton. Her timing sucked, but he was glad to see her anyway. He sat down by Kilian at the head of her bed. “So, you!” Tina kissed him on the mouth with puckered lips, her standard greeting for everyone, men and women. She leaned down toward Kilian to offer the same, but Kilian flinched and Tina aborted the effort, kissed her on top of her head. “So how’re you feeling, darlin’?” Tina plopped down on the end of Kilian’s bed, let her sandals drop to the floor with a slapping noise as she tucked her feet up under her legs. She wore white shorts cut low at the waist and high at the leg, so that maximum skin was exposed coming and going. “I’m better, I guess,” Kilian said. She and Tina liked each other. “I might get out of here tomorrow.” “Praise the Lord,” Tina said, which was as close to her mother’s

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evangelical leanings as she ever ventured. “If you’re not sick, this place will make you that way. When Daddy was here for so long, I thought I’d die having to come here every day.” She stopped. “Jesus, that sounds awful, doesn’t it?” She rolled her eyes at her own faux pas. “I mean, he did die. But you know what I’m getting at. I hate this place.” “Well, thanks for coming,” Conner said, hoping to steer the conversation away from issues of mortality. “I guess Mom’s the one who sounded the alarm.” “I left yesterday as soon as she called, drove in from San Antonio late last night,” she said. Kilian made some indistinct grunting sound. “Hey,” Tina turned to her. “Cut the ’rents some slack. Think of how you’d feel if you were a mother.” Conner literally felt a jolt through his gut. He looked at Kilian, and for a moment she sat stone-faced. Then she said, “Well, that’s something I should find out in about nine months.” Conner watched Tina’s face as Kilian’s words began to make sense. “Holy shit,” she said, her voice nothing more than a whisper. “Are you sure?” “She’s had the test. Two of them, in fact. It’s a done deal.” Conner answered the question. “I thought Mom might have told you already.” His tone, if not his words issued an apology for Kilian’s blunt confession. “Where are Holli and Harrison?” “I don’t know,” he said. “I asked them to let me have some time with Kil. I’d just found out when they got here.” He stopped short of explaining that Kilian had known longer. Kilian, he realized, timed her announcements for maximum impact. “But you don’t know where they went?” Tina pressed, clearly concerned about her sister. “They didn’t go to Raine’s last night. Mama stayed with her, but she said it was just the two of them. I figured Holli and Harrison were here with you.”

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Conner shook his head. “Not here.” Kilian had turned away from them and was looking through a magazine. Conner wondered if she was disappointed that her news hadn’t caused a bigger stir. “Well,” Tina said. “Your parents. They’re off together. That’s something, huh?” “It is something,” he said. Conner still didn’t know how he felt about his parents’ newfound closeness. “I guess it’s a good thing.” “Let’s hope,” Tina said. “I mean, I stayed with her after he moved out and it wasn’t pretty. I don’t want to see it begin, and then end again.” “I know,” he said. “You should have seen them right before they split. She was pissed constantly, and most of the time I could understand why. She’d plan stuff, and it was always fifty-fifty whether or not he’d remember. Or even if he remembered, whether or not he’d get himself away from work in time. She’d be stuck making excuses at a restaurant or at some school meeting for me. I know it was hard with him gone, but it got pretty rough then.” “Yeah, but they did have a good ride there for a long time,” Tina said. “I mean, there’s no question that they were—hell, probably always have been—in love.” Conner shrugged. He loved his dad. Didn’t want to make him sound like an asshole. “And she expected a lot,” he said, tempering the picture somewhat. “And she had her own set of baggage after all she went through as a kid. I mean, Grandaddy Ray didn’t leave. He was around, but it was like he left her anyway. Kind of absent in plain sight. You know? After we moved to New York, it seemed sometimes like Dad was doing the same thing. He’d come home late, or even when he was there, his mind was somewhere else.” “Absent in plain sight,” Tina said. “Before everything fell apart for them, I used to get Mom to play these crappy board games with me all the time because I thought it would make her feel better—or at least not so bad—about Dad.” He laughed thinking about it. “She probably didn’t like them any more

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than I did. She thought she was doing it for me. Then again, I didn’t want them to split up, so maybe I was doing it for me, too. But I wanted to find something to make her happy. Maybe if they got together again now, she’d be more realistic about what to expect.” He looked over and realized Kilian was watching him. She had an odd expression, and he felt exposed somehow. “I can’t worry about them right now,” he said. Tina went over and began messing with Kilian’s hair, pulling it back and, with a band that appeared from a pocket or somewhere, making an intricate braid out of strands pulled back from the younger woman’s forehead. Conner couldn’t believe Kilian was letting her do it. She even acted as if she liked it. “Your hair’s as fine as powder, girl,” she said. “I’ve got some stuff that will give it volume. It’s in my bag at Mama’s.” From nowhere, Conner felt an absurd impulse to laugh. Not a funny kind of laugh, but a rising hysteria that traveled through the nerves in his neck, up toward his face. The normal veneer of life seemed absurd to him all of a sudden. How could they act like the world hadn’t just cracked into pieces? Kilian was sick—and pregnant. He kept his mouth closed, but the pressure inside his body formed in his throat and he couldn’t stop it. Forced air from the involuntary spasm caused jerky puffing noises to come out his nose, as if he’d strangled on something. Both women looked at him. “What’s wrong?” Kilian said. Tina had stopped working on her hair and the two of them stared at him. “What is it, Conner?” “I guess I got something in my throat,” he said. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, felt his ears fire hot at the notion of losing his grip in front of everyone. “Nothing,” he said, finally. “I’m just tired.” “Mama told me that Holli used to make funny noises when she was upset,” Tina said. A statement that seemed oddly out of context but was somehow relevant all the same.

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“It’s okay, Conn,” Kilian said, as he sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. “It’ll be okay.” Tina leaned toward the two of them. A family huddle that suggested strength in numbers. Conner took a deep breath. “You’re really pregnant,” he said, the truth of it coming at him again. Minus the drama of Kilian’s earlier disclosure, the magnitude of the statement itself took on larger proportions. Kilian remained wide-eyed. Unblinking. Either she was still in denial, or the reality of it meant something different to her. Tina closed her eyes and dropped her head—a signal of resignation, an acceptance of sorts. But to Conner, it looked almost like a moment of prayer. Maybe, in some odd way, he thought, it was.

Holli

Harrison was asleep. With good reason. It was two in the morning, later by the East Coast time where we’d started our day. But the room wouldn’t fully go dark, thanks to the streetlights outside our window. And it was hot. Only a thin sheet covered us, and even that seemed too much. Beyond all that, the nerves in my body were still humming from all that we had done. Harrison had stayed lean. Unlike most men his age, his body had not taken on the paunch and roundness of complacency. He complained now and then of joints giving way, muscle aches he didn’t used to feel. But with the exception of a few gray hairs mixed in with the brown, his aging had an internal quality that left his appearance unchanged. Making love to him, I felt the taut energy that ran under his skin. It still got to me, called up a response that left me willing and vulnerable. With love and a child to anchor our lives, the edgy thrill our bodies offered still seemed almost sacred. I knew better than to ask if he’d felt that with the others. Curious as I was, it was the last thing I needed to know. “You okay?” he roused enough to ask. I must have been fidgeting. “I’m fine,” I whispered. He rolled over, instantly asleep again.

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In the sweaty semi-dark of that room beside my ex-husband, my thoughts moved from the pleasure of the evening’s sex, to my earliest glimpses of that brand of desire. I’d seen it before I knew what it was. I’d felt it in the room when my father and Georgia were together. Even as a child, I knew that it must happen rarely—when something unseen grabbed two people and exposed raw need. From what I had figured out over the years, that part of it stayed longer than anything else in my father’s relationship with his second wife. He loved my mother. But he wanted Georgia Lansing. At age nine, I didn’t understand it—the current I could feel, just being in the room near them. When I got older, I realized that he must have wanted Georgia enough to forget that my pregnant mother was home waiting for him. I blamed Georgia more than I did him; but still, I blamed him. That blame never resolved itself, even though the older I got, the more I realized he was helpless and sick of himself for being so weak. After I met Harrison, I began to understand the broad parameters that my father’s passions had demanded. What would I have done if my desire and my love had been split between two different beings? Even understanding didn’t bring any fuller forgiveness. I just knew that I was lucky. My passions never destroyed the people I loved. I never had to answer to whether or not they would have, if circumstances had been different. Half-asleep still, Harrison turned to me again. And again, I found myself willing, regardless of the complicated day that would follow the suspended realities of the night. It was as close to the duplicities of my father’s life as I had ever come.

Hollyanne

On Sunday, I laid out Daddy’s clothes for church. It was fifty-fifty whether he planned to go or not. Mostly it depended on how much Kelly had nagged him during the week. But he was awake, taking a shower, and when he came back into his room with a towel around his waist, he saw the khaki suit on the bed and smiled. I figured then that church must be on, so I went to get myself dressed. The Sunday before, Kelly had told him he needed to get his dark suit out for fall and winter. “It’s already November, Ray,” she said. “You can’t go around looking like the middle of July.” I’d looked for the other one, his blue suit that Mama had gone all the way to Dallas to buy. I found it balled up in a wad at the back of the closet. Mama’s clothes were still neat on the hangers like she left them, but Daddy’s side was turning into a mess. I didn’t know how to straighten out the suit—Mama had never let me iron—so I left it there. I’d have to ask Kelly to help, and the tan one would have to do one more Sunday. “Come over here,” Daddy said after he was dressed and ready. He had on his gentle face. “Come give me a hug, Dairy Queen.” Hearing my nickname made me feel safe and small, like I used to when Mama was in the next room folding laundry. I went and sat on his lap.

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“I’ve been moody lately, I know,” he said. “I’m going to do better by you, I promise.” “You’re doing fine, Daddy,” I told him. He pulled me close with big arms. Even after his shower, the skin near his neck still smelled a little like the shop. The serious smell of tools and electricity, pressed wood and dust, all mixed together. It never quite left him. The tight line of sadness that had run through me for weeks and weeks eased a little, and I pressed my face into his shoulder. I felt something on my neck, pulled back and saw that his face was wet. He hadn’t shown tears since that day in the hospital— didn’t even cry at the funeral. He’d just sat, his expression blank as sky, while they talked about what an angel my mama had been. I’d wondered at the time how he managed, how he kept from crying himself weak. Sitting in the kitchen, I felt lost watching him. “I miss Celia,” he said, voice choked and raw. “I didn’t always do the best job showing her, but I loved her. I don’t know what’s going to happen now. I just don’t know.” He was talking to himself more than to me, staring off across the room. “We’ll figure it out, Daddy,” I said. I’d heard grown-ups say that a lot when they wanted to make somebody feel better, but I didn’t really know what would happen. Life had been slipping and sliding all different directions. If Daddy didn’t have any idea how to settle it down, we didn’t have much of a chance. But I didn’t say that, not while he looked so sad already. Miss Georgia hadn’t been around for a while. But the night before, I’d answered the phone when she called. From Daddy’s side of the conversation, I figured she was back from wherever it was she went. “I’ll try harder, Daddy,” I told him, but it didn’t help. He seemed lower than ever. I wished I’d paid more attention to what Mama did to make life smooth. Dishes and clothes, groceries and meals. . . . That’s what

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I remembered the most. That’s what Mama did with the hours I had with her while Daddy was at work. I’d tried to take over what I could, but there were so many gaps in what I could remember. I had to stop in the middle of everything and try to reason out what should come next. “I mean it, Daddy,” I said again. “I’ll try harder.” The preacher was talking loud enough for people outside to hear him, but I could tell Daddy wasn’t listening. His eyes were someplace else. For once, I was glad. The preacher was talking about Apollo 12—how the men were up there again in their rocket ship, going back to the moon for another trip. Like Grandma Raine, the preacher thought that all the moon business was dangerous stuff. I knew it would make Daddy think of the day Mama died if he listened too hard. Grandma Raine was in the pew in front of me, and she was looking pitiful as all get out. But Daddy had no expression at all. He was thinking about something all his own. Looking at him, I could see the skin, dark around his jaw where he needed to shave. Mama would have reminded him, but I hadn’t thought of it. I made a note to myself in my own head not to forget that anymore. “We need to be mindful of our place in God’s creation,” the preacher said. “He put us solidly on this earth for a purpose.” I thought about my purpose, about all that I forgot every minute of every day and the other parts that I just never knew. These thoughts got in the way of listening to the sermon. I fought to keep hold of the preacher’s sound, but I couldn’t stay with him. My mind broke stride and in the place of his voice came a low buzz inside my head, and with the buzz came an ache. Too much. It was all too much. Too much missing Mama. Too much left to do. Too big a place left in my life where Mama used to be. She had filled up so much, and then the two of us together had made even more room for the baby—my sister. That night in the hospital,

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they’d said she was a sister, after all. We’d cleaned out my closet to make space for her and, while we worked, I’d felt the space inside my heart get bigger and bigger, making room for something new to love. Sitting on the hard wooden pew, I could feel all the big spaces inside me still. Room where Mama had been. Room where the baby should have gone. But it was all empty. The kind of empty your stomach feels when you’re hungry and it hurts. Preacher Bennett moved his mouth, but the aching buzz kept me from hearing his words. I looked up at Daddy to make sure I hadn’t gone to moaning again, but he looked far away still, hadn’t noticed anything. That much was a relief, and my mind settled a little. I saw Miss Georgia, sitting beside her sister. Miss Georgia was looking at the two of us, me and Daddy. Her face had gotten round, pink in the overcrowded heat of the church. All of her had gotten round, it seemed, since she went away and came back. She looked like some relative of herself. A bigger version—a cousin maybe. She didn’t even resemble that woman in torn stockings I’d seen moving down the street. Beside Miss Georgia, her sister looked pale in comparison, and her eyes were closed. Maybe she prayed for her husband in Vietnam. Prayed that she could stand to look down the length of his arm, down to where it ended with no hand there to hold. I grabbed Daddy’s hand again and closed my fingers around two of his. The buzzing took up again louder than before. People around me had closed their eyes to pray. Let the buzzing stop. That was my prayer. Please God, make it stop. Everybody stood up, and I tried to concentrate on the song, but all I could think about was Sunday dinner. Mama always fixed something nice. Since she died, Daddy and I had been going to Kelly’s afterward, whenever we went to church, but we weren’t going there for a change, and I hadn’t thought about Sunday dinner.

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I could barely make out the piano through all the other thoughts in my head. I shut my eyes, squeezed my cheeks up to make them close tighter. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. With my eyes closed, I saw all the worries floating free, even harder to put into order. Like spacemen outside the capsule, lost without gravity. Mama and the baby, floating away from me, leaving everything else behind. Georgia Lansing wiping tears on Daddy’s arm. Beer cans on the counter and by the chair. Khaki pants laid on the bed. I saw a pantry full of cans, tried to figure which ones I could open if Daddy didn’t stop on the way home to get food. Make it stop. Make it stop. He’d want Sunday dinner after church. I opened my eyes, at least I think I did. But maybe they were closed and I was thinking it up. Beside me, sitting upright and calm was my mama, Sunday dressed and holding the baby. She was smiling at me. I didn’t care if I’d just made her up. It was so good to see her, I almost laughed. “Mama,” I whispered. “There’ll be a baby, Hollyanne,” Mama said. “Don’t be sad. You can be a sister to the baby.” “But you have the baby, Mama,” I told her. “The baby went with you.” The pew, no longer hard, floated under me like I was riding on air. I looked at my little sister, wrinkled and new still. She looked just born even though it had been months and months. I told her, “I’m looking after Daddy, but the baby isn’t here.” Mama kept smiling. Then there was a voice. A different voice speaking to me. I looked up. Daddy was telling me it was time to go. Outside, after the service, I pulled my coat tight around me and ran with the other children. We played freeze tag while the grownups talked. As more kids joined in, the game moved out into the cemetery where there was room to maneuver and run without

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dodging the grown-ups still talking about the men up in space. I didn’t want to think about spacemen. Under the ugly November sky, we ran past stone markers, squealed and skipped around the names of people who had died. “Kids!” one of the grown-ups yelled to us. “Get outta there. It’s disrespectful.” “Oh, let ’em go,” another one called out. “I’ll be happy if I have kids playin’ and laughin’ on top of me when I’m gone.” Those tagged stood frozen among the headstones of their near and distant kin. I walked over to where my mother was buried. Her headstone wasn’t up yet, but when it was, it would have her name and some mention of the baby that was buried with her. ‘Loved and lost before she ever lived,’ or something like that. Kelly had made it up. I looked at the dirt over the grave. Grass had grown in and thickened pretty well before it turned a greenish-brown for the winter. In the overcast light, the mound looked like a scratchy wool blanket pulled up to keep them warm underneath. Other kids ran by, trying not to get caught. Julie Elliot stopped, came over to where I squatted by the grave. “Are you playin’?” she asked, eager to freeze me. “Not right now,” I told her. “I might play some in a minute.” “This your Mama’s grave?” Julie asked. “Yeah.” “I’m sorry your mama died, Hollyanne.” Julie looked scared. If one mama could die, maybe they all could. “Are you mad at your daddy?” “What for?” “My grandmaw said it was his fault.” Julie looked over to where my daddy was standing by the church. “Was it?” I put my hand on the cold ground that covered Mama and my sister. Tears prickled just inside my eyes but I wouldn’t let that happen, so I swallowed hard and looked at Julie, squinted to see if she was just trying to be mean. What sun there was came from

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behind her, making her face a shadow—too hard to make out. “It was an accident,” I said. “My mama had an accident.” “Okay.” Julie ran off to tag somebody else. I tried to join back in the game. Bobby Duke tagged me and I froze. While I stood there, the still rows of graves around me, I saw Daddy move away from the church. Mitchell Lansing was walking with him. They went to the gravel parking lot and stopped. Mr. Lansing lit a cigarette, sucked deep like it was something necessary for him to get air. Andy Bates ran by, slapped my arm to unfreeze me and I took off, away from all the kids, toward where Daddy stood. I heard my friends behind me, yelling that I was going the wrong way, but I didn’t turn around. Daddy was beside somebody’s pick-up, still talking with Mr. Lansing. I walked over to the truck but stayed on the side, away from where they stood talking. The Chevrolet truck looked a lot like Daddy’s—a lot like the one Mama had crashed. I smelled Mr. Lansing’s smoke. Then I touched the metal door handle and imagined holding onto the side like Daddy had done, arms locked onto steel, my face taking the hot July air full force, along with stinging bugs and, finally, raw concrete. In a second, I lived it with my daddy, tried to decide exactly how he might have caused it when it was Mama behind the wheel and all he could do was try to hang on. “You got to understand my position.” Mr. Lansing was talking. “I’m worried about her. Sure, I still care what happens to her. But I can’t go back to that situation. Neither would you. Did the two of you think about that? Jesus, Ray, did you think about anything?” “We’ve been all through this, Mitchell,” Daddy said. “Been through what? You saying you’re sorry? Sorry doesn’t begin to cover it, and that’s not what we’re talking about now, Ray. I’m off with the National Guard, training to get myself killed in this Vietnam mess, if it comes to that. And you two back here . . . You split my life in two. Both of you.”

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“Mitchell, I can’t change what happened, and I’ve lived to regret it every second of my life since July 20. But the point here, right now, is we have got to come to some agreement on how to handle all this.” I wondered if they were talking about the accident. Maybe Mr. Lansing thought it was Daddy’s fault, too, that my mama died. I didn’t know why that would split his life in two. “That’s between both of you, now,” Mr. Lansing said. “I only pulled you over to say I’m worried about her. She’s getting more and more unhinged. I’d have to be a real shit not to worry. I’ve even told her I’ll help some with money, if she needs it. But I won’t stand and look like I deserted her. I’d live with it if I could, Ray. But I can’t.” “I’ve got Hollyanne to think about . . .” “Don’t go hiding behind your kid . . .” “Fuck you.” Daddy’s voice suddenly went low and mean. In all his yelling mad times, I’d never heard him sound as angry as he did at that moment with Mitchell Lansing. “You can’t possibly understand what Hollyanne’s been through. What we’ve both been through, so don’t tell me what I can or cannot do to look after my kid.” He went quiet, and, for a change, Mr. Lansing didn’t seem to have anything to say back to him. I still didn’t understand why they seemed to be so upset with each other. Mr. Lansing had been mad at everybody it seemed, ever since that night at our house. I thought of how mean he’d been to his wife. I could still see her crying and walking down the street. Daddy was the next one to speak again. He sounded softer this time—spent, I guessed, from the tired sound in his throat. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I wish to God I could go back.” “Well, you can’t. Neither can I.” The fire had gone out of Mr. Lansing’s voice too. “I know you’ve been through hell. But, Ray, I didn’t start this mess, and I can’t be the one to fix it. I know you’ve got things to work out, but she’s having that baby in just a couple

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of months now. That child needs somebody to call Daddy, and it won’t be me.” “Hollyanne!” It was Grandma Raine calling me. There was nothing to do but walk out of my hiding spot. Walk out and let Daddy figure out that I’d overheard his talk. I didn’t care, though. All I could think about was that Mr. Lansing said there was a baby. Most of what they said was a jumble of talk, grown-up riddles. But one thing I’d heard for sure—Mr. Lansing wanted Daddy to look out for the baby that Miss Georgia was going to have. A baby. I walked out from behind the truck and looked straight at Daddy. If he was surprised to see me, he didn’t show it. “Hollyanne!” Grandma Raine called again. “I’m coming!” I called back. I couldn’t figure why Mr. Lansing would put Miss Georgia out to fend for herself, especially if she was so close to being a mama. But I didn’t care about that either. His loss was my gain. A baby. You have to look after the baby. It had seemed like something real, with Mama there—but then not there. But then there was a baby, one that I could look after, especially if Mr. Lansing didn’t want to be the daddy. My daddy could be the daddy. I felt like jumping ten feet in the air. Grandma Raine fussed about all the yard mess I got on my Sunday coat. “What’d you do?” she asked. “Get down and roll around in it?” “No, ma’am.” Grandma Raine slapped lightly at the hem where it had hit the ground while I was sitting by Mama’s grave. She tried with her open hand to brush away the dry grass that had collected there. I looked at her, a tiny woman by grown-up standards. I didn’t have to reach up far to hug her neck. “I love you, Grandma,” I said, pulling tight.

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“My goodness, child. You’re going to pull me down,” she said, but she was smiling. I couldn’t start spouting free about a baby, about getting a second chance to be a sister, after all. So I told her another thing that was true. “I haven’t seen you enough lately. I miss you.” I’d been to her house a few times after school, and I saw her at church. But she never came to my house anymore. “Oh, girly, I miss you, too. I’ve been holed up in that house of mine for too long. I’ve just been so sad about your mama. I miss her something awful. You’re the brightest little light in my world right now. I’ll make a point to see you more, I promise.” “It’s okay, Grandma.” I saw Miss Georgia. She was on the front stoop of the sanctuary, still talking with Preacher Bennett. A serious discussion, it seemed, and she was doing most of the talking. She didn’t seem to notice that it was cold and her coat hung wide open, a limp tissue drooped in her hand. I looked at her. She wore a loose dress. Her stomach, her round face, made me think of Mama the morning before the men landed on the moon. It was true: there was a baby in Miss Georgia’s stomach. And since her husband didn’t want anything to do with being a daddy, she’d gone to my daddy for help. That’s why she’d been at Kelly’s at our picnic, in our kitchen that Saturday morning. I thought about Daddy arguing with Mr. Lansing. He said he’d been worried about me. All I had to do was convince him to be a daddy to Miss Georgia’s baby. Then everything would be better. “Hey, Miss Georgia,” I called out when she walked by, near enough to hear me. Grandma Raine frowned. She had her eyebrows perched up to warn me to think twice about anything I might be up to, but I didn’t care. “Hey, Hollyanne,” Miss Georgia looked skittish, like something might jump out and bite her any second.

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“How’re you feeling?” I walked over to her, left Grandma Raine standing by herself, irritated, I could tell, but not calling me back. Miss Georgia kept walking toward her car, so I fell in step beside her. I didn’t see her sister anywhere, so I figured she must be by herself. “I know my Mama only threw up at first, and then she got to feeling okay again. Are you throwing up regular anymore?” Miss Georgia looked at me like I might be standing naked with monkeys crawling on my head. “What do you mean?” Her voice was just shy of hysterical. “The baby,” I said. “Is it still making you puke a lot, or are you feeling better?” I spoke slowly, said each word serious and clear so Miss Georgia might calm down. She looked around, panic came clear in her eyes. “Ray!” she called out to Daddy. “Miss Georgia . . .” “Hollyanne Fielding,” she spat my name out like it tasted bad, “you hush right now. Somebody’s going to hear you. I won’t have you make fun. You understand me?” It was a yell dressed up as a whisper. Making fun? I thought fast of what I might say to get things back right with Miss Georgia. If I didn’t, Miss Georgia might go off and settle on somebody else to be the daddy she needed for her baby. “I’m not making fun, Miss Georgia. I swear. I’d be a good sister. I’d be the best sister, I promise. I wasn’t making fun,” I said again. I didn’t know what else to do. “There’s nothing better than a baby. I wouldn’t tease about that.” By that time, Daddy had come up beside us. Miss Georgia still looked confused, like everybody around her was speaking French or German and she couldn’t catch a single American word from the lot of us. “What’s wrong?” Daddy asked. For once, Miss Georgia stood stone silent.

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“What is it?” Daddy was looking at me for an answer. “I was thinking Miss Georgia might like to come to our house for Thanksgiving.” I said the first thought that made any sense to me, but it wasn’t a bad thing to say after all, I reasoned, because Miss Georgia smiled all of a sudden. It was Daddy’s turn to look dumbstruck by the conversation. “I can’t cook much, especially by myself,” I went on. “But if you wanted to come help, Miss Georgia, I bet we could have a nice dinner.” Miss Georgia looked at Daddy. “Uh, well, sure. It . . . well,” Daddy said, stumbling for sounds that might be an actual answer. “I . . . I . . . that’d be fine.” “I’d like that,” Miss Georgia said, looking at Daddy again, then down at me. “Thank you for thinking of it, Hollyanne.” I could start breathing again. I put my hands in the pocket of my coat to get them warm and headed off toward the car.

Conner

His parents were already at Gran’s by the time Conner drove up with Kilian. His dad had dropped the truck off earlier at the hospital, where his mom had followed in the rental car. They didn’t say where they’d been. He’d watched as the two of them waited for the elevator—saw his dad standing behind his mother with both hands resting on her hips like it was no big deal. What the hell did that mean? He couldn’t even decide if his folks getting back together would be a good thing or not. None of them could go through the hell of dismantling the family again, and who knew if it would stick a second time around? But part of him still hoped more than anything it would happen. “Hey!” Gran waited on the front steps of the trailer while Harrison helped them with their bags. “There’s our girl. How’re you feeling, Kilian?” “Fine,” Kilian worked at smiling, but Conner saw the strain on her face. “Where’s Mom?” Conner asked as Kilian made her way inside and out of the heat. “She’s down at the house, making some kind of pasta thing for lunch. She’ll be up in a few minutes.” Harrison kissed Gran on the cheek and went into the trailer with Conner following close behind.

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“When did Georgia leave?” Conner asked. “Tina picked her up this morning,” Gran said. “They’ll be back later, I expect.” The small living room seemed like a kid’s playhouse with the four of them standing around. “I need to use the bathroom,” Kilian excused herself. The doctor had sent her home with an IV line inserted in her arm—a PICC line they called it—and she was supposed to give herself IV antibiotics a few times a day. He wondered if that’s what she was doing and if he should offer to help. He decided to let her ask beofre he intruded in that way. “So what happened with you two last night?” Conner asked Harrison when she was gone. Harrison took a deep breath, settled down on the couch. “Damned if I know, Conn.” Conner wanted to ask what he meant by that, but instead took a different tack. “So where’d you go?” He sat down beside his dad. Gran was messing around in the kitchen. “I didn’t see hide nor hair of them last night,” she piped in. “That must have been quite a time you had out on the river,” she said to Harrison. “It was fun,” his dad answered but didn’t seem eager to elaborate. “The river?” Conner asked. “We went on a paddleboat cruise, if you can believe that. Up and down the Brazos.” Kilian came back from the bathroom sooner than he expected, and Conner decided to let the topic of his parents’ adventure drop. As Kilian reached the middle of the room, Gran stopped wiping down the counter and stared at her. “Child,” she said, “I do believe you’re going to have a baby.” Conner and Harrison both looked at the older woman who

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seemed to think there was nothing strange about her pronouncement. “Are you well enough to carry a child, hon?” Gran’s voice held genuine concern. “Celia mentioned a baby, but I had no idea it was you.” “Celia?” Kilian looked shaken. Conner stood up, as if he could physically stop his great-grandmother’s genial interrogation of his girlfriend. “First, she was talking about the Russians up there in space, and then she mentioned a baby. Lord have mercy!” Gran’s face broke into a broad smile. “Conner?” Kilian turned to him, said in a low voice, “Did you say something already?” He wished to God he had. That might explain what was going on. Conner shook his head. “No, I haven’t said anything,” he whispered. “Didn’t come from us,” Harrison said. “Holli and I decided it was best to wait until you two got here.” “Wait about what?” Holli came up from the main house. In a black cotton tee shirt and slim, black pants, she looked far too Greenwich Village to be outside in the middle of the day in Texas. “Our Kilian’s going to have a baby, Holli,” Gran said. “But then, sounds like you already knew.” “You told her?” Holli looked at Conner. “No,” he said. “She just knew somehow.” “Did Tina say something to you, Grandma Raine, when she picked up Georgia?” Holli asked. “My Lord,” Gran said. “Am I the last one to know?” But she was still smiling, obviously happier with the news than anyone else had been. “Nobody told me. Goodness, Hollyanne, I can tell by looking at the girl. Same way I knew that Georgia was expecting Tina all those years ago. ’Course that was a much different situa-

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tion, with her husband off in the army and her and Ray . . .” She stopped, seemed to realize she’d taken the conversation too far out of bounds. “But the Lord has His purpose in everything,” she recovered. “And like I said before, Celia said something about a baby.” She said it as if the gossip of visiting spirits was a common occurrence for everyone present. “But she didn’t say what baby. I guess now we know, don’t we?” Everyone stood stunned, watching the older woman. His mom looked especially freaked-out. Gran suddenly became concerned again as she addressed Kilian. “Your health, child. You didn’t answer me before. Is this okay for you?” “I’m feeling kind of dizzy.” Kilian looked cornered. Conner could see that she was shaking. He put both arms around her, pressed hard to try and stop her trembling. “This is too fucking weird,” she whispered to him. Her voice was barely there, but in the small space of the trailer, they all must have heard her. Conner wanted to get her away from his family. “Why don’t you lie down or something,” he said. He sounded reasonable, but inside he knew he’d lost any sense of how to handle the situation. Parroting age-old platitudes was about the best he could do. He turned to the rest of them. “Maybe you guys should go on down to the other house. We’ll be there to eat something with you in a minute.” Kilian’s skin had no color at all and, while the trailer’s window unit barely did its job, she actually looked cold. “Take your time,” his mom said. “Lunch will keep.” As he and Kilian walked by Gran, he couldn’t help but notice his great-grandmother’s expression. No longer interested in Kilian, her eyes were fixed at a point outside, something through the window, over to the side of the yard. She smiled as if pleased. Kilian went ahead to the back of the trailer, but Conner stayed back, stood for a moment, regarding Gran. When he followed her eyes, he registered movement in the shaded part of the yard, near

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the flowers he’d planted two days before. Bright sun on the rest of the yard made it hard to focus, and he strained to see more clearly. As wind stirred the branches of the low trees, shadows of new leaves played over the ground. Shadows. That’s all. But she seemed to be seeing more. Despite the relentless glare of the midday sun reflecting off nearly everything in the yard, Gran’s eyes remained constant on that one spot. And unlike his efforts to focus, she wasn’t squinting, straining to see past the brightness. His parents had left, were moving toward the house, but Gran wasn’t regarding them. “Are you okay?” he asked, but she seemed not to hear. She just stared out the window, her expression kind, as if something dear to her was close at hand. Her gaze fixed on nothing at all. “What the hell was that?” Kilian sounded scared, bordering on pissed. She’d raced back to their bedroom before his parents left the trailer. At least she’d gotten her energy back and a little of her color. In spite of her agitated mood, she actually looked better. He, on the other hand, felt more disturbed than ever. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe she is tapping into something . . . I don’t know . . .” “Creepy? Is that the word you’re looking for? Because like I said, this is all really fucking weird.” He somehow felt the need to come to Gran’s defense. “She’s an old woman, Kil. Who cares if she thinks she sees ghosts?” Kilian worked on unpacking her suitcase. “You could try being a little easier on people when they’re obviously worried about you. My family’s trying and my parents flew down here because they wanted to help.” She stopped messing with her suitcase, turned toward him. “Your family wants me to be gone, Conner. You know that.” She’d

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lost her momentum and sounded only sad. “I think Tina likes me, and maybe Gran. But she’s really losing it, Conner.” “You’ve got to give her some credit. She managed to step up when I was losing my shit here the other day. She probably saved your life. And, obviously, she knows more than we thought she did about everything else. I mean, it’s weird, but she was right about the baby.” Kilian was getting to him, and the room, best he could tell, was shrinking, because it suddenly felt like the smallest space on the planet. “Just cut her some slack, okay?” “So I need to go along with the dead daughter business? Do you really think your grandmother is dropping in with news flashes about the baby? That’s nuts. I can’t even pretend to buy into that.” “What is your fucking problem?” He didn’t mean to explode, but why couldn’t she just play along with the old lady? “What harm could it do to just humor her, and what do you care what she thinks she sees? It doesn’t matter.” “There aren’t any ghosts.” She spoke with a deliberate clarity, as if it was important that he understand. “There’s nothing out there but dust and space. Dead people stay dead. And when I’m gone, I promise you I’ll stay that way, too. No secret visits back home to freak out the family.” In the corner of the room sat all the contraptions Kilian had to use regularly to breathe better. They brought the frightening realities of Kilian’s life all too close to what she was saying. “We can forget about this wedding thing, if you’ve changed your mind,” she said. “But I can’t be some audience participant in your great-grandmother’s parlor tricks. Can you understand that?” There was no good answer. She’d put his family on one side of him and positioned herself on the other. Regardless of what she was saying, her message was clear. Choose. He hadn’t factored that into his plans, any more than he’d planned on a baby. He knew it would be hard to get his parents to come around, but he’d never

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counted on Kilian being the problem. The situation was completely out of control. “Conn?” She was asking for a response. Some show of support from him. “What do you want, Kilian?” The question sounded as empty as he felt. “What do you expect me to do?” “Go to lunch,” her voice came out flat and without any of the warmth she usually had when she spoke to him. “Go eat with your family.” The last word landed thick with meaning. It felt as if she’d physically hit him. With nothing to say, he turned and left, walked through the main room of the trailer that suddenly felt too insubstantial to provide adequate shelter for the messy life they’d made for themselves. Once outside, the warm, stiff breeze soothed his nerves. He stopped, closed his eyes for just a second, hoping to feel something—a presence maybe. Gran’s expression had been so content. Happy, even. It could only be a good thing if something kind and wise was out there watching, wanting to help. But all he felt was the air around him. Dust and space. Maybe Kilian was right. He walked the distance to Raine’s house, aware that—for the moment, at least—he was completely alone.

Holli

Celia mentioned a baby . . . But she didn’t say what baby . . . I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Raine looking so delighted. From the couch in the den, I could hear Harrison in the kitchen talking with her. I curled up and pulled an afghan over me in hopes of finding comfort. When you’re distraught, your mind is apt to manufacture anything to cope. Right? Maybe that’s what Raine was doing. When faced with her own declining mind, she was inventing my mother, placing her in the present world. But her words. Celia mentioned a baby. That hit too close to my own memories. The church. My mother’s voice telling me about the baby that would become my sister Tina. I’d been a kid and my mother had just died. Later, the second time I’d seen my mother, another death had occurred. A child I’d never carried to full term. I’d passed both of those visitations off as a coping mechanism. But Raine’s pronouncement had me questioning everything. I heard Conner come into the kitchen. Kilian stayed at the trailer, he told Harrison. She was tired and needed to rest. I went in and joined them. The shade from trees that hovered over the house allowed for open windows that let in fresh air, as the four of us sat and ate our lunch. “What are the two of you thinking, Conner?” I’d waited as long as I could to ask.

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He pierced a couple of pieces of pasta with his fork, then let it rest on his plate. He had no appetite. None of us did. No one but Grandma Raine, who had eaten with gusto since we all sat down. “I don’t know,” he said, still staring at his plate. “We’re thinking it might make the most sense to just get married.” I couldn’t speak, which I guessed was good news to him. It shouldn’t have been unexpected. He’d left school with her, and they were living together, making a life already. But the words still seemed unthinkable. Conner, my accomplished, clever son, settling down for the rest of his life? “That’s a big decision, Conn.” Harrison seemed calm, more able to respond in a reasonable manner than I ever thought I’d be. “I know,” Conner said. He’d changed, even from the day before. I expected youthful posturing, endless justification. But he wasn’t arguing. He seemed thoughtful, resigned to the limitations in front of him. “I’ve been through it a dozen ways in my mind. Nothing else seems right. We’ll get married and have the baby. It really sucks right now, finding out like this and all, but we can make this work.” I thought of Harrison’s parents, a pleasant couple, relatively detached from our lives. The two of them still lived in east Texas. And I understood for the first time their disappointment when Harrison and I had told them our news about the baby we would have. I didn’t want to put the emotional distance between me and my son that Harrison’s parents had. But for the first time, I knew why they’d done it. Self-preservation. “Give yourself a little time to think about it,” I told him. “I’m not saying this isn’t the solution. But you may be missing something. Do you even know what the doctors are recommending? Does Kilian’s condition put the baby at a higher risk?” “We’ll get into all that soon, I guess. What the risks are. But women do this. Women with CF have babies,” he said. “Dr. Daniels said it’s getting more common.”

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I was grasping for any other way out. Anything but matrimony. Conner with a baby and an ailing wife wasn’t the life I’d hoped for him. In light of the parallels, I felt hypocritical, at best. But this was different in so many ways. Harrison was never looking at the kind of uncertainty Conner faced with Kilian’s health. “I’ll be right back,” Grandma Raine stood up. I wasn’t sure how much of the conversation she was putting together. She left the room. “It’s riskier than a normal pregnancy,” Conner kept up his thread of the conversation. “We have to accept that, and I’ve got to figure out how to get us some health insurance. Maybe there’s some kind of public assistance we could qualify to get.” With this last part, he looked at me, then at Harrison. Maybe he thought that we’d jump in with suggestions. But I had none. How could a pregnant woman with a chronic illness get a new insurance policy? It wouldn’t happen. Social Services? Maybe. I didn’t know. “Has her aunt talked with her old insurance provider?” Harrison asked. Conner nodded. “Kilian called her last night and told her about the baby, and they talked about the insurance.” His face told us what the outcome of that conversation had been. “Maureen’s decided to fly down. She’ll be here in the next day or so, and she’ll bring all the insurance stuff with her. We can see if there’s some way around the school clause.” “I’ll look at it with you,” Harrison said, but I could tell from his expression he didn’t expect to have a miracle solution. “I love her,” Conner said, a near-helpless tone to his voice. “I want to take care of her.” I sensed that the second part of his declaration was the key to everything. For some reason, Kilian had become a mission for him. But it was only a gut feeling. My understanding of Conner had narrowed to the point that I wasn’t certain of anything anymore.

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I moved over to a chair beside him and put my arm on his shoulder. I wished I still had the ability to make things right for him, the way I had when he was small. Harrison took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. No one said anything about the obvious alternative. Kilian’s health was a natural reason to consider ending the pregnancy. When I looked at Conner, part of me wanted them to make that choice—or at least put it into the mix. But I knew that I’d never considered not having Conner. I couldn’t blame him for feeling the same way. And if I was really being honest with myself, somewhere in the back of my mind, the pinky-sized life inside Kilian had already become my grandchild. Harrison stood up, went over to the counter and poured more tea into his glass. “You want anything?” Conner and I both shook our heads. I knew what Harrison was doing. Trying to get us back to a normal moment, a reasonable place where all of this would make sense. But looking around the room at my small, wounded family, I wondered where that mythical place could exist. Then again, maybe we were in the right place, after all. That same kitchen had nursed me through difficult times. Raine’s way of coping might not be so bad. In a way, conjuring up the past—even the painful past—made the present a resilient triumph.

Hollyanne

Daddy asked Grandma Raine if she’d take care of me every day in afternoons after school, instead of having Mrs. Suggs drop me off at the Zenith Shop. “Things are picking up toward the holidays,” Daddy said. “Well, I think she’s more comfortable in my place than she is at that shop,” Grandma Raine said. “All those people in and out. She can’t get her homework done.” Truth was, I’d had no trouble doing my homework, and there weren’t a lot of people “in and out.” In spite of what Daddy said about traffic picking up, the shop was too quiet most of the time. I knew if anything, Daddy was worried about business. He’d lied to Grandma Raine, but I didn’t speak up. Maybe Kelly was right. She said people were reacting to gossip, that business would get better once the story of the accident and everything started to get old. Even with business being slow, Daddy seemed more like his old self at the shop than he did at home. His temper didn’t shoot up so much the way it used to right after Mama died, but lately, he hadn’t been hugging me as much either, or calling me Dairy Queen. I’d started to look forward to Miss Georgia being around because I felt worn out trying to think of what to say or do to make him lively again.

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I didn’t tell Daddy, but it came as kind of a relief that I would be going to Grandma Raine’s in the afternoons. She acted the same as she always had, and she was as close to having my mama as I could get. “Well, this is a nice change,” Grandma Raine said. She had food ready for me the first day I took the school bus out to her house, and she looked happy to see me. If she liked being with me so much, then why had she stopped coming over to our house? “How come you don’t visit us anymore?” I asked. “You said you would.” “It’s a hard thing to explain, honey. But now that you’re here every day, it’ll be better.” The kitchen held the smell of wood and flour. She had an electric stove, too, but only used it for simmering pots. All her baking she did in the old wood stove beside it. Windows on three sides of the kitchen meant sun was always coming in from somewhere. Morning light looked different from the afternoon. Winter different from summer. Grandma Raine’s kitchen had every kind of light, at one time or another. Sometime soon, I thought, I’d ask to spend the night. I’d get up late and go down so that I could see moonlight in the kitchen. I wondered if Mama had thought about things like that when she was little—if she ever snuck down at night to do the very same thing. I sat down at the table, opened my math book to the homework page. “You want sausage or ham?” Grandma Raine held a plate of small biscuits. “Ham,” I said, smiling, as she put one on a napkin beside my homework. “Daddy says you’re welcome anytime you want to visit,” I pressed on about her absence in our lives. “You were supposed to come for Thanksgiving and you didn’t. We had a real nice meal.”

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I watched her face change. She turned away from me and went to the sink, put her gloves on and started in on the dishes. The yellow rubber gloves moved up and down through the mounds of suds. She looked too small for the big hands the gloves gave her. I thought she wasn’t going to answer me at all. She did that sometimes when I asked too many questions. She’d just go quiet, and I’d give up. “Your daddy and I had some hard words,” she spoke up, finally. She worked with the dishes, kept her back to me while she talked. “I don’t feel like it’s best for me to be over at the house much right now. And as for Thanksgiving, your daddy had other company, and I felt I ought to keep my distance. But all of that’s got nothing to do with you. And it was good of him to let you come here in the afternoon. I appreciate that, and I told him so.” I thought about Thanksgiving. Miss Georgia had been there with us. She wasn’t in a good mood, but we still had a pleasant day overall. And at least she’d done most of the cooking, so I didn’t have that part to worry about. “Miss Georgia wasn’t like company,” I said. “She made the turkey and casseroles. I just worked on potatoes and the rolls.” Grandma Raine finished with the dishes, pulled off the gloves with a snap. The sound startled me as loose bubbles from the gloves rose up around her. “Do you like that woman?” she asked. “Miss Georgia?” She said it like she was calling somebody a bad name. “Daddy told me to call her that,” I said, remembering the looks I got the last time I slipped up and called her Mrs. Lansing. “I didn’t make it up. And she’s okay most of the time. She’s a lot nicer now than she was at first.” I wasn’t sure I should mention the baby. You couldn’t help but see that it was there when you looked at Miss Georgia, but I always got shushed when I brought it up in front of anybody except fam-

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ily. But Grandma Raine was family. She opened a Coke bottle for each of us and sat down at the table with me. “Can I tell you a secret?” “Go ahead.” She sounded matter-of-fact, almost like she knew what I planned to say. “Promise you won’t tell Daddy I said anything?” “Your daddy and I don’t share confidences, so I don’t think any of your secrets are in danger.” She had a sour face on, and I wished I hadn’t brought it up. But I was dying to tell somebody. “Miss Georgia’s having a baby,” I said. “And Mr. Lansing doesn’t want to be a daddy. So my daddy’s going to help her look after it. Daddy and me. We’ll both help.” Grandma Raine didn’t say anything. Her hands kept working the napkin she was holding, twisting and unfolding it again, like her nerves were getting the best of her. Then she took a corner of the napkin, wiped the sweat from top to bottom on the cold Coca-Cola bottle in front of her. “They sell you on this idea?” she asked. “Sell me on it?” I didn’t know what that meant, but she didn’t look pleased with my news. “Must have wrapped it up pretty in a bow to make you sound so excited,” she said, but she didn’t really look at me when she was talking, seemed to be talking to herself more than anything. “Well, they deserve anything that comes to them, and that’s truth. I’ve got some things to answer for on Judgment Day, but I think the Good Lord will give me a pass on anything that has to do with those two.” “Grandma Raine,” I said. “Don’t you understand?” She was making me a little scared with all that talk that didn’t make sense. “The baby is coming pretty soon now. It’ll be just about the same age as the one Mama was having.”

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She jerked like something bit her, grabbed my wrist and held it tight enough for it to hurt. “This is not the same baby your mama carried with her to the grave, Hollyanne. This baby does not take your sister’s place.” “I don’t want it to take anybody’s place.” I felt tears coming. I tugged a little with my arm and she let go. I looked at my red wrist, surprised she’d been that strong. Why didn’t anybody understand that another baby to love was a good thing? “I’m sorry, Hollyanne,” she said. “Come here.” She made room on the chair, patted the spot for me to move over and sit beside her there. “I didn’t mean to fuss at you.” I sat down, tight against her on the small kitchen chair, and she pulled me close with both arms. “You don’t have anything you have to apologize for, darlin’. What your Daddy does is not your fault.” “I’ve got to finish my math,” I said, wanting to change the subject once and for all. “Then maybe you can show me how to make biscuits.” I knew how to make biscuits. Mama taught me. But I thought that would be something she’d like to do. We could forget about Miss Georgia’s baby and anything else that might upset her again. “Will you show me?” “I certainly will,” she said, brushing a kiss over my forehead before she got up to dry the dishes. The sun shifted lower and lower until it was gone, and I worked until solid dark settled in. Raine had left for the other room where she could watch the news, so I turned the lights out in the kitchen and walked over to the window. I’d stayed late enough to see the moonlight, after all. I’d forgotten that night came early when it got cold and close to Christmas. The moon was there, not full as I’d imagined, but nearly. It looked almost round and low in the sky. Seeing it there made me feel close to Mama. You’ve got to take care of the baby. I’d heard it as clear as the wind. Grandma Raine just didn’t understand. Once the baby got born—

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once it was a breathing person right under her nose—she would have to see what I meant. Maybe then, I could even tell her what Mama said. I stared at the moon’s glow, bright and still rising in the early night. Thin clouds in front dressed it up, like fancy scarves in front of the blue-white light.

Holli

Conner’s announcement that he’d asked Kilian to marry him had me rattled. Then again, if she—they—planned to have the baby, his decision shouldn’t have come as a surprise to any of us. But Harrison wasn’t faring much better, I could tell. I decided that maybe he and Conner could talk more easily if I left the room. I understood that, in my agitated frame of mind, my presence hiked up the emotional quotient with my son. “I should check on Raine,” I said. As I got up, Conner leaned over toward me, and I realized he wanted me to kiss the top of his head. It was something he often did as a little boy. I bent down and touched my lips to the thick, dark mass of hair that covered his forehead and, for a moment, it felt as if I knew him again. The way I always had. Grandma Raine sat on the edge of her bed, staring at nothing in particular. Then she turned and smiled as she heard me come into the room. She’d left the table so abruptly, that I thought something urgent had overtaken her, but she looked in no hurry to accomplish anything. Then as I glanced around, I saw that nearly every drawer in the room stood open. “What are you looking for?” I walked over, sat down beside her. “I kept them somewhere,” she said, as if it would be clear to me what them might be. “I just can’t remember where.”

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“Kept what? Maybe I can help.” I’d been through all these drawers over and over as a kid. On bored afternoons, they offered endless distraction. A quick glance around told me that the contents hadn’t changed much over the decades. A few active drawers had been updated for underwear, sweaters, and the like. But most of them held keepsakes that predated my mother’s death. “I kept your mother’s rings,” she said. “I put them somewhere.” “Her wedding rings?” She’d told me years ago, when I was a kid, that they were buried with my mother. “They didn’t take them off, Grandma. You told me they left them on her.” She shook her head. “No,” she said, her shoulders were slumped. She looked defeated. “I hated to lie, but I was afraid you’d forget and mention something to your daddy sometime.” “You’ve had them all along?” “I knew Hayden up at the funeral home. He said your daddy told them to leave the rings on her. Her pearl necklace, too. Said he never wanted to see them again. Ray was just hours out of the hospital and still hopped up on all that medication. Hayden thought he wasn’t quite in his right mind, so he slipped me the jewelry and said not to tell Ray. I’m sorry I kept it from you, but when you asked about her wedding rings, you were, what . . . ten? Eleven? I just didn’t want to set Ray off if you accidentally said something.” They’d had to delay my mother’s funeral—an awful week of waiting—so that my daddy could heal enough to leave the hospital. At the church, he sat there and stared at the coffin. He had no tears, barely a word to say. Thinking back, Raine was right—he had to have been full of pills. But at the time, I just thought he wasn’t feeling anything. “It’s okay, Grandma Raine,” I sat beside her. “I understand. But why do you want them now?” “Well,” she said. “I heard Conner talking about getting married. I thought you might want to give him the rings. It’s up to you, of

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course. They’re yours. But I’m not real clear on things all the time these days. You know that.” “Grandma Raine . . .” “That’s one reason you’re here, Hollyanne. Let’s both be honest about that.” I saw glimpses of her old self, her strongest self, at that moment, and it broke my heart to realize how aware she was of her failings. “I got to thinking about it, and it occurred to me that if I didn’t tell you about them now and find them for you, you wouldn’t even know they were here when I’m gone.” I didn’t know if she meant when she died or when her mind no longer worked clearly. Either way, I couldn’t stand the thought of losing her—any part of her. “I’m not trying to be gloomy here, Hollyanne. You just have to consider these things as you get older. Whatever you want to get settled before . . . Well, you can’t wait too long. You’ll come to this, too. It’s comforting in a way to check things off the list.” She let out a long breath, brought her chin up and looked at me as if she had something else she wanted to say. But she was quiet, her eyes looking at mine. “You’re not going anywhere,” I said. I felt like a coward for being so trite, but I couldn’t face the conversation she wanted to have, not after the day we’d already had with Conner. She looked around the room again, at the mess she’d made looking for my mother’s jewelry. “There’s more than jewelry that I kept from you, Hollyanne. Things I kept from everybody.” She stopped there, and I waited. I was almost afraid to move. “I was angry. I felt justified all those years, keeping things to myself.” She shook her head as if the magnitude of the anger now surprised her. “I thought they deserved to suffer.” I wanted to jump in and ask who they were. But in my gut, I knew. Georgia and Daddy. Raine and I were we. Daddy and Georgia were they. Tina existed in a no-man’s land, and I never quite

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knew where to place her, how to pull her into our we, the way I wanted. Raine took her time. “Your daddy did suffer, now I think too much,” she said, finally. “I didn’t know how deep it went. Then when he was dying, it all came clear to me.” “Daddy’s cancer,” I began. “It was terrible, but . . .” “I’m not talking about the cancer,” she said. “I’m talking about his mind. His soul. At the end, I went in to give him a last little bit of torment, God forgive me. But I came out weak from what I saw. Still, I kept all I knew to myself, and by the time I went back, it was too late. I’ll never forgive myself for letting him leave this world the way he did. My Celia was ill used by him. But he was a human being. I’m not sure God will let me pass through after the choices I’ve made.” “Don’t talk like that, Grandma Raine. You’re the best person I know.” I was beginning to feel shaky. I thought of my father, and it seemed there were two men to consider. The one before Georgia, and the one after. Even in the time just after Mama died, he’d been volatile, but still recognizable to me. I had been the person to change the course of his moods. As Georgia took on a larger presence in his life, I became less able to reach him. There was a two-way mirror in our relationship. I could see him, but he didn’t seem to have the ability to focus clearly on me. When he was dying, we had some resolution. But the thirty years in between had almost seemed too great a chasm to overcome by then. “I saw Daddy. Remember? He was in pain, but they kept him easy with the medicine. We came to a kind of peace with each other. He was okay.” I’d been down the week before he died, sat by him, taking turns with Georgia and Tina. As he came out of the fog of medication, he said things I wished I’d heard decades before. “I’m sorry if I made all the wrong choices for you, Hollyanne,”

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he’d said, too weak to move anything but his head. His eyes had a dull quality to them, but he’d sounded lucid. “I didn’t know what was best most of the time. But I tried. I don’t blame you if you can’t forgive me.” “Everything worked out, Daddy,” I managed. He was so weak. It was impossible to maintain the resentment I’d carried around since I was a kid. Still, it hadn’t gone away. I could feel the weight of it shifting toward Georgia. With my father trying to make some amends, I convinced myself that it had belonged with her all along. “I know you had to keep peace in your own house,” I told him. “It was your house, too, Hollyanne.” His words were strained. “I could have done so much better. But I thought you’d be happier with Raine. She loved you the way Ce . . .” He stopped. He couldn’t say my mother’s name. I found some small sense of justice in that, but I didn’t say that to him. I liked having an interaction with him that wasn’t filtered through anger. He was dying, but we were at a better place than we’d been since he’d married Georgia. “You looked so much like her,” he said. “You still do. Under other circumstances, that might have been a comfort.” I could see my mother, who would forever be younger than the age I had reached. I saw nothing of her in myself—couldn’t imagine that he ever had. She was perfect, and I was so terribly flawed. “I’m sorry, Hollyanne,” he managed before drifting out again. That same conversation with him was echoed several times during my visit. I wasn’t sure if he needed to say it over and over, or if he couldn’t remember telling me the day before. They’d only expected him to live a few days, and after it had been over a week, I had to get back to Conner in New York. He’d died three days after I left him. Still sitting on the edge of the bed, Raine scanned the room with her eyes. “They’re somewhere in here,” she said, again focusing on the rings. “Maybe I should have told Ray I had them. I never offered that man an ounce of charity. I guess part of me was afraid

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he might turn around and give them to her. That was silly, though. He wouldn’t have done that. It’s not Christian, the way I treated him.” “After everything that happened over the years, Grandma, I didn’t have it in me, either. Even at the end when we talked, I told him I understood, but I didn’t tell him everything was forgiven. I couldn’t. You’re not the only one who felt that way. But Daddy and I came to terms with each other. We found some resolution. He accepted that, and I don’t think he expected more.” “That was before the very end,” she said. “And you didn’t see all of it. How tormented he was. You know, it’s strange. I get mixed up about so many things these days. Things in the present day get shifted out of order. But not the past. It’s laid out in a straight line. I haven’t lost my mind yet, Hollyanne.” She looked at me, her eyes clear, and the words held such pain. I believed her. And part of me wished she had. If nothing else, that would have spared her the torment of wondering how long her sense of reasoning—her essential self—would survive. “The past takes on new color when you get old,” she said, “and it moves in closer than it’s ever been.” “What did you want to tell me?” I said gently. “About my daddy?” She sat for a minute. I started to repeat my question, but stopped the impulse. I couldn’t push her. Outside, I could hear dogs barking from some distant yard. Deep, wolf-like echoes across the flat land. The house had been built with trees for shade and windows lined up for the breeze. The room smelled like my life, my existence before I became Holli. Maybe it was all Raine’s talk of memories—about lives coming full circle in the end, the past becoming new and relevant—but I could feel the past she talked about. It seemed to breathe our same air. “I knew what your daddy had done to Celia,” she said. “Not

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just the affair with Georgia, but all along. I knew what a hard man he was to live with sometimes. I’m not proud of it, Hollyanne, but seeing him suffer, it brought me some satisfaction. I don’t think Georgia had the same suffering at first. It started later with her. And when that happened, I used it. I put as much hurt on her as I could manage.” “You’re giving her too much credit, Raine. You’re making her into a person I’ve never seen.” I wouldn’t have Georgia absolved. Grandma Raine could have her opinions, but I didn’t have to go along with it. “Seems you gave up on looking, child,” she said. “At first, you tried to get me to see what good there was in her. Remember? But then you stopped trying to find anything decent in your daddy or Georgia. We’ve just changed places now. That’s all.” Had I done that? Had I closed up the window of opportunity for Daddy to be forgiven? That’s what Harrison had said. I couldn’t take on that possibility. That kind of regret. It was too much. “What about Daddy, Grandma Raine? What was it you wanted to tell me?” “Like I said, I went to see him again on that last day. A woman from the church had told me he was bad off, and I’d had time to reflect on the visit I made to his room the day before. He’d talked about eternal punishment. How he was ready to accept his fate. I was shaking when I left, but Lord help me, I still kept all I knew to myself. That last day, I went to try and give him some ease.” She stopped, her eyes settled on something I couldn’t see. Maybe the hospital, my daddy in all kinds of pain. “The sounds he was making weren’t human,” she said. “He was calling out, terrified. He must have seen things. I can’t think about it much or I get nervous, upset. And I thought, ‘It’s not me sending him off like this. God is the judge of souls, and my bitterness cannot make the difference.’ They gave him something. Morphine, I guess. And when Georgia came out, she was pale, sick-looking.

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‘That man is sending himself straight to hell,’ she told me. And I knew it was time to say something.” “What do you mean?” I could hear Harrison and Conner talking down the hall. I hoped they’d leave us alone. As much as I didn’t want to hear about my daddy’s tortured end, I felt drawn to Raine’s words. “Georgia told me he’d made a decision. In spite of his faith, he told her that Celia didn’t deserve to have to be with him in the next world. He wouldn’t cause her a moment’s more pain than he already had. He didn’t deserve to see that baby of his with her. He’d asked God to keep heaven away from him. To let the Bad Ones take him on to hell.” “Jesus Christ, Raine!” I had to stop her. “This is ridiculous.” I couldn’t listen anymore. My intellectual view of the world crashed headlong into everything I’d been taught about salvation, redemption. Red-faced preachers, shouting about the terrors of hell. It was absurd. “People can’t just send themselves to hell, Grandma Raine. You can’t believe that.” I stood up, tried to physically remove myself from the images she’d conjured. “I heard him, Hollyanne,” she said, her expression still clear, and far too sane. “I can’t speak to what happened with his soul, but I know at that moment, that man felt demon fingers on his throat. And he was terrified.” “Why are you telling me this?” I’d had enough. I wanted to go back to Conner and Harrison. Even Conner’s problems seemed small compared to her talk of demons and eternal torment. “Because I need for you to know what I have to atone for, child. I could have helped that man, and I stayed silent. It was wrong, Hollyanne. I was wrong. I will never stop thinking about that man and the end he came to because of me.” That explained a lot about the time she spent with Georgia, her newfound friendship with my stepmother. The guilt over my father, her perceived role in the fate of his soul, had clearly become

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agonizing. Religion could screw you up in a thousand ways. “Georgia and Daddy did a terrible thing. They are responsible for things that led Mama to her death. My baby sister, too. You can forgive them, Grandma Raine. That’s your choice. But you can’t rewrite that past. It happened.” “Ray said that Georgia would go into a deep kind of sadness over what they’d done. He told me that when he was in the hospital. I think he was asking me to give her some relief. He said that her time with Tina was always mixed with the idea of the life Celia’s baby never had. I think that’s why it got harder for her—for both of them, really—to have you around. Your likeness to your mother.” She smiled. “It hurt them as much as it comforted me. They went through more than we knew, all on account of what they thought they’d done to your mama.” “Not what they thought they’d done,” I said. “What they did.” “No, Hollyanne.” She stood up and came over to where I was by the window. “That’s what you don’t understand.” I watched her expression, full of hard conviction. “They didn’t,” she said. “That’s what I never told Ray. That’s what I still haven’t told Georgia.” “They didn’t what?” “They didn’t cause your mama to die,” she said. She looked me in the eye, as if she needed for me to believe her. At least in her mind, it was the earnest confession of an old, old lie, finally put out in the open air. “Grandma Raine, a lot of people were there.” I wanted to help her, but what she said didn’t go with what I knew. “The doctors, the police . . . Daddy and Mama argued. I heard them. You heard them. She drove off nearly crazy at what she’d found out.” “I thought that, too. I did, Hollyanne. But I talked to your mother,” she said, “that night.” Her eyes were red with tears. When Harrison appeared at the door, I jumped I was so startled. “Hey, what are you girls up to? Whoa!” He looked around the

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room at the mess. “Somebody’s been busy in here. What . . .” Then he saw Raine, visibly upset, and stopped mid-sentence. “We need a few more minutes,” I said. He nodded, was about to leave when we all heard Conner outside the window calling for us. “We’re in here,” I called out through the screen. “What’s wrong?” “I can’t find Kilian,” he said. “She’s not at the trailer, but the truck’s still here. Is she with you?” “No, Conn, she’s not in here,” Harrison told him. “Hold on. I’ll be right there,” he said and left the room, heading back down the hall. “You talked to Mama after the accident?” I tried to direct Raine back to her story. She was breathing fast. “You go help Conner,” she said. “Let me get my thoughts together, and I’ll finish telling you. I’ll tell you everything. But I’m worn out right now.” I felt it, too—that there had been too much said all at once. Still, I wanted to push her, to make her continue what she’d begun. But she was frail. I failed to notice that most of the time, because I didn’t want to see it. When she was gone, either in body or mind, the last small pieces of my mother would go with her. “You lie down for a bit,” I said. “I’ll make sure Kilian’s okay and come back.” “Let me pick up this mess first,” she said, looking around the room. “Just wait. I’ll come back and we’ll do it together. Maybe find Mama’s rings. Okay?” “Okay.” She stretched out on top of the bedspread, lying on her back, exhausted from her memories and barely acknowledging my movements as I got up to leave. I made my way back through the house, stopped outside on

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the stoop. I looked around, across the yard and back toward the trailer, but the images in my head were of someplace else entirely. In my mind, I saw an emergency room from decades before. My grandmother and my mother were having their last conversation. It seemed more real to me than the present day, and momentarily more relevant.

Hollyanne

Daddy and Miss Georgia got married just before Christmas. As soon as she wasn’t Mr. Lansing’s wife anymore, they explained, the two of them needed to be married if Daddy was going to look after Miss Georgia’s baby with her. And since the wedding made her family, Daddy said that calling her Georgia would be okay. I thought I might be a flower girl or maybe a junior bridesmaid when Daddy first told me about it, but it turned out they didn’t even go to the church. I rode with Kelly and Luke, and we all went to the courthouse. It was a little room with the judge and another lady. Georgia wore a regular dress and kept her coat on. “Aren’t you hot in here wearing that?” I heard Daddy say to her. “My stomach doesn’t show so much this way,” she said in a mean whisper. Luke grinned, and Kelly told him to stop it. Then the judge got started on the ceremony. Right after that—that afternoon, in fact—Georgia moved in with us. Even though she slept in Mama and Daddy’s room, all her stuff was piled in the guest room. It looked like a flea market in there. Open boxes full of jewelry, hair dryers, and shoes. She’d have to rummage through four or five boxes before she’d come up with whatever she needed when she was looking. “Damn it!” I heard her say that a dozen times a day.

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A few days after the courthouse wedding, I heard her in there cussing more than usual. Earlier in the day, she’d gone Christmas shopping and getting baby stuff, so the room was even worse than it had been at first. I was out of school on break, and I’d spent the morning at Grandma Raine’s, but then she’d dropped me back home late in the afternoon. Since Daddy was still at work, it was just me and Georgia in the house. Something I wasn’t used to yet. “Hollyanne!” she called out. I walked to the door of the guest room. She was hunched over a box, her hair in rollers, she had a bottle of red nail polish in her hand. “Hon, do you know if there’s any nail polish remover in the house?” Even though it was almost five o’clock, it didn’t look like Georgia had any ideas in the works for dinner. “What?” I asked. I’d heard her, but I knew it got on her nerves to repeat a question. For some reason, it made me feel better to make her say it again. “Fingernail polish remover.” She said it slowly like she was making fun of me. I hadn’t been in my Mama’s bathroom cabinet since she died. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see all the bottles last touched by my living Mama. Part of me thought it would make me happy to rub on some of her lotion and smell all the things she’d picked out and bought. Part of me was scared that it would make me sad. So I’d stalled. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t remember seeing any.” “Well, there must be some,” she said. “Could you just go check for me? I can’t find mine anywhere, and I can’t stand this color one more minute.” She stood up from where she’d been sitting on the floor. She wore a long-sleeved housedress with panels that fanned out like a parachute at her belly. “Okay.” I went into Daddy’s room.

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The chair by his dresser and the footboard of the bed had clothes draped over them from a week’s worth of undressing. I’d have to tell him we needed to put in a load of clothes when he got home. My basket was getting full, too. He wouldn’t like that, but when I asked Georgia about laundry, she said with the baby making her so tired she couldn’t get around to everything. Before Daddy got married, Kelly would come in and help me sort through and do the laundry, but after the courthouse day, she said it would look like interfering if she was to come do it anymore. “Did you find it, Hollyanne?” Georgia called from the other room. “I’m looking,” I lied. I went into the bathroom. The scent of baby powder filled my nose. I used to watch Mama when she was towel dry and in her bathrobe. She’d undo the front of her robe and sprinkle the powder under her arms, over her breasts. When the baby made her belly grow big, she’d sprinkle it there, too, rub it in with soft, wide circles like she might be putting it on the baby itself. Her breasts got bigger and she told me they were filling with milk so she could feed my little brother or sister. Kelly told Mama she ought to use formula in a bottle. “Nobody breastfeeds anymore,” she said. Mama said she didn’t care what everybody else did. “Breast milk makes babies’ skin glow,” she said. “Look at Hollyanne. Look at that pretty skin. That’s ’cause her milk came from me.” Grandma Raine must have fed Mama that way, too, I thought. I thought of Mama’s skin— white with talcum, loose powder sifting onto the carpet. It was still there. I could smell it. “What are you doing in there?” Georgia yelled from down the hall. She sounded irritated. “Do I have to come look for myself?” “Coming!” I opened the cabinet door over the sink. The nearempty space startled me, seemed wrong, like I’d stumbled into someone else’s bathroom by accident. I saw two cans of shaving

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cream, a pack of razor blades and a can of deodorant. Other than that, the glass shelves stood bare, spotted with remnants of leaky creams, long used and gone. “For the love of God, Hollyanne!” Georgia was coming my way. Suddenly, I wanted to hide. I ran to the closet, slipped the door open and stepped inside. Empty bars on Mama’s side made me stop in the middle of taking a breath. Daddy’s clothes were at one end like always, but Mama’s were nowhere. Gone. Somebody had taken all of Mama and left empty space where she’d been. Church dresses, shoes, the hanger with clothespins hooked onto it for her pantyhose . . . All gone. My first thought was maybe Mama came and got them. Maybe she’d come back for something else she left and I could be there, see her again. Even while the thought floated in my head, I knew that wasn’t the way of it. I knew somebody had carted off every last piece of my mama and taken it all somewhere else. You didn’t need to pack to go live with Jesus. Somebody else had it—somebody living. Georgia stepped in the open door of the closet. “What the world is wro . . .” She stopped, put her hand up and brushed the empty air where Mama’s clothes should have been. “Somebody took it all,” I told her. I felt the cold streams of tears on my cheeks. “All Mama’s stuff is gone.” Georgia seemed as surprised as I was. “Where’d it go?” she asked, but she didn’t seem to be talking to me anymore. Then I saw her smile. “Well,” she said. “I guess I can stop living out of the guest closet now.” She put her hands on her hips, nodded like she could already see her clothes hanging there. I ran out, went down the hall into my own closet. Everything was there. All my dresses, my winter coat, the Barbie case on the shelf and my set of Disney books. In my toy chest, everything looked fine—the puzzles, stuffed animals . . . everything was okay. They just took Mama’s things. Not mine, not even Daddy’s. I slumped

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down low in the closet, leaned against the wall, and closed the sliding door. Dark felt better than bright—dark with only a skinny edge of light showing where the door met the wall. I heard Georgia in the kitchen, dialing the phone. “Ray,” she said, her voice all sweet, “I just saw what you went and did, hon. I know that was hard. But it’s best for everybody to move on.” After a pause, she said, “She’s the one who found it. How was I supposed to know?” Then she said something that wasn’t true at all. “Hollyanne is fine, Ray. And I want you to think about what I said before. She’d still be over here all the time. It’s just that, with the baby coming and all, she’d get more attention at Raine’s. I think it would be best for her, I really do.” She was quiet for a second or two while he talked, I guess. Then she thanked him again, in a baby-talk voice, then said goodbye. I pulled my knees up against me, stayed small and quiet. I heard Georgia calling me, and I closed my eyes and held my breath as long as I could. I was glad when the calling stopped. Then I felt around, down beside my toy chest. It was there. Mama’s green robe. Whatever happened to all the other stuff wouldn’t happen to the bathrobe. I rolled it into a ball and made a pillow, then curled up and stayed that way, hoping no one would find me for a while. “Daddy?” I said after he’d gotten a bite or two of food in him at dinner. We were having TV dinners, and he wasn’t happy about it in the first place. But I needed to see if he’d really done it. “Did you take all Mama’s stuff away?” “I gave it to Goodwill,” he said, still keeping his eyes on his food. “Seems like there are plenty of people who could make use of all that stuff. Your mama would’ve figured the same. So I let Goodwill take it.” I wondered if Good Will was somebody who stopped in regular at the television shop, asking for handouts. I knew Blind Billy who was really blind, and Preacher Wayne who wasn’t really a preacher.

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I saw them around town all the time. But I didn’t know Good Will, and I couldn’t figure exactly what a man would do with all my mama’s things, unless he had a house full of women looking to him for their clothes. “Oh.” It was all I could think to say. He looked over at Georgia. She seemed happier about what he was saying than he did. “That was a good thing you did, Ray,” she said and put her hand on his arm. “Clothes for all those poor people who can’t afford the nice things Celia had.” “I should’ve told you, Hollyanne,” Daddy said right out of the blue. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before I went and did it. I kept her wedding dress and some jewelry. Just a few things I think you’ll want sometime. The rest is better off with people who can use it.” My thoughts came back sharp and mean, but I kept them to myself. How did he know what I wanted of Mama’s? My favorite things weren’t the fanciest. I wanted to chuck my meal over just to hear the noise and then leave the table and run somewhere. But I didn’t. I sat still and stared at the tinfoil tray of food in front of me, eyes on the little section of green beans that had shrunk up to almost nothing in the oven. “Your mama had a soft heart,” he went on, even though I wanted him to stop talking about it. “She was always giving stuff away.” “That’s right, honey,” Georgia was talking to me. “I remember that about her.” Then she launched into trying to convince Daddy to close up the shop after Christmas so that they could go visit her sister in San Antonio. “Hollyanne can spend a few days with her grandma,” she said. “It’ll be fun for everybody.” “I’ll see,” Daddy said. I couldn’t help but notice that while Daddy and I could barely swallow our TV dinners, Georgia had finished hers. Even after she

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was all done, the dirty tray sat in front of her as if some special maid might be arriving directly to throw it away for her. It occurred to me that most of the time, somebody else had to clear up almost all of Georgia’s messes. Daddy pushed his tray aside, while Georgia went on and on about the Christmas lights in San Antonio. The subject was suddenly spoiled for me, would always remind me of my mama’s empty closet. Christmas decorations all around the Alamo was a sight that, as of that day, I knew I’d never want to see.

Holli

No one found Kilian, but she found me. I’d made it no farther than the bench in the shade of Raine’s side yard. I should have been helping Conner look for her, but somehow I knew she was fine, and I couldn’t find the energy to get up. “You look like hell.” Kilian had come up quietly. Her cheeks were flushed and sunburned. She’d been out somewhere, walking around for a while. “Good,” I said, forcing a smile. “I was going for that worried-todeath, wrung-out look.” “I’m sorry,” she said, without much visible regret. “Where’s Conner?” “He’s looking for you.” She sat down beside me, apparently had no immediate plans to ease Conner’s mind as to her safety. “From the look of things,” she said. “I guess Conner told you everything we’ve talked about.” She assumed that I’d been upset by Conner’s talk of marriage. Maybe I had. It was possible that with so many things hitting at once, I was reacting to everything. “He said you talked about getting married.” She nodded. “He brought it up. I’m not trying to pressure him into anything.” She looked at me as she said this, as if she need-

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ed to know that I believed her. Her unexpected vulnerability was touching and more than a bit unnerving. “It’s a big decision,” I said, reminding myself that she hadn’t had it easy, this girl. She watched me still, I saw her tough-and-ready-for-an-argument persona hovering, waiting to be called into action, but she kept it at bay. Until that moment, she’d seemed like the least frightened person on the planet, but for the first time I entertained the thought that she was scared. Kilian turned away first. She looked toward Raine’s house. Her forehead scrunched up like she was working on a puzzle. “What is it?” I asked. She smiled. I wasn’t sure I’d seen her smile before. “Peanut butter and apples,” she said. “I’m not following.” “This looks like the kind of house where you’d come home from school and get peanut butter spread on apple slices for a snack.” I followed her gaze to the house, tried to look at it objectively. To me, it was nothing but home. “Grandma Raine wasn’t big on peanut butter,” I said, remembering small biscuits with jam or sausage in the afternoon. “She cooked in a wood stove when I was growing up. She had an electric one too, but she didn’t use it much. She baked things. Cookies, sometimes but mostly, a lot of cornbread and biscuits. That sort of thing.” “Oh.” Kilian seemed disappointed. “I guess I’m trying to put the things I remember about my mom into a different context. Mom thought peanut butter was just about the most perfect food. Portable protein. You could take it camping, hiking. My parents were vegetarian, so they were real keen on good sources for protein.” I thought of how ironic it was. That her healthy, hike-the-hills parents had a child with CF, and then died so young themselves, while large, pasty Maureen lived to tell the tale.

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“Are you a vegetarian?” I knew so little about her. She laughed. “God, no,” she said. “I would have starved to death at my aunt’s. According to Maureen, if it didn’t die, it’s not a meal.” I thought of Maureen, the uncomfortable visit to my house. Harrison had said she was flying down. I wondered what it would be like when her arrival was thrown into the mix. “Do you have grandparents?” I asked, trying to populate her life in my mind. “They were old, even when I was little,” she said. “And they didn’t live close or anything.” She let it go at that. Another dead branch on her family tree. “What do you want to come out of all of this, Kilian?” We’d found a small patch of neutral ground. I decided to see if we could have a real discussion. “Do you want to get married?” She shrugged her shoulders, nodded. It was a response to a different question. A question like, ‘Do you want a milkshake?’ or ‘Do you want to see a movie?’ but not a question about getting married. “Kilian?” She looked at me. “Do you really want to get married?” “Yeah,” she said, her chin up. She was getting back to the defiant mode. “I want to be with Conner. That’s all I really want. With Conner and the baby. Getting married is a way to do that. I’m just not used to thinking about the future. You know, making long-term plans.” She was playing the illness card. And why shouldn’t she? She was chronically ill. I’m sure it had dominated her life. But that line of thought didn’t hold up under the circumstances. She’d gotten herself into something bigger. A child now transcended her own mortality. I took a long breath. “Kilian,” I said. “I know you’ve had a lot to handle. Your illness. Your parents. But this baby is a huge commitment. I don’t think

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you’ve thought about the reality of putting together a family.” “What? You want to tell me how hard it was when you had Conner?” Kilian stared me down. I literally felt the emotional shield as it went up around her. “Don’t tell me it was a mistake,” she said, “because I know that’s not true.” She was fierce, I had to give her that much. I could see why Conner would have been drawn to her. She could be alternately charming and vulnerable and then tough and invincible. I looked at her face. She wasn’t even blinking. “No,” I said. “I won’t tell you it was a mistake. Having Conner was the best thing we ever did. He’s a truly good person. There aren’t enough Conners in the world.” “So you have to understand why this is important to me,” she said. “I don’t have a lot of contributions to make to the world. And I’m not religious. With all due respect to your grandmother’s visions, I don’t believe I’ll be commuting between this world and some paradise when I’m gone. If I’m going to leave anything good behind, I’ve got to do it now. I’d never thought about kids, but when this happened—it seemed to be for a reason. Just like there was a reason for Conner.” “Your situation is a lot different than ours, Kilian.” I sounded parental. I wouldn’t have listened to me at her age. Nevertheless, I pressed forward. “If the two of you have this baby, with your illness, Conner’s going to be taking on the lion’s share of responsibility. Maybe more than he can handle. He’ll be dealing with a child, and at the same time . . .” “He’ll be worried about me,” she finished for me. On some level, I was reaching her. “Maybe this is what both of you want,” I went on. “God knows, I’m not going to run his life for him. But the two of you have to go into it with realistic expectations. When Harrison and I got married, we knew there would be two of us for the long haul, working together to parent Conner.”

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“Oh, and how’s that working out for you?” She rolled her eyes. The bite of her words made my cheeks hot. One step forward, two steps back. I thought of all the wounds she suffered in her life and told myself not to take the bait for an argument. “Divorced or not, we’re both still parents, Kilian.” “Whatever,” she said. No wonder Maureen was glad to see her go to college early. She was exhausting. “This isn’t going anywhere, and I won’t argue with you, Kilian.” She didn’t look at me—obviously didn’t intend to respond—so I changed the subject. “So, what upset you so much back at the trailer?” “What do you mean?” “When Raine started talking about my mother. Grandma Raine’s comments were strange. I’ll give you that much. She’s got some kind of radar for knowing about babies . . .” She actively turned away from me, tucked her feet up under her on the bench, looked around the yard. Hummingbirds, two of them, took turns darting in and out at a feeder my grandmother had put up. I waited, trying to be patient while Kilian decided whether or not to respond. Finally she spoke up, and I was surprised to hear how shaky her voice sounded. “I don’t know. It was just creepy, that’s all.” She still wasn’t looking at me. “I mean, dead relatives coming to talk about a baby. It’s her imagination, I know, but that doesn’t make it any less weird.” “I know she’s an old woman, Kilian, but you can’t completely dismiss her because she thinks she sees ghosts, and I would think it might be comforting . . .” I stopped. Bad road to go down, but it was too late. “Comforting? What? You want me to come visit you when I’m gone?” My foot might as well have been lodged in my esophagus. “I’m sorry.” It was all I could manage.

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“And you think it might make me feel better to know that when I’m gone, I get to spend my time stalking people, making them nuts?” “Kilian, you know I didn’t mean . . .” “It’s fine,” she interrupted me. “Let’s forget it. It doesn’t matter.” “I really am sorry, Kilian.” “Dead is dead,” she said. With that cryptic pronouncement, she stopped. Her reaction—to Raine and to me—was out of proportion to what was happening. “Why is this so upsetting for you?” I asked. She shifted so that I could see her profile. Small pools of wetness lay on her face. She bent her head down, rubbed her cheek on her shoulder, only smearing the tears into a glistening line. Jesus, what was up with this kid? “Kilian, please,” I began. “Is it the baby? Hormones? Getting married? Is it me?” “There are no fucking ghosts. Okay?” The words came out small and bruised through her tears, and I found myself speechless. I stared at her as a tortured silence settled on us. I could hear the wind moving leaves, high up in the tree above us. “Kilian?” I prompted as gently as I could manage. “Mommies, daughters, whatever . . . They don’t just die and then come back to visit.” Her voice was getting shakier by the second. “At least mine hasn’t bothered. How about you? Any visits? Didn’t your mommy love you? Wouldn’t she want to drop in, say, for your wedding? Maybe when your kid was born? But she didn’t, did she? That’s because there are no ghosts.” Her voice broke, and her own emotion seemed to make her angry. “I don’t know how I got started on this,” she muttered, looking down. Then she was crying in earnest. Big, hard tears that made it difficult to look at her. I felt too shaken to think of anything that might help.

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“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said. A lame, patronizing effort. “Your grandmother . . . Don’t get me wrong, she’s a really nice person, and she’s been great to us with the trailer and the food and everything. But when she goes off on all this Celia business . . . It’s crazy, that’s all.” She took a breath, a raspy, gasping sound that made me worry. “If ghosts were so damn real, my mother would have come to see me. She would want to see me.” These last words were barely there. She’d run out of whatever it was—anger or fear, maybe a little of both—that kept her going. Small and spent, she managed to look me in the eyes. “Don’t you ever wonder?” “Wonder what?” “About those visits. About your mother. If this Celia is such a world traveler, then why hasn’t she come to visit you?” Clearly, Raine’s episodes had touched on something deep and painful inside of Kilian. She was telling me there are no fucking ghosts, but in her heart, she believed every word Raine was saying. I wished Conner would show up. He seemed to have some handle on what to do with her when she got upset. “Don’t you think your mom would want to see you if she could?” Her eyes were large, questioning. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I wasn’t so sure my mother hadn’t come to visit me. I’d talked myself into a million other explanations, but maybe the simplest one was true. Maybe those we loved—sometimes—did try to help us when they could, even after they left us. If that was true, I didn’t want to imagine Kilian’s pain. She’d felt abandoned when she lost her parents. Raine’s visitations had left her feeling that way all over again. I reached over and touched Kilian’s hand. I didn’t know if she’d let me, but she did. I put my fingers around hers. They were oddly misshapen at the tips, and it seemed poignant somehow. I wasn’t her mother. But then, no one was. Clearly, no one had been—for a very, very long time.

Conner

“There she is,” Conner said. “She’s with Mom.” Conner cut across the yard with his dad. The two of them had walked the property and circled back again before spotting the women sitting in the shade, on a bench. “That’s pretty weird,” Conner said, as they got closer. “What?” Harrison squinted, clearly not seeing what Conner saw. “Mom’s holding her hand.” “Go figure.” Harrison shook his head. Conner didn’t want to startle them. He coughed as they got closer, and Kilian pulled her hand away from his mother. She looked upset. Not a good sign. “Hey,” he said. “Is everything all right?” “Fine,” Kilian answered, not looking directly at him. Not fine, he surmised. Things were definitely not fine. “I told Raine I’d be coming back.” His mom stood up, walked over to stand beside Harrison. “There’s pasta left in the fridge if you’re hungry, Kilian. You should try to eat something.” “Thanks,” Kilian said without looking up. Conner sat beside her on the bench, watched his parents walk back toward the house. Taking in the expression on Kilian’s splotchy face, he dreaded the conversation that had to happen—whatever it was.

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“Want to talk about it?” “I was kind of a jerk to your mom, I guess,” she said. He thought of his mom, holding Kilian’s hand, telling her she should eat. He wondered what he’d missed. “What did you say?” he asked. “We talked about the baby, us . . .” She shrugged her shoulders. “It got intense and you know how I am.” “So what did she say?” he asked, wondering if he really wanted to know. “She says that I’m sick, we’re both too young. This will be so much on Conner,” she mimicked his mother’s southern accent. “There’s a lot to consider. Blah, blah, blah . . .” “She’s worried,” he said, wondering what the hell they really talked about. “All that stuff is strictly by-the-book Mom shit.” “I guess I wouldn’t know,” she said, her mouth set in a thin, hard line. “That’s not fair, Kilian. I don’t know what you want me to say. You’re right. My mom’s awful. Let’s have this baby and really piss her off. I mean, this is not an Us versus Them thing.” “Don’t be such a dick about it.” “Dammit, Kilian!” Christ, it was hot, even in the shade. “I’m not being an asshole, here. I’m really not.” “I’m sorry,” she said, her tone conciliatory. “You’re right. You’re not being an asshole. And your mom’s not all that bad, either. She was trying, I think.” Her one-eighty left his argument hanging in the air, limp and helpless. He leaned in closer to her. Except for the streaks of wet down her cheeks, her skin felt dry, nearly cool against the moist skin of his arms and neck. “I’m sorry, too,” he said. “I didn’t mean to jump on you.” She tilted her head up and kissed the line of his jaw, then moved her mouth down to his neck. He could feel her breathing and,

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worse yet, he could feel himself wanting her again. Christ, what was wrong with him? She was just out of the hospital—and pregnant. He pulled away slightly, pushed his hair back, away from his forehead. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “You didn’t eat lunch.” She kissed his neck. Made a playful, almost purring sound. “Why don’t we go to the trailer first, rest a little bit?” She let her hands play with the buckle on his belt, running her fingers inside the edge of his jeans. “The good news is, I’ve been such a freaky bitch today, I bet they’ll leave us alone.” She looked up at him. Her hand had moved, rested on the inside of his thigh. He could feel the pressure of her fingers through the denim, and he lost the last of his resolve. He bent and kissed her mouth, her cheeks. His jeans pressed tight in all the wrong ways and wished like hell they didn’t have to walk the length of yard between the house and the trailer before he could get out of his clothes and next to her. Her skin, always salty, was an ocean after all her tears. “Let’s go,” he said, all chivalry gone. They went toward the trailer where a cool room waited for them. God, she was unpredictable. But for Conner, it seemed as if a small bit of hope had returned to his world.

Holli

Harrison and I watched them head back toward the trailer. They went from arguing to making out in less than a minute. Zero to sixty, in no time flat. Only a day before, I would have said it brought back memories, but after my night with Harrison, the parallels were all too recent. “I feel bad about setting her off like that,” I told Harrison. “Oh,” he said. “I think that fuse was lit before you got there.” “I hope she doesn’t get worked up again. She’s pretty highstrung to begin with, but with those hormones kicking in, I swear, she’s shot out of a cannon.” “Conner seems to be handling things okay at the moment,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at the two of them anymore. He was watching me. “What are you thinking?” I asked. “About us,” he said. “About last night.” “It’s like you said,” I tried to sound more casual than I felt, “that part of our relationship has always worked just fine.” When I didn’t say anything more, he raised his eyebrows as if asking a question. “But?” he prompted. I wanted to move up against him. Even sober, I felt the warm rush of blood to all the relevant nerves, and it was all I could do not to show it. But it would be a mistake. It would set us up for the

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hard reality of returning to our separate lives. I couldn’t go through that break again. “It was just a night,” I said, finally. “With everything else that’s going on, I think we need to leave it at that.” “Okay.” He seemed surprised, maybe a little hurt. I couldn’t tell. I leaned against the counter to steady myself, and tried to look more composed than I felt. Even if I wanted him back in my life as a partner—and that was still an if—I knew that my words were true. There was too much upheaval in our world to add us into the mix. “I’m going to see if Raine’s awake,” I said. “What’s she doing?” He seemed to have recovered completely, acted as if we’d been talking about the weather. Maybe I’d been overestimating his feelings. “I left her resting, before I went outside. I’m worried about her. She was talking with me, bizarre stuff about Daddy.” “Has he been visiting her, too?” Harrison asked. The frightening thing was that it was a serious question. “No. Or not that she’s told me about, at least. But she was going on and on with these terrible stories about the day he died. I don’t want to go into it, but I think it was pretty hard on her, telling me.” “Cancer’s an awful way to die,” Harrison said, “but he went fast after the diagnosis. It’s better that way.” “She wasn’t talking about his physical pain,” I said. I couldn’t bring myself to talk about demons, my father condemning himself to an eternity in hell. It sounded too outrageous to even give credence with words. “She got all worked up about how she could have made it better for him and didn’t. I don’t know. We need to talk some more.” “Well, I should go check on some things in New York,” he said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. “I get service when I’m in

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the northwest quadrant of the den. I’m going to try to reach my insurance agent again—see if he’s got any advice about Conner’s situation.” He went into the other room, and I walked down toward Raine’s bedroom. I could hear my own footsteps, sandals landing softly on the wood floor of the hall. Raine’s door was slightly open, just as it was when I walked out before. She hadn’t moved since I’d left her. It frightened me for a moment, until I saw the slow rise and fall of her chest. She was on her back on top of the bedspread. Her only concession to the act of napping had been the removal of her shoes. Her crossed, stockinged feet extended beyond the hem of her dress. I slipped into her room. A thick-cushioned chair sat by the window, where Raine could take advantage of daylight when she was doing delicate mending. I used to sit on the bed and watch her while she worked on torn pockets and loose seams. She continued to sleep, and I sat down in the chair. The afternoon light fell in a hard line across my lap. I could feel the searing warmth. I sat and waited. Waiting, it seemed, was a virtue I was destined to hone on this trip back to my past. As I looked out the window, it struck me that regardless of how my life had changed since I had last lived in Raine’s house, so little had been altered of the place itself. What had she meant? They didn’t. They didn’t kill your mother. I looked out the window and wondered if it was possible for my childhood to be rewritten in light of Raine’s story. What would she tell me finally that might convince me to change my mind? Good or bad, I’d built a life around the things I believed to be true. Without them, how could I exist as the person I’d grown to be?

Hollyanne

“Why don’t you drop Hollyanne by for a visit tomorrow?” Georgia said. Her voice was loud enough for me to hear it through the telephone from across the room. Since it had always been my very own house, I didn’t know why I had to be invited, but Georgia called Grandma Raine to set it up. The last time I’d been there, I asked Daddy when I could move back home, and he said that Georgia’s nerves were bad with the new baby and they needed for me to keep on staying with Grandma Raine. Tina, my baby sister, was three weeks old. I’d gone to Grandma Raine’s when Georgia went into labor. Daddy said I needed to make my visit longer so that Georgia could get used to taking care of a baby. It didn’t make much sense to me, since I figured I could help her take care of Tina, but Daddy said it would be better for everybody that way. The next day, after Grandma Raine dropped me at my house, Daddy helped me get out of my coat. He said, “Somebody’s been waiting to play with you.” The baby, on a blanket in the den, moved her arms around like she was getting rid of spider webs. Turned out, Georgia had a hair appointment, so I got Daddy and the baby all to myself, which was fine with me. “She was fussy a little earlier,” Daddy said, “but it looks like

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her mood’s changed now that you’re here.” He didn’t seem to like babysitting so, especially if Georgia wasn’t around, he’d hand her over to me. My new little sister’s whole name was Tina Jane. I wanted them to call her Lila, but when I brought it up at the hospital after she was born, Georgia said, “It’s up to the mama to decide what a baby is called, Hollyanne. Your mama named you, and I will name my baby.” “I think Lila is a pretty name,” I said. I looked at Daddy to see what he had to say, but he just told me not to argue. “Lila,” Georgia said to Daddy, ignoring me, “That’s a name for an old lady, don’t you think?” Daddy hadn’t given her any answer. Instead, he’d just gone off to get a cup of coffee. I was just as glad Georgia was off doing something else while I was there. Daddy watched a fishing program, and I played a game with Tina, letting her grab at my finger. That’s about all she could do since she was so little, but I knew from other friends who had baby sisters and brothers that they got smarter about games real fast. After we’d played for a while, Tina fell asleep, so I went to get a book to read. I was trying to decide what book to start over again when I walked into my room. At first, I thought for a second that I’d turned the wrong direction down the hall. Tina’s crib was up in the corner and my bed wasn’t anywhere at all. Beside her crib was a changing table. My dresser was where it had always been, but none of my stuff was on top like usual. I left and walked back to the den. “What’s happened to my room?” I asked Daddy in a low voice so that I didn’t wake up Tina. He was sitting in his big chair, almost asleep himself. “Well, you know that your room is a little closer to ours than the guest room. Georgia needed to be able to hear little Tina at night. That’s why we’d planned on having you share the room with

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your little sister or brother when your mama was having a baby.” He stopped talking, like he’d just heard what he said and it made him sad. For a second, he looked at nothing on the other side of the room, then he looked at me again. “You don’t mind, do you, darlin’?” “But my bed’s gone,” I said. “And all my stuff. That’s not sharing. Where am I supposed to sleep when I come back?” “You’re at your grandma’s right now, Hollyanne,” he said, like that explained something. I sat down and didn’t say any more. If I got sassy, I’d get punished, but he couldn’t get mad at me if I said nothing at all. “All your things are in boxes in the guest room where you can get to them.” I reached over and turned the channel on the television and he must have felt bad about my room because he didn’t tell me to turn it back to the fishing show. Since it was Saturday, cartoons played all day. I thought I might cry, but I figured out that if I watched Scooby-Doo and didn’t think about my room, I could forget how sad I felt about what they did. “Hollyanne,” Daddy said. I didn’t turn around. I acted like I didn’t hear him talking to me and he didn’t say my name again. After a little while, I heard baby sounds. “Well, look who’s awake,” Daddy said. He didn’t get up from his chair, and I knew he wanted me to go hold Tina before she started fussing. For the first time ever, I didn’t want to pick her up. She got louder and louder. Scooby-Doo and Shaggy ran into a closet and hid, and I laughed because that’s where the ghost had gone before. I looked hard at the television and tried not to hear Tina’s crying. But she was sad, and I couldn’t help but feel bad for her. Daddy sat in his chair reading the paper, even though he had ears, and I knew he could hear her as well as I did. Finally, I couldn’t stand it. I went and got her. “Oh, come here

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then.” I said it like Grandma Raine sounded when she was giving into something she didn’t really want to do. I acted like I didn’t want to pick her up, but I did want to hold her. She was little and she didn’t take my room on purpose. She didn’t even know it was my room to begin with, because she’d just been born a little while. “You’re so cute,” I said, not pretending anymore. I put her on her back beside me on the blanket and played with her hands and feet. Her diaper looked heavy and wet, so I changed it. I’d done that before. I did it just the way Mama taught me with one of my dolls one afternoon. Changing the diaper made me think of Mama, and I wondered if I could find the old, green robe. I thought I’d taken it to Grandma Raine’s, but then, it wasn’t there, so I figured it was at my old house. Tina looked happy enough on the floor, so I went into the guest room. Big, brown boxes covered one whole side and my mattress and box springs had been leaned up against the wall. In the boxes, I could see all my toys and books—all my clothes that I hadn’t taken to Grandma Raine’s. Even though all the boxes were messy, I knew it must have taken a long time to pack up all that stuff. It would take even longer to put it back the right way, but I didn’t think Georgia ever planned on putting it back. My stomach hurt like I had to go to the bathroom, but I’d just gone, so I knew that wasn’t it. I laid down on the rug, hoping it would go away and, after it got a little better, I started going through the boxes, looking for my Mama’s green robe. I saw things I’d forgotten I ever had, and there was a lot of what I expected. But I didn’t find the robe anyplace. While I was going through everything, I put some of my old toys in a pile, things I thought Tina would get big enough for one day soon. I decided I could be a good big sister, even if I didn’t live in my old house. Georgia wasn’t always nice, and Daddy didn’t pay much attention to anything but work anymore. Tina would need

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me to explain things to her. She’d need me to be around so that she had one person who always was good to her. I thought about that while I looked through everything a second time. I kept my mind on that one thing. When I started to get sad, it surprised me how easy it was to push my brain back to thinking about Tina and how we would be sisters, no matter what. It seemed like a good trick to know. Georgia came home from the beauty parlor while I was going through my stuff. She came to the door and looked at me and I looked right back. She didn’t talk about why I had boxes instead of a room, and I decided I didn’t want to talk to her about it either. I just told her that her hair looked mighty nice and went back to my toys and clothes. I didn’t want to cry while she was watching me. When Tina went to bed for the night, which was early because babies sleep a lot, I asked if I could go back to Grandma Raine’s. Daddy drove me and, as the road went from town to country, I thought of all the places I might have put the green robe. I thought and thought until my head couldn’t think anymore, and when we got there, I said “Thank you,” like my Daddy might be some nice person who’d just offered me a ride. After he drove off, Grandma Raine let me lean against her while I cried. I didn’t want to be bawling like a brat, but I couldn’t help it. I’d done all the holding in I could stand at my Daddy’s house, and so it came out all at once. I sounded worse than Tina. Grandma Raine didn’t ask me what was wrong. Asking would have made it harder on me. I wondered how she knew. Later, I looked but didn’t find the robe at Grandma Raine’s either. I was sleeping in Mama’s old room, so I felt close to her anyway. And since it was Mama’s job to name the baby who went to heaven with her, I went to sleep thinking about what my other little sister might be called. I could almost hear Mama saying that, no matter what Georgia thought, Lila was a fine name for a baby, after all.

Holli

Raine still slept, her mouth slack in the way that suggested deep rest. I hoped so. Out the window I saw Tina’s car pass by. I couldn’t see the driveway, but I heard her turn in, so I stood up as quietly as possible, slipped out into the hall to head her off before she came in with her usual enthusiastic greeting that would startle the wits out of my sleeping grandmother. She was driving a Buick. Shiny and green, it looked fairly new, and I wondered if she’d started dating a car salesman. Her last boyfriend had sold carpet; she said her house had never looked so good. I could see Georgia riding shotgun, someone else in the back seat. “No rest for the weary,” I mumbled. As I walked into the yard to meet them, I gave myself a pep talk about staying tolerant of Georgia. My honest efforts lasted until the moment when she stepped out of the car. She was dressed in a pale blue pantsuit. Her red nails looked shiny and just polished. In spite of the clunky boot on her foot, she looked entirely groomed. I’d barely taken the time to brush my teeth, and her obvious leisure irritated me. Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t blame Georgia for the current mess of my life—or for the fact that she had the luxury of keeping

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herself manicured. I’d thought that the period in my life between Conner being out in the world and my responsibilities with grandchildren and elder care might be this magical, in-between time. A time for me. I’d hoped it would last at least long enough to reflect on what a lovely slice of life it had been. Long enough, perhaps, to be documented in a slim scrapbook of photos. Instead, one phase had bled into the other, and I felt more frazzled than ever. Harrison came out the door and stood beside me. “I wonder if it’s possible to go a whole day around here without her showing up?” I said. He shot me a look, and I added, “It’ll be really good to see Tina.” I wanted so much to be above my feelings. “Good golly, Miss Holli!” Tina said, rushing across the side yard in a diagonal to reach me. She got me in a large embrace and whispered, “Don’t be mad at me. Raine and Mama are joined at the hip these days. I swear.” She nodded toward my stepmother, who made her way toward us accompanied by a younger black woman. The other woman wore a stylish, white pantsuit and from a distance, the two of them looked like an ad from an upscale department store. “Who’s that with you?” I whispered. “Some preacher-woman Mama invited. She came over to the house this morning. Sounds like a bunch of hooey religion to me, but Mama acts like she shits diamonds, so . . .” Tina shrugged, then turned to Harrison. “My Lord, aren’t you good looking!” She puckered and laid a kiss on him. “So,” she shot a look my way, “did you get lucky last night or what?” “I think Georgia could use some help,” he said, and went off to offer her an arm. My sister turned back toward me. “Any chance you’re going to answer my question?” Tina had my dad’s dark hair and his wide smile. “We’ll talk later,” I said. “I could use some advice.” She brushed my bangs out of my eyes, stretched up and kissed

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my forehead. “I’m always good for advice, big sister.” She was right. She always had been. “Lord, Holli,” Tina said, stepping back and looking me up and down for the first time, “It’s May, for Crissake. Were the stores in New York sold out of everything but black?” “Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re colorful enough for both of us.” Her coral sweater, set against her deeply tanned neck and face, made her a walking vacation. “I’m just kidding,” she said. “You actually look pretty good,” she said, pulling me toward the house and away from Georgia. “You’re holding on to your figure. Everything’s okay except the hair.” She stopped and regarded me again for a moment. “The color’s right, but whoever cut it should not be set loose with a pair of scissors.” “I wondered about that, too,” I said. “New stylist.” She nodded. No explanation needed. We went inside, and I heard the clunk of Georgia’s boot as she made her way in behind us and sat down. “For God’s sake, Mama,” Tina said turning toward Georgia. “You sound like a horse on a boardwalk over there.” “I can’t help it.” Georgia looked at me. “Hollyanne, I’d like for you to meet Alicia.” The black woman held out her hand and I took it. Instead of a handshake, she simply held my fingers for a moment as if getting ready to read my palm. But then she let go. “She’s the leader of the Bible study your grandmother and I belong to at the Wesleyan Center.” “I’ve heard about you from Grandma Raine,” I said. “She thinks the world of you.” “Well,” Alicia said. “It’s certainly mutual.” I’d been wary at first when Raine began talking about her new Bible study. I was afraid it was a scam to get people—especially widowed women—to give up their money. But I got statements of all Raine’s accounts. She’d asked me to help her keep track of her finances. She gave donations to the group, but they were small,

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reasonable amounts—the same as her regular church. After a while, I’d relaxed. I hadn’t realized that Georgia was part of the deal. “I’m glad I finally get to meet you,” I said. Tina sat down with a glass of tea. She put one in front of Georgia. “There’s plenty of pasta,” I said, nodding toward the fridge. “I made too much.” “Lord, no,” Georgia said. “I can’t eat a thing. We stopped at the diner on the way over, and I outdid myself.” The room suddenly seemed too confining for all of us. Harrison stood by the sink at a distance. “This is Conner’s father, Harrison,” I said to Alicia. Harrison moved from his standing position by the sink over to shake her hand. “Have you met Conner and Kilian?” “I’ve met your son.” She sat back down. “He and I chatted the other evening when I visited Raine here at the house. He’s lovely. Intelligent and very thoughtful.” Finally, it was Raine who broke up the awkward gathering. “Good Lord,” she exclaimed coming into the room. “Why didn’t somebody tell me that all these people were here?” Then she saw the preacher-woman and lit up all over again. “Alicia. My word! I didn’t even see you there.” Alicia got up to hug her. “Everybody get offered some food?” Raine asked. “Offered and declined,” Georgia said. “Well, you know where the refrigerator is if you change your mind.” I made note of the easy tone between the two of them, realized that for better or for worse, I was beginning to accept that they were friends. “You think we could talk for a few minutes?” Raine said to Alicia after a few minutes had passed. “Most certainly,” the preacher said. “Want to go in here?” She nodded toward the living room.

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The two went off together, and I was dying to follow. I still hadn’t finished my talk with Raine. But instead, I sat down at the table. “Harrison?” Tina asked. “What do you know about transmissions?” “Inter-galactic or automobile?” I laughed, but Tina just rolled her eyes and Georgia sat looking at him like cattle watching a passing train. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Your car, I’m guessing?” “It’s almost new,” she said. “Not even a year old, but it’s making a noise I don’t like.” “Come on,” Harrison said. “Let’s take a look.” I got up, intending to walk out with them, but Tina put her hand on my arm and whispered, “Why don’t you stay here. Mama wants to talk to you for a minute.” “Is this a set-up?” I asked, suddenly realizing the purpose of her car trouble. “Sorry,” she said. “Just give her a few minutes.” Georgia could hear us, but it didn’t matter. Tina had always been the go-between for us. I loved my sister, and I didn’t fault her for loving her own mother. They had their issues, but thank God, Tina didn’t have my baggage with Georgia. I wouldn’t have wished it on her, even if it meant securing a solid ally. “All right,” I said. It was a concession to Tina, not Georgia, and we all knew it. “Okay,” I said when they were gone. “What’s up?” She looked tired, and utterly harmless. If I’d just met her, if I knew nothing of the woman who had tried to ruin my childhood, I probably would have liked her. “I’m worried about your grandmother,” she said. “Most of the time, she seems fine, but then she’s . . . not. I know you’ve seen it. I’m guessing that’s one reason you’re here. That and this Conner situation.”

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“I was planning to come anyway, to check on Raine, even before I knew about Kilian’s health. I didn’t hear about the baby until we were at the hospital.” “The baby,” she said, letting out a large sigh. “Now that was quite a piece of news, wasn’t it?” She had obviously gotten the scoop from Tina. “Lord help those two,” she said, shaking her head. “They have not made the best choices.” I didn’t want to make conversation about my son. “You were talking about Raine?” I prompted. “She needs help, Hollyanne. Day-to-day things at the moment, but she’ll need real care down the road. I’m happy to do it if you’ll agree.” “Listen, I don’t know what’s happened with you and my grandmother. But best I can tell, with her failing mind, she has come to the conclusion that she owes you something. Some kind of forgiveness. That’s her business. But . . .” I forgot where I was going with all of that. Stopped, tried to regroup. “We’ve actually become friends, Hollyanne,” she said. “It started with your father’s death. We were both shaken by how awful it was for him.” “I know,” I said, really trying to feel generous with her. “She told me about it.” She looked at me, waited for more, but I couldn’t face revisiting Raine’s description of my father’s tormented demise. “It was a terrible thing,” she said pressing on with the subject. “He looked like pure agony, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do.” I preferred thinking of the civilized, gentle interaction I’d had with him on my last couple of visits to the hospital. His weakened state had defeated much of my anger, left me with a less potent resentment, and, to my surprise, feelings of tenderness that I hadn’t experienced with him since Georgia had come into our lives. At that point, after decades of almost no significant exchanges

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between us, it was a relief to feel like a daughter again. Justified or not, I’d shifted all the harsher baggage with my father into my existing dislike for Georgia. After finally coming to a better place with him, his campaign to get his own soul condemned was not a welcome addition to my memories. “I can’t talk about this, Georgia.” I said, my tone more pleading than I would have hoped. “Part of me wishes she hadn’t told you,” she said, ignoring my request. “I still don’t know what to make of it. I knew he suffered with guilt. We both did. But that . . .” Again, she just shook her head. “Please stop,” I said, unable to contain myself, getting irritated at her persistence. “And tell me, when did you ever feel guilt?” Georgia looked at me, her eyes moist. “When I convinced Ray to take out every little piece of your mother that existed at that house,” she said softly. “Even back that far, that was the beginning of it.” “Of what?” “Of my guilt,” she said. “Of my suffering. I thought I’d suffered before. Losing Mitchell that way. But that was nothing compared to what came later.” Her words stunned me. I didn’t respond because I didn’t know how. So she continued. “Mitchell Lansing was the best thing I’d ever had. I was bitter when I lost him over such a stupid mistake. When Ray said he’d marry me—I’ll be honest—I thought it was all mine to take. My right. I deserved my place in the house. My position to step in and at least be somebody’s wife again.” She paused, took a sip of tea. More tears were showing at the corners of her eyes. “Your daddy and I had that one thing in common. Mitchell was the love of my life. Celia was the love of his. We ruined love for ourselves. I guess that’s what kept us holding on to each other. “By the time I had him send you away, when you went to live

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with Raine, I knew my conscience was in trouble. But you just looked so much like your mother. I still did my best to fight it. Tina had been born, and I thought she might make it better. And she did, in a way. But she made it worse, too. Everything she did—her first word, her first step, every birthday she had—made me happy and miserable at the same time. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of that other baby that never got to live in that same house, have all those birthdays. And I know you might not believe it, but I understood all that you lost. It’s just that I could barely look at you, it ate at me so bad.” It was hard to reconcile her words with the woman who had caused me so much misery. “I was there, remember? I wanted to know my sister. That’s what I wanted—what I needed—to heal. But you sent me out of my own house.” “You were better off with Raine’s love every day, Hollyanne, than you would have been with me and your daddy. We were damaged, and we would have damaged you. I did my best to shield Tina from it, but I didn’t have it in me to protect you. I should have, but I didn’t. And you don’t seem to remember it, but I didn’t try to keep you from your sister forever. After a few years, I grew up enough to see how wrong that was. But your memory doesn’t allow for any good that I did. It never has, Hollyanne. Not for me or for your daddy.” I tried to recall when it had ended. I’d never moved back into my house with Daddy and his new family, but when had Georgia stopped trying to keep me from Tina? When I was in middle school? High school? She was right about that. I couldn’t remember. She made sure Tina didn’t make it to my wedding. That memory was still vivid. “I’m not proud of the first years of my marriage to your father,” she said. “I was a selfish thing, I’ll admit that much. My guilt came out hard against you. I didn’t want to feel any of it, so I took it out on the easiest target. And Ray and I took it out on each other. But

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it was always there. Your mother and that baby. They were there, in that house, every day. I could change the curtains and get new appliances. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t get rid of them. It’s been thirty years, and I’m still not rid of them.” If it was true—any of what she was telling me–then part of me thought, Good for them. Good for my mama and her baby. My father and, especially, Georgia should have had to live with guilt, every minute of every day. Even if it meant that I was turned out of my own house. Maybe it had been worth it, after all. Even I was surprised at how deep the feelings ran inside me. “Your grandmother,” she continued. “After Ray died. She came to me, offered me the one thing that has helped ease my soul. It came late for me, and too late for Ray. But with the exception of Tina’s love, nothing in this world has done me more good than your grandmother’s forgiveness. It was hard for her at first, I know. Old habits and all. Hard for both of us, really. But I think we both needed it for healing. “And I know this is something else you have trouble believing, but this friendship makes us both better people, Hollyanne. I’m asking you to accept it. She’s needing more and more help, and I’m here to give it. But you will be the one deciding her affairs, if things get worse for her . . .” “So what is it that you want?” I was tired of revisiting the worst parts of my childhood. “What is it that you want from me?” “I want you to let me help her,” she said. “Let me help take care of her. She doesn’t need it full-time yet, but she will, I think. And it doesn’t hurt to have me close, especially when the time comes for Conner to move somewhere else. I worry, that’s all.” “I can’t stop you from coming here,” I told her. I didn’t want to be the one to concede anything. I felt like Pilate. I wanted to wash my hands of Georgia. “It’s true, you can’t right now,” she said. “But there will come

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a time when you have to decide what to do with her. Are you going to send her to a home? Get someone in? I can’t imagine you’d want to uproot her and take her to New York.” I had to laugh. She said the word New York like it was in the middle of China. “What’s so funny?” she asked, suddenly defensive. “Nothing,” I said. “And I haven’t decided what to do about her situation yet. Maybe a caregiver of some sort. I’ll give her whatever she needs.” “That’s what I’m saying,” she said, as if it was obvious what she meant. “What?” “I can be her caregiver.” She made it sound like the most logical thing in the world. It was beginning to dawn on me what she wanted to do. She wanted to move in with my grandmother. Her own house wasn’t good enough for her anymore. She wanted another one. “I do not believe you,” I said, almost impressed. “You are a piece of work.” How could I have even been suckered into this conversation? She was good. She was really good. No wonder my daddy kicked me out and threw Mama’s stuff away. No wonder he put up with my exclusion from Tina’s life. “You will not have this house,” I told her, working to keep my voice calm. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of hysterics. “You have taken everything from me since I was nine years old. And you may be able to take advantage of Raine’s good nature, now that her mind is getting weaker. But she’s asked me to be the one to protect her when she cannot protect herself. And as that time gets closer, you will have less and less to do with my grandmother. And as for this caretaker idea . . . You have taken one house—one home—from me. You will not come close to getting another one.” She sat, stone-faced, refusing to give me any sort of reaction at

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all. That was fine. I didn’t want anything from her. I was finally the one with some control. Let it drive her completely insane. She had that much coming. “I’m going to check on Grandma Raine and her friend,” I said. “Is there anything else you wanted to say?” She looked at me, glared at me, really. Behind the older face and the gray-blond hair, the old Georgia was there. You don’t fool me. “No,” she said. “That’s all I have to say. But you’re wrong about this, Hollyanne. Think about it. Pray about it. Conner’s most likely not going stay as close as he is now to her. And once this baby comes, he’ll have his hands full anyway. The one who suffers is Raine. Don’t punish your grandmother for what I did to you.” “I need to check on my grandmother,” I said again, ignoring her last plea. For once, she had to ask me for something. I turned and left her there, and—God help me—I felt better about it than I should have. Better, even, than I wanted to admit.

Conner

It had gotten late. Conner reached over Kilian to look at the time on his phone. “Wake up, Kil,” he said, giving her shoulder a nudge. “We slept for a couple of hours.” “I’m still tired,” she complained, half-asleep. He smiled. She looked like a kid, with her eyes closed, hair all in her face. She was a kid. They both were. But then, so were his parents when they made the decision to have him. He never thought about it when he was growing up, how young they were. “You sleep some more,” he said. “I’ll head over to the other house. See what’s going on.” She made a noise that he took as an acknowledgment. He got up, pulled on his clothes. He’d take a piss, wash his face, and then go down there and get an earful of advice from his family. He’d come to Texas in the first place to get away from one set of mistakes. He’d replaced the old ones with new. Bigger problems in a lot of ways. But the really fucked-up part was, he had started to feel like he could do this. He could be a dad. “Conner?” Kilian was sitting on the side of the bed when he came out of the bathroom. “You don’t need to get up,” he said. “I’ll check in with everybody down there and then I’ll come back.”

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“Come here.” Her face had a gentle look that, best he could tell, was reserved for him. She knew that she was never completely unguarded, but as much as she trusted anyone, she trusted him. He understood how hard that was for her. “What is it?” He sat beside her, the bedsprings complained at the additional weight. He figured the mattress, borrowed from Hanson at work, was older than he was by a long shot. “Are you feeling sick?” She shook her head, then leaned against him, so he held her. “I need to ask you something,” she said, not looking up. “Okay. Shoot.” She pulled back so that she was looking at his face. “I’ve told you about why this baby is important to me. About doing something good, something that will still matter, even when I’m not here anymore.” “That’s not something we need to think about now,” he said. “Besides, I think most parents want some kind of legacy in their children.” “But that’s only my side of it.” “Yeah?” “The flip side of that is that you could be left by yourself with this little kid, and . . .” she stopped. She didn’t seem to know exactly what she wanted to say. “Have you thought about it, Conner? What if I’m gone and . . .” “No, I don’t think about that.” He cut her off, wanted to stop her right there. “There’s no reason to get stuck on that. Nobody has a guarantee of old age, Kil. Look at 9/11. All those people did was go to work. Hell, look at your parents, for that matter.” He didn’t want the conversation they were having. Why couldn’t anyone just let it go for a while? “We can deal with shit as it happens. I asked you to marry me, and I meant it.” “I don’t want, you know . . . for you to end up really hating me because I did this to you and then up and died. Do you want to live with the decisions we’re making for ever and ever?”

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“Jesus Christ, Kilian, just stop it!” He hadn’t meant to yell. “Please let’s stop talking,” he said, as gently as he could manage. She looked away. “I’m sorry.” He kissed her head. “I’m not mad at you. I just want you to trust me. I want this. Okay?” “Your mom, she was right about some stuff,” she said, pushing on. “This will affect you in a different way than it does me.” “She said that?” “Not like that, exactly,” she said. “She’s thinking about you. About what all this means for you. Which is good, because you’re only thinking about me. But I don’t want to fuck up your life, Conner. I never wanted that.” His muscles had a crawly sensation, made him want to move around. He wasn’t much into self-medicating, but he suddenly wished he had something—a beer, a joint, even a cigarette—that would bring him down a notch. He knew people who did that all the time, just to avoid the crap going on in their lives. He’d never wanted to be one of them. “Conner?” “I need to get down there,” he said. “Let’s talk about this later.” “Sure,” she said, finally letting it go. “Everything’s all right,” he said, relieved. “I just want to get some air.” She nodded. He left the trailer, thought about getting in the truck and taking off, but decided they’d just get worried and come after him. He could be a father. He knew he could. He could be happy married and having a kid, couldn’t he? And if the worst happened—if Kilian was gone—he’d deal with it. People dealt with shit like that every day. Walking the stretch of yard between the trailer and Gran’s house, he saw Tina’s Buick in the yard with the hood up. His dad and Tina bent over the front of the car. With any luck, Tina’s pres-

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ence would distract his mom. He didn’t want to referee any more discussions between his mother and his girlfriend. “What’s up?” he asked, glad that his voice sounded halfway normal. “Tina wanted me to check out her transmission,” Harrison said, still bent over. “I’m no mechanic, but I don’t see anything wrong.” He stood up. “I guess I’m just imagining things,” Tina said. Conner saw his mother come out of the house. From the expression on her face, he guessed that something was going on. At least Kilian wasn’t in the middle of it, so it probably wasn’t his problem. “You all right?” Harrison asked her. “Just great.” His mother sounded harsh. She was fully pissed off about something. “Come here,” Tina said to Holli. The two of them walked over to the bench in the shade and Tina lit a cigarette. “What happened in there?” he heard Tina ask. His mom was clearly upset; she answered in lower tones that he couldn’t make out. He watched them, Tina was getting an earful and taking it in stride. The two women were born a decade apart, but from even a short distance, they both looked like teenagers in the middle of some high school drama. Harrison coughed, and Conner felt damn uncomfortable. He almost wished he’d stayed in the trailer. “So,” Harrison called out in the general direction of the two women, “anybody want to fill me in?” “I just had an interesting talk with Georgia,” his mother said. Conner watched her take a drag off of her sister’s cigarette and figured the whole world had gone crazy. Harrison shook his head in disbelief and turned back to Conner. “So how’s Kilian?” “Better. A little tired. She’s sleeping now,” his answers coming by

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rote as he watched his mother, gesturing and talking in tones still too low for him to make out. “Mom? Are you sure you’re okay?” “I’m fine,” she told him, as the two women came to some obvious stopping point. His mom walked back over to join him and Harrison. “Everything’s fine.” Tina shot a glance in her direction and continued on toward the house. Fine. Fine. That’s all anybody would say. But they were all about a thousand miles from fine. “Good,” he said. “Listen, Conn,” his mom said, walking over to him, “I’m sorry if I upset Kilian. She came out of nowhere with the stuff about her mother and . . .” “It’s not a big deal, Mom. She told me she overreacted.” “She said that?” “Well,” he said, “I think her exact words were, ‘I’ve been such a freaky bitch all day.’” “That about covers it, I guess,” she said. “How ’bout you?” “I’m cool.” A variation of fine, but then, he’d decided the soulbaring truth was overrated. “Don’t worry. Kil’s aunt gets here tomorrow, and we can start figuring things out.” “Right, I forgot she was coming,” she said, and let it go at that. “Oh, by the way, your friend Jenson from school called the house the other day. He said that he’s left tons of messages on your cell, and you won’t call him back. That you don’t call anybody back. You might want to give him a ring, Conn. Sounds like he misses you.” “Did he say anything else?” Conner felt his neck go hot. His heartbeats were running in triple time. “No,” she said. “He’s kind of a goofy kid. Chatted my ear off about his plans for the summer. Are you sure you’re all right?” “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll give him a call.” They all began walking across the yard, and he felt the muscles in his arms go weak. Jenson. Maybe it was time to stop avoiding the news from school. Maybe it was time to be an adult all around. He followed his family back to the house.

Hollyanne

Grandma Raine hung up the phone. She didn’t look happy. “That awful woman.” She said it as a whisper, but caught herself when she remembered I was sitting there. I used to see her get a lot madder about Daddy and Georgia, but for a long time now, she’d been doing her best to be Christian about everybody—even Georgia. “It’s not always easy,” she admitted the last time she explained it to me. Tina was turning four. My present for her sat wrapped and ready on the table. It looked like something somebody forgot to open after the party was over. But the party wasn’t over. It hadn’t even started yet. I’d just been deciding what I wanted to wear when Georgia called the house. “Hollyanne,” she said in a hurried kind of way, “I need to talk to your grandmother.” I handed the phone to Grandma Raine, and sat as close as I could so that I could catch most of what Georgia had to say. I figured out pretty quick that I wasn’t invited, or rather, was being uninvited, to my sister’s party. It sounded like her excuse was that I was older than the other kids. “It seems odd to have a thirteen-year-old at a four-year-old’s birthday party.” I could hear her voice clearly as Grandma Raine

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held the receiver slightly away from her ear. “It makes some of the other mothers uncomfortable to have Hollyanne standing around like she’s simple.” “Hollyanne is a big help with all those children, Georgia,” Grandma Raine told her. “There’s nothing at all odd about that.” But Georgia hadn’t budged and, after a while, Grandma Raine had stopped going around and around trying to change her mind. “Oh, it’s going to be a bunch of four-year-olds running around,” Grandma Raine said, trying to make me feel better. But she had that high, red look along her cheekbones, and I knew she was mad. “I don’t agree with her, of course, but Georgia thought it might be better if you celebrated with Tina another time. And whether we like it or not, this one’s up to her.” “But today is her real birthday,” I argued. “I don’t want to celebrate on another day.” I was mostly just getting it out of my system. I knew that nothing I said would do any good. “We’ll ride over a little later,” Grandma Raine said. She sat down beside me at the kitchen table. “You can take her the present you got her.” “It’s not fair that she gets to say who goes and who doesn’t,” I said. I pressed the ball of my foot into the floor, imagined Georgia was a bug, flat under my shoe. “What did I ever do to her? I never did anything bad, Grandma Raine. And Tina likes it when I’m there.” “I know,” Grandma Raine smoothed my hair with her flat hand. “It’s not your fault, Hollyanne.” “Then why?” She kept her hand on my head, smiled. “That dark hair of yours,” she said. “You are a pretty thing, Hollyanne.” She looked a little like she might cry, but she didn’t. “You didn’t do a thing that was wrong, darlin’. So I don’t want you ever thinking that you did. You hear?” “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

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Then she went to the freezer and pulled out a carton of chocolate ice cream that we’d been planning to take over to the party. “Let’s have our own little party right now,” she said. We had chocolate ice cream for lunch—something Georgia would never have allowed. Tina was still in her frilly blue dress when we got to the door, even though the birthday party had been over for hours. She ran up when I stepped into the house and started slapping my stomach with both of her little hands, one after the other. “Why didn’t you come to my birthday party, Holli?” she said over and over. “Why didn’t you come sing and eat cake?” Holli was her name for me. Even when she was mad, it seemed like something special that belonged just to us. “You said you’d come.” I looked at Georgia. Grandma Raine had told me to make nice, and I really wanted to try because it was Tina’s birthday, but if no one had told her why I wasn’t there, I surely didn’t want my sister mad at me. “Your mama thought it would be best if Hollyanne came over now instead of at your party,” Grandma Raine spoke up before I had to. I felt relieved that we weren’t going to make up a story, and that Grandma Raine’s Christian charity didn’t go so far as lying to a four-year-old. “I missed you.” Tina all of a sudden burst into tears. “It was my party, and you didn’t come.” I picked her up and hugged her, and she kept crying. I wished I’d made Grandma Raine drive me over anyway, no matter what Georgia said. I hated seeing Tina look so sad. Daddy was sitting in his chair in the den, acting like he didn’t hear any of it. He was like that a lot. When I was little, he’d done things with me, and he always tried to make it better if I was upset. He acted different with Tina. She mostly stayed close to Georgia. She didn’t

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crawl on Daddy’s lap or beg him for candy out of his pocket. Then again, neither did I anymore. “I wished Holli had been at my party,” Tina said, slowing down with the crying so that she could actually talk. “Well, she’s putting on a regular show for you two,” Georgia said, wiping her hands on her apron. She was still dressed up too. She looked like a mom from one of the magazines. “She was happy as a clam at her party.” “Nah-ah,” Tina disagreed, her head buried again in my shoulder. “Well, Hollyanne brought you something,” Grandma Raine said. I put Tina down and took the present from Grandma and gave it to her. She sat on the floor and pulled at the tape like she didn’t want to tear the paper. “You can just rip it,” I told her. “It won’t break or anything.” Tina looked up at Georgia. “Mama says no,” she told me. “She says that’s not polite.” Georgia preaching polite was a good one, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Tina pulled the present out of the paper. A pretend vanity set. Grandma Raine had just started letting me put on a little perfume and a little bit of lip gloss and blush since I’d turned thirteen. The last time Georgia had given in and let Tina come over to visit me, she’d stood beside me in the bathroom, and played like she was fixing up too. That’s when I decided on the play vanity set for her birthday. It had plastic bottles that looked like crystal and pretend make-up with a mirror. The best part was a comb and brush she could actually use. Tina squealed when she saw it and ran right into the bathroom to set it up. I went with her, so that I could show her all the stuff, and I’d just settled down to braid her hair when Georgia called out to her.

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“That’s enough excitement for one day, Miss Tina. Time for you to go to bed.” “No,” Tina yelled, and I was getting ready to put in my argument for a little more time when I heard Daddy’s voice. “Leave ’em be, Georgia.” It was his hard voice, and for the first time ever, I was glad to hear it. “Let those girls spend some time together.” Tina got quiet. She was as surprised to hear him as I was, I guessed. I walked out into the hall and looked around the corner to the kitchen. Georgia had a scowl set on her face while she wiped down the counter. Daddy would catch it later, I figured, because, unlike my mama, when Daddy gave it out, Georgia eventually gave it right back. He must have gone to his room after he spoke up, because I didn’t see him anywhere. Grandma Raine was the only one who saw me. She sat at the table, a glass of iced tea in her hand. She smiled at me, and then motioned with her head for me to go on back and play some more with my sister. I went back to the bathroom and braided Tina’s shiny, dark curls. I worked and reworked until the plaits were as even as Barbie hair. This made perfect sense because Tina, for the first time in her life that I could recall, sat still enough to be a doll.

Holli

Tina absently played in my hair with her fingers as we stood watching the scene in the den. Raine sat in one of the two wing-backed chairs in her living room. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, while Alicia stood, both of her hands flat-palmed on the older woman’s head. For reasons I couldn’t imagine, I found the scene moving—even comforting somehow. I vaguely remembered similar scenes from church when I was a child, but I didn’t recall the same tenderness Alicia showed toward my grandmother. Then again, if Alicia had been a man—as all preachers were when I was young—it might have seemed a patriarchal, nearly abusive sight. But the woman preacher seemed to be imparting something, rather than forcing it. “Does she do that a lot?” We walked back into the kitchen where Georgia remained planted in a kitchen chair. “That layingon-of-hands thing?” “If someone has a special need, a particular prayer request,” Georgia said, unfazed by what I considered to be an unusual question. “It helps sometimes if you’re dealing with a problem.” She might as well have been talking about someone getting an aspirin or a Band-Aid. “Hollyanne, can you scoot over that sugar bowl?” Georgia waved her hand to the bowl that was just out of her reach. Tina had made

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her a cup of instant coffee that sat steaming in front of her. “I can do for myself at home,” she said, suddenly defensive about her sedentary presence, “but it is nice to stay off the foot for an entire afternoon. The doctor said the more I kept it elevated, the sooner it would heal.” Which made her Queen For A Day, I supposed. Georgia and I had gone back to functional conversation after the afternoon’s heated exchange. I found it unnerving, but she acted as though people said horrible things to each other all the time and then sat down and passed the peas back and forth across the dinner table without a hint of friction. Maybe that was how she and my father lived. I knew they didn’t have an easy time of it, but I wasn’t around enough to know the rhythms of their days. I decided to give in to the truce for the time being. “So how does the hands thing help you with problems?” I kept my voice low. “What does it mean?” “Means you’ve jumped off the deep end,” Tina piped in with her sentiments. She sat down beside me at the table with a coffee cup full of ice cream. “It means . . .” Georgia rolled her eyes at her daughter, “that you have asked for particular wisdom or strength to help with a decision or complete some difficult task. At least, that’s the usual thing.” I’d been away from my rural roots long enough that I couldn’t imagine asking for someone’s hands on me as a means to solving a problem. I figured Raine’s concerns were all tied up in her earlier conversation with me—and the rest of it that was yet to come. Or maybe she was praying for Conner. “Where is everybody?” Georgia asked, shifting her weight from one side of her body to the other. It was the largest calorie expenditure I’d seen from her since she first sat down. “The boys are taking a walk,” Tina said. “I think Kilian is still sleeping.” “Well, she’s been through a lot,” Georgia said.

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“I wonder how long they’re going to be in there?” I wanted to talk with Raine, to hear the rest of the story she’d held onto for so long about my mother in the hospital. I stood up, walked over to where I could see the two of them again. Alicia was sitting down on the ottoman in front of Raine. They both had their heads down, praying, it seemed. I inched closer to the door between the two rooms. “Give your servant Raine the courage to face her mistakes, Gracious Lord. Our weakness is known to You, and, in spite of all, You love us, and You forgive us. Make Your strength known to Sister Raine here today.” They opened their eyes. “This is where she first came to me,” Raine said, looking around. “Right after that terrible boom from that rocket ship shook the house. I thought it was the Judgment, it was so loud. I thought, ‘Oh Lord, don’t come yet. I haven’t made things right.’ A few minutes later, I saw her. Clear as day.” “What did she say?” Alicia asked, her voice kind. “She said she’d seen them rising. Their souls, leaving the fire.” “Who?” Alicia was beginning to sound concerned. “What fire, Raine?” “The astronauts,” Raine told her. “All of them up there when that thing exploded. But they were clear of it before the pieces hit the ground, she said. After a second—not even that, really—she told me she felt them more than saw them—rising fast and all together. She called it a privilege to witness. The fear they felt came and went, she said, like blowing out a candle.” I stepped back. It was too much. I couldn’t listen to my grandmother any longer, talking about spaceships and explosions, all in the context of my mother’s arrival. I thought of that day in Florida. Another explosion—in the sky, and inside of me. I felt sweat on my neck. Something dropped in my stomach, as if I’d crested a roller coaster.

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“What the devil is wrong with you?” Tina walked up beside me. “Here, Holli, get off your feet.” She pulled a stool over, directed me to sit. “You look like you saw a ghost, for God’s sake.” I tried to get a full breath, my heart was going too fast. Breathe. Breathe. “If she’s going to pass out,” Georgia said from across the room, “that stool is the worst place to put her, Tina. She’ll fall right over.” “Hush, Mama,” Tina said, but she maintained a vise-grip on my arm for good measure. “Holli? Holli? Baby, you’re scaring me a little here.” “I’m sorry,” I said beginning to pull myself together. “I’m fine.” I pulled my arm free. “I’m not going to faint.” She kept her hands poised near me, at the ready. “Come back to the table,” she said. “The water’s still hot on the stove. I’ll make you a cup of coffee.” I slid off the stool and stood up. I felt shaken, but at least I was breathing again. Trouble was, Tina had been right in the first place. My talk with Kilian fresh on my mind, it occurred to me that maybe I had seen a ghost—the same one Raine was talking about—only it took me some fifteen years to figure it out. Maybe my mother was talking to Raine. Maybe she’d even wanted to talk to me all along. The maybes were clear and endless. It was answers that seemed more elusive. “Regular or decaf?” Tina asked, but before I had a chance to answer, Harrison came in with plastic bags that sported pictures of chickens on the side. The smell of deep-fried food filled the room. Conner followed behind him, carrying tea in two large plastic jugs. Moments later, as they arranged various cartons of food on the counter, a rumpled-looking Kilian came in, squinting in the bright light of the kitchen. Conner walked over to her. “I didn’t know you were up,” he said. She smiled at him. A sweet, odd smile that didn’t seem like any expression I’d ever seen on her before.

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Conner steered her toward the table, and I got the feeling he wanted his family close. That he needed us all nearby. Hearing the crowd, Raine and Alicia returned from the other room, and the bustle for cups, ice, plates, and utensils took center stage. I was glad, finding the momentary distraction a godsend as I joined in the pageant of my family. Warm, salty grease. A taste acquired in childhood and reinforced through countless meals. Conner, who had been raised by me, dug in with the enthusiasm of a small boy; but Kilian barely touched the fried chicken that, to her spare New England senses, must have been nearly inedible. I felt for her. “Try this,” I said, handing Kilian a biscuit stuffed with pieces of white meat torn from inside a larger piece. “It’s not so rich without the skin.” “Thank you,” she said. It sounded like genuine gratitude. “The corn is great,” she said. Kilian was making an effort. For the first time, I saw a glimpse of things that Conner had described in her. An eager, gentle quality that made her pleasant to be around. She must have been overwhelmed by all of us. “There’s apple pie in that Styrofoam thing over there,” Raine said, pointing to the counter. Harrison stood up immediately. I wondered how the hell he’d managed to stay the same size for over twenty years. The meal played out, ended as always with Raine commanding the sink and refusing to let anyone help her with dishes. I knew better than to make anything more than a cursory effort, and so I took the opportunity to seek out Alicia. “Could we talk for just a minute or two?” I asked. “Absolutely,” she said, putting down a bowl she’d been clearing from the table. Unlike most people, who felt a more linear need to complete

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any task that was already begun, preachers, at least the ones truly called to their profession, dropped everything when spiritual needs arose. They were a different breed. Like those people who can taste something different in wine from the rest of us, or identify scents. Authentic ministers have heightened sense of the soul. “Do you believe her?” I asked, when we’d gotten to my old bedroom down the hall. Harrison had brought our suitcases in from the car, and they left little room for moving around. Alicia settled on the bed and waited for me to join her before she answered. “What do you mean?” she asked, her manner still the kind, patient voice I’d heard her employ with Raine. No hint of condescension. “All the talk about seeing my mother,” I said. “She’s talked with me about it. Conner, too. And I heard her talking with you before, in the living room. Do you think she’s losing some of her mental faculties? Or do you believe her?” “First,” she said. “I’d like to hear your thoughts. Where you’re coming from plays a huge role in what you’re willing to accept. I can tell you what I believe—and I will—but that doesn’t mean there are any absolute answers. Like a lot of things in my world, much of it comes down to faith. So what do you think?” I ran my hand over the coverlet on the bed. Delicate pink flowers were woven into the raised white patterns on the spread. As a girl, when I napped on top of the covers, my legs and arms carried the imprint of the bedspread’s deep ridges long after I’d gotten up. “I came down here thinking she was losing her mind,” I said. “She even told me that she doesn’t always have a good handle on things. But I’m trying to distinguish between normal aging—forgetfulness, confusion—and these . . . these visitations. I’ve got to decide if she needs real supervision or just someone coming in and out to check on her. I don’t know the answer to that right now, and the only other person who seems to have an opinion is Georgia. And my history with my stepmother is . . .” I paused, wondered if

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she’d gotten an earful about me from my stepmother, “muddy, at best.” She didn’t let on if she’d heard about our family discord. “So I would really appreciate your thoughts on,” I got stuck there. On what? Ghosts? “On these conversations that Grandma Raine thinks she’s having with my mother.” Alicia sat still, seemed to be concentrating, maybe even meditating, on what she should say. She finally turned and regarded me again, took a deep breath. “All I can offer is what I believe,” she said. “But my truth may be different from yours, or your grandmother’s.” “I don’t understand.” “Relationships, even human relationships, but especially spiritual ones, rely more on the individuals involved than any overriding fact or truth. The nature of spirituality is faith.” She was offering a sermon. I wanted answers. “God is present. I believe there is one God,” she continued, “but endless paths to Him. We are all born with the desire and the means to reach Him. If we choose to acknowledge the need for God, we have within us our own way of finding Him. Many people, many different paths.” “Alicia, I really just wanted your thoughts on . . .” “Bear with me,” she said gently, holding up her open hand, a gesture asking for patience. “I feel that those who pass on are very, very near. Heaven, or whatever you call it, is no more than a whisper away from us. A thin veil, it’s called. And like our ability to seek and find God, I think we all possess the ability to reach those we love who have passed on. But I believe it has more to do with our souls seeking them out than it does with their petitions toward us. I don’t question the presence of those who have passed. But they exist in perfection, in happiness, and we are the ones in need.” “And Raine? You think this is real?” “I think that your grandmother is a very practical woman, but she

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also has a great love inside her for you and for your mother. I’ve seen it before when love is strong. As the mind lets go—just a little—of its fierce grip on this reality, the avenues become wider for the spiritual world to assume a greater role in someone’s perception.” “I thought souls went to heaven, were at peace.” She seemed sane, this woman. At the same time, she was talking like the Psychic Hotline crazies. “The soul remains with God,” she said with unnerving authority. “The spirit, an element of the soul, moves about, comes very close to the breathing world. I have my own theories about the connections. I think love is both spiritual and physical, a thread of energy if you will, that connects the two very different states of existence. We have human bloodlines here on earth. Connections that bind us by birth. I believe with all my heart, the love—the actual energy of love—is what constitutes a spiritual bloodline. Those who have experienced love are connected to those they shared it with when they pass on.” “So you think Raine really is seeing my mother?” “I believe Raine sees what she allows herself to see. Is it in her mind? Maybe, but that doesn’t make it less valid. Your mother’s soul is with God. Her spirit exists with you, with Raine . . . wherever love allows it to go. You asked me to tell you what I believe, and this is it.” “But Raine sees her,” I pressed. “Invisible elements, hydrogen and oxygen, come together to make the water we see and touch. I think of faith and love in similar terms as spiritual elements. I believe anything is possible.” “Well,” I said, feeling a little outside of myself, “thank you.” I felt as if I were watching the two of us sit there and talk. “The astronaut thing?” I added quickly before I lost my nerve. “Where do you think that all comes from?” She smiled. I envied her easy acceptance of things unknown. I wanted that kind of openness, while remaining within the bounds

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of sanity. But I needed answers—real ones that could steer me in the right direction with my family, not mystical maybes that belonged on a Discovery Channel special. “From what I hear,” Alicia said. “The astronauts captured your mother’s imagination. The lightest, most fanciful part of her spirit.” I nodded. “I can’t claim to know what remains when we pass on,” she said, “but I would think that our joy stays intact, as well as the sorrows that sometimes accompany our passions. When men fly, and when they fall trying, perhaps your mother will always feel connected.” Then she added, breaking the spell, “Or who knows, maybe that’s simply the direction Raine’s thoughts are taking. It’s impossible to know.” I hesitated. I didn’t want to say it, but I needed to all the same. “It isn’t just Grandma Raine, “ I said. “She’s not the only one who’s seen that connection.” She put her hand out, laid it on top of mine. “When did you see your mother?” she asked. For reasons that even I didn’t understand, I began to tell her. All those ordinary words, ordered into sentences I’d never really acknowledged as real, and certainly never spoken out loud. I told her about the church when I was a girl. That was easier, because children imagine so much, and I’d surely made it up in my own head. Wanting to see my mother, hear my mother, I’d fashioned her out of thin air. But then there was the other time. Alicia listened, and I talked. I don’t know which came first. It must have all happened at the same time because, otherwise, I think I’d know. I felt the pain go sideways through my abdomen, saw the blood on the hotel chair. On the television, I heard the announcement that something appeared unusual with the launch.

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Conner was three, almost four. He’d been sitting on my lap, watching with me, but I moved him off when the pain hit, so he stood close to the TV. He held a game in his hand, some kind of small video thing that played a ridiculous song. It played over and over as he absently watched the screen. The smoky exhaust from the shuttle looked like fallopian tubes. Even in the middle of my own crisis, I made that surreal connection. The pain in my stomach got better, but the bleeding was worse. I called downstairs to the front desk, managed to ask where the nearest doctor’s office could be found. Just down the street, an easy walk, the woman told me. Not when you’re losing a baby. I didn’t say that. I didn’t want to scare her, or Conner. Or myself. On the television, they were saying that something had gone wrong—really wrong. Harrison was at the launch site, and I knew there was no way to reach him. He’d been involved in making adjustments for the shuttle flight. He hadn’t been with NASA long, and it was the first one he’d ever worked on, so they’d invited all of us to go to Florida and watch it take off. Only it turned so cold, colder than it should ever be in Florida, even in January. I hadn’t brought the right clothes—for me or for Conner. Harrison said he could borrow a heavier jacket from someone at the launch site, so he went on to watch. Conner and I stayed at the hotel. I had directions to the doctor’s office, a primary care storefront just down the street. I decided I’d walk with Conner. I didn’t want to drive like that. I don’t know why I didn’t call 911, but it seemed like something I could handle. I’d cleaned up enough to go when another wave of pain hit. And at that moment, I realized what I’d known before, but hadn’t processed. I’d lost the baby. Barely three months into the pregnancy, and it was over. There was no little brother or sister for Conner. I felt the literal emptiness of the loss. Things on the television went from terrible to unthinkable when everyone realized there was no longer a spaceship in the sky. I sat

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on the floor of the hotel room and cried, cried until I couldn’t see the television because my eyes were too wet and swollen. Conner sat beside me, patted my knee with his little hand and told me not to be sad. And then she was there. I felt her more than saw her, but I did see her. The light from the window blurred my tears, but I saw her dark hair, and her face. She was crying, too. She didn’t talk, but she laid her hand on my arm. I felt her. And for the barest moments, everything seemed better. Calmer. She stayed there with me until the phone rang. “I’m in a building near the site here,” I heard Harrison’s voice over all the noise behind him. “Did you see what happened?” he asked. Then before I answered, “What are they saying on TV? There’s nothing but confusion here.” “I think I’ve lost the baby, Harrison.” “You’ve what?” “I’m bleeding. There’s a doctor’s office down the street and . . .” “Call 911, for God’s sake, Holl!” He was breathing hard. “Christ, I can’t get anywhere now. The roads are jammed. Call 911, you hear? Take Conner with you and leave word at the hotel where I can find you. Do it now, okay?” I nodded, forgot he couldn’t see me. I felt weak and nauseated. “Holli! Are you there?” “I’m here.” “Do it now. Now. You promise?” “I promise,” I managed. The room felt unsteady, and then I threw up. Everything was spinning. I picked up the phone again, made a sound that wasn’t a word or a sentence. “I’m calling the hotel desk right now. They’ll help you. You hang up and call 911.” I dialed 911, but I couldn’t remember the name of my hotel when they asked. One of the big chains, I just couldn’t remember which one. I looked around the room, hoping to figure it out. I

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wondered if Mama could help, but she was gone, and I thought I must have imagined her. “We’ve got another call about you from the hotel, ma’am,” the woman from 911 said. “We know where you are. They’ll be there in a minute. Hold on, okay? I think I can stay with you, but we’re getting a lot of calls here. People are seeing the smoke from the shuttle and calling in to report something. If I lose you, just wait. They’ll be there.” By the time they came, everyone knew that the astronauts were dead. And I knew that my baby was gone, too. I thought of my mother, my little sister. All I could think of was that Mama was there for my sweet child. In the middle of all that sadness, I knew my own little one had found her somehow. “When everything was over, when I got back home, I convinced myself that I’d been distraught and in pain to the point of hallucinating. I’ve believed that all these years. But now . . .” I half expected to look beyond Alicia’s shoulder to see my mother standing in the room with us. “Do you think she was really there?” I asked. “Do you think she came to look after the baby I lost?” I sounded like my grandmother. How long before I needed a fulltime caregiver? “It was barely even a baby yet, but it was there—part of me—and then it was gone. I want to believe that he—or maybe she—wasn’t alone.” “I’m not the one to say what God has in store,” Alicia said. “But I have to tell you, it wouldn’t surprise me one little bit if that wasn’t the reason you saw her that day.” “But did I see her because she was there, or because I wanted her to be there?” “Could be that there’s no difference, Holli. Whether she came to you or from you makes her no less of a presence. You’re both bound in love for each other. It’s all about faith of one sort or another. ” They were calling her from the other room. Tina had finally got-

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ten Georgia off her backside and into the car. Everyone was ready to go. “Thank you,” I said to Alicia. She laid her flat palm against my cheek. “You’ve got a lot on your mind,” she said. “I’ll say my prayers.” She left the room, and I stayed for a minute to get my eyes dry and collect my thoughts. When I glanced up, Grandma Raine was at the door. By the look on her face, she had a mission that wouldn’t be denied. “Are you ready to talk some more?” she asked. I was exhausted, but my need to finish our conversation drove me forward. “Sure,” I said. “I know you’ve had a long day,” she said, obviously sensing my exhaustion. “Can you hold up a little longer?” she pressed on. “There are things I need to say, and I don’t take my clearest days for granted anymore. Your being here has brought me some of my old energy, Hollyanne. But I don’t know that it will last. You sure it’s not too much?” “Yes, ma’am.” I sat down again on the edge of my childhood bed. She sat in the chair to the side of the room, seemed in no hurry. I closed my eyes and waited. Waited for her to begin.

Conner

Kilian had found her appetite. Conner watched her eat a third helping of the banana pudding that Gran had made the day before. He hoped it wouldn’t make her throw up, but at least she was hungry. A good sign. “Seems quiet without Georgia and the crowd,” Harrison said. He watched Kilian, too— looked over toward Conner, raised his eyebrows, and smiled. Kilian caught the exchange. “I’m glad you’re both so amused,” she said, another bite at the ready on her fork. “I haven’t eaten all day.” “You’re doing some serious damage to that pudding.” “It’s good.” She shrugged her shoulders, continued to eat. Conner could hear his mom talking with Gran down the hall. “What’s going on with Mom?” he asked Harrison. “Not sure,” his dad said. “She and her grandmother have some things to work out—and this Georgia thing is hard for her.” “I knew she’d get freaked-out by how much time they spend together.” Conner took a vanilla wafer off of Kilian’s plate. “I think they really like each other. Georgia helps Gran with a lot of stuff.” “I know how your mom feels, though,” Kilian said. “It’s really

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messed up, everything that happened when her mom died. I wish I had somebody to blame for my parents’ death—besides my parents. It’d be easier feeling pissed off at someone I could actually yell at once in a while.” Conner didn’t know what to say. He’d never heard her talk much about her parents. And her tone was so impersonal, she might have been talking about the death of a family pet. He wondered if he’d ever figure her out. “Well, I hope Mom is reasonable with Gran. Georgia may not be her number one choice, but Gran could use the help.” He stopped short of saying he’d rather not be the one responsible when it came to looking out for his great-grandmother. “It won’t be easy for her,” Harrison said. “Holli’s felt this way for a lot longer than she’s known me.” He got up to look in the refrigerator. “The worst thing about this house is that there’s never any beer in here.” “There’s a package store about three miles away, heading out of town,” Conner said, catching himself just a little too late. “I’ve passed it a couple of times going out to pick up parts for Hanson.” “Right,” Harrison said. “You seem to know your way around pretty well.” “We’ve been here a while now.” Conner could feel the conversation heading toward a more serious direction. “You think you’ll stay?” Kilian looked at him. She got up and poured a glass of milk after her multiple desserts. “I don’t know.” Conner picked up a fork, turned it around in his hands just to do something. “I guess, at first. Why?” “There’s not a lot of room in the trailer,” Harrison said. “You might need a bigger place. Now, the advantage of staying around here is that you have a lot of mother hens around to help. Raine and Georgia. Plus, all the church ladies who are likely to take you

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on as a project. The disadvantage, of course, is that you’ll have a lot of mother hens around . . .” “We haven’t thought that far ahead.” Conner could tell Kilian was getting twitchy. His dad sounded calm, as if everything could be settled over milk and pudding. “You haven’t had much time for anything to sink in, but you’ve got a fair number of options. If you want to get closer to New York, we can help you out some.” Conner laughed and then caught himself. Harrison had made a genuine offer. Conner loved his dad, but the thought of Harrison pulling himself away from campus to attend to grandparent duty was at odds with everything Conner remembered about him as a dad. He could barely remember to eat meals when he was involved at work. Maybe his mom would be more help, but she had her own life, her business. Sticking a baby into their routine could bring up a lot of the same shit they went through when he was growing up. Not the best solution. “When you get adjusted to the idea, you can think about it. Only the two of you can decide what you really want.” Kilian sat mute. She looked fully overwhelmed. “You okay, Kil?” “Yeah,” she said, “it’s just . . .” “What?” “I guess I’m not used to . . . I don’t know . . . thinking about the future.” She stood up, took her plate to the sink and rinsed it under the faucet. “Kilian?” She stood silent for a second or two. Conner looked at his dad, but Harrison just shook his head. Neither of them knew the right thing to do. “Can we maybe talk about this later?” Kilian asked, not even turning around.

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She stayed at the sink, wiping a dishtowel over plates from the draining tray that had been left to dry on their own. Harrison picked up a newspaper that was on a chair, handed Conner the sports section. The two of them sat, reading day-old news, while Kilian worked with the dishes until they were as dry as bone.

Holli

“Your mama was the prettiest thing.” Raine sat in the chair, while I settled back against the headboard of my old bed. It had been Mama’s before it was mine, the frame at least. I thought of her resting there, thinking about what her life might be. “I remember how pretty she was,” I said. “I know that for most of my life she wasn’t pregnant, but when I think of her, I see her in those last months. She was happy, waiting for the baby to come.” Raine didn’t say anything. She didn’t confirm or deny my assessment of my mother’s state of mind. I knew she thought my father hadn’t been good to Mama. But the truth, as I remembered it, was that often he was, and that she smiled a lot. “Daddy would blow up, lose his temper some,” I said in response to her silence. “And it did scare us sometimes. But his temper couldn’t sustain itself. It burned out, and he was always sorry. Mama seemed to be able to live with the ups and downs of his moods. I really think she loved him.” “She asked about him,” Raine said. “In the hospital that last night. She asked if he was okay. They’d gotten her bleeding to slow down, and they were putting bags of blood into her. The doctors were talking about whether they should get someone lined up to

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do surgery to stop it from the inside. I leaned over because her voice was weak. That’s when she told me.” “Told you what?” I closed my eyes, pictured my mother. “She said she’d waited too long to leave the house. She saw the bleeding. Not too much, but enough to worry. And she hadn’t wanted to leave with everyone there, watching for the men on the moon. She hadn’t wanted to tell Ray and get him all stirred up, only to find out she’d been silly and it was nothing, after all. She was afraid he’d be mad at her for spoiling the party.” “She was bleeding? At the house?” Raine nodded. “She told me about it. Called it spotting. But there must have been more after that. Later on, I guess. And after it got worse, she was really scared to tell Ray she’d ignored it earlier. With his temper and all, she didn’t know how he’d take it. ‘All those people were there,’ she kept saying. ‘I didn’t know. My baby. The poor little thing.’ “I heard Celia saying it all, but I didn’t really hear it, understand it, until I put all the words together later.” Raine shook her head. “If she’d just told him. She was running out, trying to get herself to Dr. Chambers’ house. Not even the hospital, ’cause it was so far, she told me. She figured if she could just get to the doctor’s house, he’d know what to do.” “But they were arguing,” I said. “We heard them, Mama and Daddy. Down the hall. About Georgia.” Raine shook her head again. “I thought so, too. And Ray. He thought that’s why she wouldn’t talk to him. He figured Georgia had told her about the baby. Later, they both thought it was me, but I never said anything. We all thought that’s what made her run out, but she told me different at the hospital.” “What did she say?” I asked. “She said, ‘Ray must think I’m a crazy woman. Don’t tell him about the blood. He’ll be mad. I just wanted to leave and get help before it was too late. I shouldn’t have waited so long.’ And she

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told me what happened in the car. Then as she started getting weaker, she was just saying, ‘My baby.’ Crying and saying, ‘My poor baby.’ It would break your heart.” Raine twisted her wedding ring around and around on her finger. The story had been dormant for decades. I wondered how it felt for her to finally let it go. “What happened?” I asked. “In the car, what happened to her?” “She said she was wet, the whole seat was wet. She felt that part before she felt the pain. Ray had already lost his grip and had fallen off, but she didn’t know he was hurt. Not yet. After the pain came, she looked down and saw that all the wet wasn’t her water breaking like she thought. It was blood. So much blood. Then the baby . . .” She stopped. It was too much to think about. Mama going through that in the truck by herself. “The wreck made the baby come too soon,” I said. “That’s what they told us, the crash precipitated premature labor.” I was holding on to what I’d known, to what had to be true. “No,” Grandma Raine said it with a tone of something absolute. “The baby came before the wreck. The baby caused the wreck.” “That can’t be right . . .” “It was, Hollyanne. It kills me to think of it, but that’s what happened. That’s what your mama told me lying in that bed at the hospital. She said, ‘Don’t tell Ray.’ She kept saying that. She didn’t want him to blame her. I told her that if she could forgive Ray, I knew he could forgive her. I said I was sure he was sorry.” “What did she say after that?” I could barely breathe. “She asked what in the world he had to be sorry for, she was the one who’d messed up.” I felt my whole center shift to a different point of balance. “She didn’t know about Georgia,” I said. The revelation seemed quiet for all that it implied. My entire history had readjusted itself with one sentence, “She never knew.”

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“No,” Raine shook her head. “She never knew that Georgia was pregnant. She’d cry some about her lost baby and then she’d get focused and practical, telling me she had to clean things up before Ray went back to the house. ‘If they don’t let me out tonight, can you go in and do it?’ she asked me.” “But she was talking to you. She wasn’t dying.” It seemed impossible, this conversation I’d never heard of before. It changed that night in ways that I couldn’t imagine. “She did get brighter when they started transfusions, but it didn’t do enough. Her blood pressure kept dropping lower and lower, and they told me she’d die if they didn’t go in and get the bleeding stopped. Then they took her off to surgery. She never woke up again.” I looked around the room. I’d made it mine, but there were still signs of her all around. A china ring holder on the dresser, her class ring still centered in the middle. Her music box. I’d left them there, and they’d been part of my room, too. Sitting and talking with Raine, it occurred to me that I was older by more than a decade than Mama ever lived to be. Still, I felt so much like the child she left behind. “I kept my word,” Grandma Raine told me. “I never told Ray. I never told him or Georgia that they didn’t cause her to wreck. I never told them that news about the two of them didn’t send her out of the house frantic like she was. I kept my word to her, but I did it for my own reasons. I did it for revenge. Oh, Hollyanne, I may go to hell for it. Celia never knew what they did, but I knew. And I wanted the two of them to suffer.” “I understand why you never said anything,” I told her. “I don’t blame you. No one would blame you.” “You know the funny thing? The reason I haven’t told Georgia— even now?” I shook my head. “I used to want to hurt her any way I could. Now I’m scared to

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death of losing her. She’s my friend, Hollyanne. Don’t that beat all? If she finds out that I put her through so much when I could have just said something . . . I’m scared to tell her. That’s the plain truth of it. I’ve never said anything to anybody, except you right now. You’re my family, my heart. But she’s about the only friend I have left who hasn’t died or gotten too old to have a life.” “What you just told me, about my mother . . . Are you sure about all this?” I asked her, still stuck with images of my bleeding mother. “Are you sure you’re remembering it right?” “It’s as clear to me as you are sitting there, Hollyanne. I wish my memory would fail on this, but it’s hasn’t. Not yet. After I left the hospital, when she was already . . . when she was gone, I went back to the house,” she said, needing to finish, to tell the last of it. “Ray was laid up and out of it, and you were with me. I took you inside to get some of your things. Remember?” “I remember.” “While you were in your room, I went to her bathroom. I saw what sent her into such a panic.” She stopped, squeezed her eyes shut as if trying to block the sight of it from her memory. Then she opened her eyes and looked at me. “The commode was red. Full of red. Inside and on the seat. The blood had started before she left. Some of it trailed to the back door where she went out. The house was dark and Ray, I guess, was too upset to notice when he was trying to get her to settle down and talk.” Poor Mama. My poor, sweet mama. She wanted to see the men on the moon. After she waited too long, she was scared to tell Daddy the truth. She didn’t tell anyone until it was too late. Too late for her and for my little sister. “And you cleaned it up—like she asked.” I finished the story for Grandma Raine. “I cleaned it up,” she said. “And then I let your father go to his grave—go to hell, for all I know—thinking that the loss of his wife and his baby were on his soul.”

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We both went quiet. There wasn’t anything else to say. I got up and walked to her. I got on my knees beside her chair and put my arms around her. So tiny. She was too small a woman to have carried so much for so long. “I still don’t understand all your reasons,” I said, “for this friendship you have with Georgia. But I’ll try to respect it. I will do my best.” “Thank you, Hollyanne,” she said. “You’re the best part of your mama, right here with me.” I’d thought the same of her more than once. “Hollyanne?” She looked at me with clear eyes. “Don’t make me leave this house.” “What?” “If my mind starts to go,” she said. “I want to be here.” It was painful to keep my eyes on her face, to accept that she knew the whole of what was coming. “If I get so bad that I don’t know where I am . . . who I am or who you are . . . Well, then, I guess you send me anywhere you need to. But as long as I know, even some of the time, please don’t make me leave.” Her fingers held bunches of the bedspread, as if she feared imminent physical removal. “Lawrence, Celia, and all of my memories with you . . . They help me hang onto myself, Hollyanne.” I thought of all the options I’d talked about with Harrison, as if the decision could be made with solid reasoning. I looked at Raine’s face, the recognition of all that we’d lived, and I was terrified of the day when that connection would fail. When I would be the keeper of all that we had known together. “I won’t have you leave here,” I said. “I promise.” If I had to give up my entire existence, I would keep my word. She nodded, turned to look across the room where there was nothing to see. But the raw acknowledgment of her condition had become too much for either of us to share.

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“I love you,” I said. I moved over and held her while both of us gave into tears thirty years in the making. I don’t know how much time went by, but clearly spent, Raine said she was going to bed. I asked if she wanted me to sleep with her, keep her company. More often than not, when I visited, I’d curl up beside her in her large four-poster bed. There was too much space in there for such a small body, it seemed. But she said no, she’d do better if she got off to herself for a while. “It’s been a hard day,” she said. “Putting my thoughts together for such a long stretch is harder than it used to be.” Her lips smiled, but her eyes looked tired. “Good night, Grandma,” I said, kissing her cheek. “Night, darlin’.” She went off toward her room. From a distance, in the shadows of the hall, she became momentarily ageless. The one constant presence throughout my life, she was the most unlikely candidate for shaking up the world I’d built my life around. But she’d managed to do it. I watched her go, and began immediately to go about the business of adjusting to the disturbing newness of my past.

Conner

“Once you decided to get married,” Conner asked his dad, “how did you go about actually doing it?” The two of them were alone in the kitchen. Kilian had gone off to find a bathroom. It looked to Conner as if the banana pudding had taken a bad turn in her stomach, but she was too proud to admit it. “I don’t remember much about it,” Harrison told him. “I think once we were engaged, Raine took over. Your mom didn’t want anything too big, especially given the fact that we needed to do it fast before she got too big. But we had a small, nice wedding.” “You had it here, didn’t you?” Conner asked. “In the backyard.” “That’s right. About thirty people, I guess. My parents came along with a handful of close friends and relatives from Tyler. Some graduate school buddies of mine threw me a party the night before. The usual stuff.” Conner thought of his friends at Brown. The last thing he wanted to relive, under the circumstances, was a party with those guys. “Who was in the wedding?” he asked. “Well, that got complicated,” Harrison said. “It was supposed

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to be my dad and my older brother, along with your mom’s aunt Kelly and Tina, with Ray giving your mom away. But at the last minute, there was some big problem and Georgia didn’t get Tina here.” “You mean she was late?” “No, she didn’t get back at all. I think she was in Florida with Georgia and . . .” “Jesus! How old was Tina then?” “Thirteen. It was horrible. We never told you about this?” “I think I would have remembered this one.” Conner couldn’t believe his mom’s only sister hadn’t been at her wedding. “That’s part of your mom’s laundry list of issues with Georgia. Best not to bring it up.” “No kidding,” Conner said. He could only imagine how pissed his mom must have been at the time. “Did Mom settle down, or was she a basket case during the ceremony?” “I don’t know what Aunt Kelly said to her, but whatever it was, she came out and we had a great day.” In some ways, Conner just wanted to press forward. If they got married right away, they would have less time to obsess over the decision. “You want to get married in the backyard, here?” Harrison asked. “I don’t know what I want. It seems impossible to go from deciding to do it, to having it happen. And Kilian doesn’t have a grandmother who’ll pitch in. Her mom’s mother is in a home somewhere, and her dad’s parents run some clinic in Africa. You know, save-the-world kind of stuff. Maureen, well, I don’t know.” “We’ll help, Conner. You know that. But don’t rush this. Times are different now. There isn’t the same urgency to make things legal that there used to be. I’m not saying don’t do it. I’m just saying give yourself a chance to breathe for five minutes before you make any more life changes. Okay?”

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He nodded but seemed no closer to answers than before he started asking the questions. Kilian walked back in and it seemed a natural time to end the discussion. “You don’t look so good,” Conner said. “Did you get sick? Her skin had a greenish tint. “Shut up,” she said as if he’d been teasing her. She went back to cleaning up, this time wiping a spotless kitchen counter. Conner watched her working with a single-minded effort at the unnecessary task. Something was behind it, some psychological need. He’d learned that much in his classes. What they didn’t tell him was what she needed. He didn’t even know what he needed. He wasn’t sure how he was going to be a father when the adult world around him only became more confusing every day.

Hollyanne

Harrison wore a bolo tie. Black leather cords secured a bright silver Saturn. One of his professors bought it for him when Harrison got the news that he would have a job at NASA when he finished up his graduate work. The tie and his custom-made boots were the only things that set his looks apart from any other man, pacing in a tux, waiting to be married. He put his hands in his pockets, traveled back and forth around the nearly empty yard. We were supposed to get married at eleven o’clock, and it wasn’t even ten yet. I didn’t understand why he wanted to get dressed so early. He was bound to be sweating. But at least the weather was nice. In June, it was always hard to predict. I watched him from the window of Grandma Raine’s guest bedroom. I’d planned to use my room to get dressed, but Kelly pointed out that my room faced the front of the house, and if I used the other one, I could see the backyard while I was getting ready. “You don’t want to miss your whole wedding while you’re getting ready for it.” Kelly was thoughtful like that. “Sit still, hon,” she said. “I’ve got to finish your face.” Kelly smoothed blush over my cheek with the flat of her thumb. Then she licked the end of the same finger and slicked down my over-tweezed eyebrows. “You didn’t leave much to work with here, did you?” she said.

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“I got carried away.” With an eyebrow pencil, she filled in to shape perfect arches, in spite of my blunder. “Have you seen Daddy?” I asked, trying not to move my head as I talked. “He told me he’d call when Georgia got back from Florida with Tina, but I haven’t heard the phone ring.” “I haven’t seen him,” she said, “But then again, I haven’t been out there much. Why on earth did Georgia take Tina off to Florida a week before the wedding?” “Her daddy’s sick.” I kept my chin tilted up, so Kelly could get to my whole face. “She wanted Tina to see him, I guess, in case something happens soon. Personally, I think it’s just another way to drive me crazy.” “Did you get Tina’s dress fitted before she left?” “It’s in the closet over there, ready as soon as she walks in. The lady worked half the night before they left, getting it altered right.” “Well, you sure look beautiful in this one.” Kelly looked up at my mother’s wedding dress, pressed and hanging on the door. “Your mama would be as proud as anything if she was here.” I looked at the dress. It hadn’t yellowed at all. In fact, it looked new. I’d had it altered to fit and it did look pretty—but not as pretty, I was convinced, as the pictures I’d seen of it on Mama. “I wish I could fill it out the way she did.” “She did have a body,” Kelly said. “But you’ll be every bit as gorgeous walking down that aisle.” Kelly sat poised with lipstick in her hand, holding it like a fat crayon. “Do your lips like this—” She puckered forward. I stuck my lips out, looked sideways at the backyard. Grandma Raine had hired some men to build a trellis, painted white and covered with pink and yellow flowers. We would say our vows underneath. Raine had told them to make the top of the trellis pointed, like a little church.

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“You may not be getting married inside a sanctuary,” she said, “but this is still a holy ceremony.” The yard looked beautiful. I wondered how much money Grandma Raine had spent fixing it up. She always told me that she intended to pay for my wedding when the time came. “I don’t want you arguing with them over what you can and cannot have. But in the end, Daddy had given her eight hundred dollars to put toward food and decorating, and she’d decided that taking it was the right thing to do. “He is still your father,” she’d said as she stuck the money in the big jar that sat on the kitchen counter. “There,” Kelly said. With her hands on her hips, she stood and looked me up and down. “You’re looking at me like I’m a painting you just finished,” I told her. “You are, darlin’,” she said. “You’re a work of art. I’ll go get my dress on now, and then I’ll come back and help you with yours.” “Can you tell?” I laid my hand on my belly. “Can you see the bump?” “Not even with just your slip on.” The right thing to say to a woman five minutes away from getting married—whether it was true or not. “Once you put that dress on, nobody will see anything but a bride.” I felt almost peaceful. Kelly and Tina would be my bridesmaids. Daddy and Grandma Raine would give me away. Everything seemed to be set and ready. I just needed to see Tina for myself, make sure at the last minute that the dress was right and that she didn’t have on too much make-up. Since she’d turned thirteen, she’d started to wear darker lipstick and smoky eye shadow. It didn’t seem to bother Georgia. When I mentioned it, she said, “I have to pick my battles with that one.” Kelly gathered up all her stuff. “Don’t start crying or anything, or I’ll have to start over,” she said, as she went off to change clothes.

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I looked at the phone, willed it to ring. I’d tried Daddy’s house earlier, but nobody answered. Tina had called me at least three or four times while she’d been in Florida, late at night when Georgia was asleep. “Person-to-person for Celia,” the operator would say. I liked the idea of using my mother’s name. It seemed subversive, powerful somehow. “She’s not here,” I would answer truthfully. Then I’d hang up and go into the kitchen and call Tina. She would answer before the first ring was out, cutting the sound short, so as not to wake Georgia or the grandparents. Tina wanted to hear day by day what was going on with the wedding plans. She was mad about getting yanked away at “the most exciting part.” But she hadn’t called night before last, and I hadn’t heard anything since two days before. I hoped that meant they were on the road. I started getting nervous again. Outside, somebody had started some music. Bach, I thought, but wasn’t sure. One of Harrison’s friends had brought a sound system and set it up to the side of the trellis. Harrison had another friend with a portable keyboard who played for parties to make extra money. He was going to sing and play during the ceremony. I saw Grandma Raine. Dressed and ready, she was checking the set-up before guests arrived. She’d borrowed chairs from the church and set them up with an aisle running down the middle. She’d laid a long, white bolt of cloth down leading up to the trellis, with a kneeling bench set to the side for that part of the ceremony. Everything looked beautiful. She’d done it just right. I heard a small knock on the door. “Hold on,” I said, and pulled a robe on over my slip. I cracked the door just enough to peek out in case it was Harrison trying to break the rules and see me before the wedding. But it was Daddy. He stood there, sharp in his suit. “Hey,” I said, opening the door to let him in. “You look nice. Is Tina with you? She needs to come in and get her dress on.”

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He shifted his weight slightly to one foot, and then the other, looked out the window. A few of Grandma Raine’s friends, the ones who always came early to any function, had arrived and taken prime seating on the bride side of the yard. “Tina’s not here,” he said. He wasn’t looking at me. “Well, go get her,” I told him. “It’s almost time.” A rising panic filled in my chest. “She’s not in Texas,” he said. “Georgia called late last night. There’s been a problem. Her dad’s had a stroke and . . .” “NO!” I yelled. “She cannot do this on my wedding day! Daddy, for God’s sake!” The room blurred around me, my only clear focus was on his face. He looked to be in physical pain. I felt the blood move fast inside me. For a second, I wondered if something would explode from the rush of it. Maybe I would have a stroke, too. Up and die on the day I was supposed to start my life with Harrison. “They’re not even driving?” My voice fell small, almost to nothing. “Are you sure?” He shook his head, seemed unable to speak anymore. “Dammit to hell, Daddy. Couldn’t you do this one thing for me?” I sounded mean, but I didn’t care. The tears started. There was nothing I could do. “You couldn’t make sure that my sister was here on this one day? Hell, Daddy, you ordered Mama around every damn day of her life. You couldn’t stop Georgia from dragging Tina to Florida a week before my wedding? And now . . . she won’t bring her back! Jesus Christ!” I sounded like him. I sounded like all those times he let loose on Mama. But I couldn’t stop. Not even then, when he stood there, devastated and not even trying to fight back. “You couldn’t bully her, just this once? Treat her the way you used to treat Mama? Not even for me?” “Look what happened to your mama.” His voice broke as he said it.

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I stopped, really looked at him, and I couldn’t go on. Tears came harder down my face, ruining all of Kelly’s hard work. I’d never seen him brought so low before. He and Georgia could give it to each other pretty good when their tempers got going. I never imagined I had it in me to so fully defeat him. God help me, it made me feel better somehow. Just to have that little bit of power. I put my hand on his neck. His skin felt looser, older than I remembered. I tried to think of the last time I’d touched him. It must have been years. “I’m just really disappointed,” I said. “She’s my sister.” “I know,” he said. “I know.” He stepped back away from my touch. “I don’t know the full story. Even Georgia wouldn’t . . . I know you two haven’t been close, but she wouldn’t do this to you on purpose. She honestly wouldn’t, Hollyanne. I promise. It must be bad there with her daddy. I don’t know. I did my best,” he said. “I’m sorry.” “I know, Daddy,” I told him. “I know you’d fix it if you could.” I felt tired all of a sudden. Unbearably tired, and the day hadn’t even really begun. “If this ruins your day,” Kelly said, finishing up a redo of my makeup, “if you are miserable at your own wedding, then she wins.” If Kelly hadn’t had my wedding ahead of her, I think she would have driven to Florida and strangled Georgia barehanded before the sun went down. Instead, sitting there in her pale green bridesmaid dress, she made it her mission to give me the pep talk of a lifetime. “Look out that window,” she said. She positioned me so that I could look out while she began cleaning up my devastated face. “Raine is as pretty as I’ve ever seen her. And she’s put heart and soul into this thing. Right?” I nodded.

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“And look at Harrison. That man is happy,” she said. “Dear God, you’re a lucky woman. I had to go through this with Luke . . . imagine that.” She tried to sound as if she was joking, but I knew there was some truth to it. “You’re a lucky girl,” she said again. “Do not—let me say it again—do not let this one thing destroy a beautiful day. Okay?” I nodded again. I still didn’t trust words. I had to keep myself from crying again. But she was right. I looked at Harrison. Nervous as hell, but, even in front of his buddies, he made it clear that this was the best day of his life. Kelly was right. I would be happy on my wedding day. I owed it to myself and to Harrison, to Grandma Raine. Not to mention Tina. Somewhere, I knew she was miserable. She’d feel even worse if my day got spoiled. “Okay,” I said, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m going to do this, and it’s going to be wonderful.” Harrison’s friend was finishing “The Lord’s Prayer,” and the bridesmaid’s music would begin next, and I was down to one bridesmaid. “That’s my song,” Kelly said when she heard the first few notes. She kissed my cheek. “You’re going to be okay, right?” I nodded, and she blew me a kiss and went out the door. I had one more song to go before I needed to make my entrance. The phone rang. I’d been waiting all morning and suddenly it rang, just minutes before I would become Harrison’s wife. “Hello?” The phone was quiet for a second and then I heard a low voice, “Holli?” “Tina,” I said. “Where are you?” “I can’t talk,” Tina said, her voice, still a whisper. “But I wanted to tell you I love you.” Her words sounded thick. She’d been crying and I wasn’t surprised. “I just wanted you to know that before you went down the aisle,” she said. “I bet you’re prettier than anybody ever has been when they’re getting married.”

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“What’s going on, Tina?” I asked. “I love you, Holli,” she said. “I gotta go.” Ever since she was little, she’d shortened my name, never called me Hollyanne. I’d always liked the sound of it. “I just wanted to say I love you, that’s all,” she said again. “I love you, too. But Tina . . .” She’d already hung up. The very second that I hung up the phone, I heard her voice again in my head. I love you, Holli. I decided that I would no longer be Hollyanne. Hollyanne put up with too much. She wasn’t strong enough. Days before, Harrison and I had talked. I’d told him I would change my name to Templeton, and I’d felt relieved to no longer share a name with my stepmother. But I would take it one step further. I would be what my sister already called me. Holli. It was a life-changing day. I needed the name to suit it. I heard the bridesmaid song ending outside. Next, the bride’s music would come, and I would be there on queue, ready to be a wife—a wife and a mother. I put my hand on my belly. Holli Templeton, for better or for worse.

Holli

After Raine left me, I went to look for the others. Conner, Kilian, and Harrison were in the kitchen. Kilian was cleaning up, a first as far as I knew. “You’re an awfully quiet bunch,” I said. The general mumbling that followed clued me in to the fact that something had gone on in my absence. “Is everything okay?” “Fine,” Kilian answered. She was apparently the designated liar. “I bet it’s nice outside,” Harrison said. “Anybody want to sit on the front porch?” Conner and Kilian both said they’d be out in a minute or two, so Harrison and I left them in the kitchen, made our way to the front of the house. He was right. The breeze had reached a perfect temperature, neither hot nor cold. Raine’s house sat at the end of a long, unpaved driveway. The flat expanse opened the sky up to full throttle, especially at night. If my mother was out there, she had a huge playground. “You and Raine must have had some talk,” Harrison said. We sat together on a two-seat glider. He kept us moving forward and back with just the slightest motion of his foot. “My mother didn’t die of injuries from the car crash,” I said.

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In the deeply shadowed moonlight, I could still see his confused expression. He waited. “She was losing the baby before she left the house; then something ruptured in the car. It caused the wreck, not the other way around.” “How do you know all this?” My history had been part of us for so long, it belonged to him, too. “Mama told Grandma Raine.” I’d never thought about it before. I had always assumed my mother was unconscious from the moment she came into the hospital. Why did it never occur to me to ask about that? “Holli,” Harrison sounded almost patronizing, but in the gentlest of ways. “This business of Raine talking to your mother . . . You can only take so much from her stories about . . .” I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was the truest, deepest laugh I’d had in days and days. I almost couldn’t stop so that I could explain. Every time I started, the giggles would take over again. “What is it?” He finally got me to settle down. “This isn’t a recent conversation,” I said. “Raine talked with Mama in the hospital before she went to surgery. When they brought her in after the accident she was conscious. I never knew. Raine’s kept quiet about it for all these years.” “Why?” He still sounded skeptical. My grandmother hadn’t been the most reliable narrator of stories in the last months. “She kept quiet to punish Daddy. And Georgia. She wanted them to suffer. And it sounds like she succeeded.” “Your father’s death,” he said. “That’s what all that talk was about.” I nodded. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “She hasn’t told Georgia. Raine said that forgiving her came after Daddy died. She was upset by what he went through and didn’t want to have Georgia on her conscience, too. Now, she wants to

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tell her the truth, but I think she’s afraid Georgia will get too angry to even be her friend if she knows. Raine’s gotten attached to Georgia’s friendship, I guess.” “And how do you feel about that?” He had the tone of the wise, old uncle again. It was starting to piss me off. “You can stop all the analysis, Harrison,” I said. “I don’t know how I feel anymore. I pinned a lot of feelings on what Georgia and Daddy did to Mama. But the truth is, I was—and am—angry about what they did to me. They made a new family, then forgot to issue me a membership card.” He shifted forward in the glider, making us both shimmy slightly. “I guess the question is, how long are you going to hold Georgia responsible for all that?” “I don’t know. Is there a statute of limitations on childhood anger?” “Maybe time served is another way to see it. At any rate, this grudge with your stepmother is making your life harder. She wants to help your grandmother, and Raine seems to want for her to help. Maybe Georgia has changed. We haven’t spent any real time with her in years. People get older.” “Just because Georgia found Jesus and became a senior citizen doesn’t automatically make her a good person.” “I know that,” he said. “It’s just a damn shame for everybody if Raine suffers more than she should. I don’t have any great love for Georgia, but sometimes forgiveness is easier than the grudge.” “Maybe,” I said. “My brain hurts; can we talk about something else?” “I know it’s a lot to think about on top of everything else. It’s been one hell of a weekend.” This was Harrison from an earlier time. I tried to remember if we ever talked at such length in the last years of our marriage. I didn’t think so. What would have happened if we had?

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When the door to the house opened, I expected Conner to come out, but in the dim light of night I made out a much smaller form. Kilian. “Hey, there,” Harrison slid closer to me. “Have a seat.” He made room for her on the glider, even though there were other chairs sitting around. She stood in front of us instead. Her hands pulled on the hem of her shirt, and even in the dark I could see that her jeans were too big. She must have lost some weight in the hospital. But that would change. The baby would make her round, unrecognizable for a time. “I was wondering if I could talk to Mrs. Templeton for a minute,” she said. “Conner took the truck to drive around for awhile. He’s got something he’s not talking about. I mean, I guess it’s just everything. Who wouldn’t be freaking out, right? But I was thinking, if we could talk for a few minutes.” She looked at me, and it was clear she didn’t want Harrison included in our little get-together. He stood. “Sure,” he said. “I need to wash up for the night.” He went inside. Kilian sat down on the far end of the glider away from me. The space between us seemed contrived, as if she wanted me to know she’d made a gesture of good will, but that’s as far as she intended to go. “What’s on your mind, Kilian?” I went for a light tone. “I don’t know,” she said. “I was thinking that maybe you could talk to Conner for me.” That was the last request I expected from her. If she’d told me to get the hell out of their lives, it would have surprised me less. “What about?” “About what he really wants.” She must have thought that made sense because she stopped as if she was waiting for an answer. “I’m not clear on what you mean, exactly.”

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“Inside, a few minutes ago,” she began, “Mr. Templeton was asking about the future. Did we want to be here, or New York . . . Who would be around to help us . . .” She was rambling. I wanted to put the puzzle together, but I didn’t have enough pieces. I had no idea what she was getting at and why she wanted help from me. She and Conner talked all the time. She never seemed to lack an opinion or the ability to express it. “Do you want to move to the city?” I was grasping at thin air. “No . . . no,” she said. “I’m not making a lot of sense. It’s just . . . I think Conner looks at me, and he just wants to make me happy. But, you were right—he could be left with this baby, all by himself. And I don’t know what’s right anymore. You talked about it before. How this was going to change his life. My whole life, I’ve never had a plan. Never thought I needed one. I’d just go day to day and do mostly what I wanted because I deserve that. Right? With this illness, I deserve to choose what I want right now because that’s what I can count on—all I count on. No one, not even all the fucking doctors I’ve seen, can tell me what’s going to happen.” She stopped, shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ve got the worst mouth.” “I’ve had my moments,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.” “But now, there’s not just a baby,” she went on. “That would be enough. But there’s Conner. And I don’t want to screw either of them over.” She loved my son. In her really messed-up way, this was how she loved. “And I don’t know what to do.” She said it as if there were a laundry list of choices. There were only a few. And they were all tough. I had to wing it. I’d never been a mother to a girl before, and she wasn’t your average girl. But she definitely needed a mother. The trouble was, I was already the mother of a boy—a boy directly affected by this girl. Conflict of interest didn’t begin to describe my dilemma.

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“Kilian, I get the feeling you’ve thought a lot about how the disease limits the number of years you hope to live. Right?” “Yeah,” she said. “Wouldn’t you?” “Of course. It’s natural. But when it comes to our lives, none of us really has a handle on that number. Our mothers certainly didn’t. You have a good chance—a really good chance—of living longer than either of our mothers did.” “That’s what Conner says,” she told me. “No offense, but how does that help me? Our mothers checked out really early, and we’re both messed up about it still.” That stopped me. She’d hit my most painful nerve. But she wasn’t trying to hurt me. She was genuinely trying to sort out her life as it stood. “You’re right, Kilian. If you and Conner decide to have this baby, it’s true that you do need to plan for what might happen down the road. But you’ve also got pregnancy and birth to go through first. And then, quite possibly, a number of years of being a parent. All this comes before you have to figure out what happens when you’re gone. You’ve spent years marching gamely toward your early demise, and you’ve let that define you, to some degree. How could you not? But medicine has gotten better, and you might actually have an adult life.” She was looking at me as if I’d just said something upsetting. Why would pointing out that she has to live before she dies be a bad thing? I waited for a response, but none came. She didn’t speak. “Do you want to raise a baby, Kilian?” I asked. “I know you want to have a baby. But do you want to be a mother?” “Why are you grilling me on this?” She stabbed her toe into the wooden planks of the porch. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot. Honestly. These are just things you need to ask yourself.” “I came out here to ask you what you think, and you’re turning it around, making me feel like some kind of selfish bitch.” Her voice

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had gained momentum, sounded too large for her small body. “Dying is very dramatic, Kilian. So is having a baby. Getting up every morning and getting the kid dressed for school is pretty mundane by comparison. Waking up, one day after the next . . . doing ordinary things . . . Is that the life you want?” “What I want, is to know what you think. You’re turning it into a shrink session or something. ‘Kilian, why don’t you tell us what you want?’ I don’t need a psych evaluation.” I took in long draws of air to keep my inner bully under wraps. “I’m sorry,” I said. How could I convince her that not dying so fast was a good thing? She had to stop all the drama of her untimely demise and get on with living. She especially had to do this if she was going to marry my son and have a baby. Otherwise, Conner would have two children to deal with, instead of one. “I’ve had a baby, and I know that the one thing you have to come to terms with is that a baby’s little life will completely consume your big life. Are you ready to deal with that? I need to know because my baby and my grandchild are both in this with you. Conner won’t leave you. He won’t walk away. Harrison and I raised him too well for that. And he needs a partner if he’s going to do this. You need to be his partner.” Her head was down, and I couldn’t tell if she was crying or scowling. She pulled her legs up, sat cross-legged on the glider. It shimmied under us as she repositioned herself. I waited to see if she would step up to this conversation or completely shut down. Finally she looked up, leaned in closer to me where, even in the near dark, I could see her eyes. They were serious, but not angry. It occurred to me that we just might make it through our little heartto-heart after all. “What do you think Conner wants?” she asked. That’s one I hadn’t thought of. I’d thought of all the worst-case scenarios for him. But I hadn’t thought of what he wanted. “He’s

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scared,” I said. “I know that much, but I really don’t know what he wants. I don’t think he knows. Maybe he does, and I just haven’t asked him. He’s dealing with what is more than what if. Do you know what I mean?” “Yeah,” she said. “I’m just afraid that, even if he does know, he won’t tell me. He doesn’t want to hurt me. He’s so into doing the right thing. That’s why I wanted you to talk with him.” Then she turned slightly toward me, moved more toward the middle of the seat. “What do you think he should do? I guess I mean, what do you want for him?” That one took me by surprise, too. I got another glimpse of what Conner had been telling me about—a smart, caring woman inside a somewhat selfish child. Kilian was complicated, if nothing else. “What I wanted when I flew down here was to make you go away.” Honesty. It was a gamble, but I had to give it a try. “I didn’t tell myself that’s what I wanted, but in my heart of hearts, that is what I hoped would happen. In a perfect world, Conner would get to be a goofy college kid for a couple more years. In that time, he would find passion for some kind of work that could actually allow him to make a little money, and then he would move into a wonderful life with someone he met at the right time.” “Marrying a sick girl, selling and repairing electronics . . .” She sounded dismal, “Doesn’t fit in so well with that, I guess?” “You’re an extraordinary person, Kilian. Conner has excellent instincts for people. He always has. I should have trusted that more.” “He’s been straight up with me ever since I met him,” she said. “He’s the best person I know. I don’t want to ruin his life.” “If you really love him, if you love this baby, you won’t ruin anything. You’ll find a way for that not to happen. But to continue with my self-help series . . .” I leaned over, looked closely at her face. She was smiling. “You’ve got to show up for your life, or he and the baby are really in trouble.”

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“I don’t want my baby to go through losing me the way I lost my mom.” She sounded helpless. “But I don’t think I’ll have a choice about that.” The twisted feelings inside of me took a precipitous drop. There was nothing to say. Not really. No pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps advice. “I know,” I said, at a loss to offer any comfort. “I know.”

Conner

“Jenson?” Conner waited for his friend to speak. He’d dialed and someone had answered, but now the line was quiet. “Hold on,” his friend whispered finally. Then moments later Conner heard in full volume, “Sorry, I was studying in the library. Shit, Conner! Is that you?” Jenson sounded happy to hear from him. “Where the fuck have you been?” Conner smiled. He sat in the truck where a road dead-ended down the street from Gran’s house. The dark night and the thick trees that surrounded him gave him a sense of having become invisible. Just what he wanted. “I’ve been an asshole,” he said. “I should have called you before.” “Damned straight, you should have called me,” Jenson said, his voice still good-natured and teasing. “Everybody’s asking me what the fuck happened to you.” He’d decided he just had to do it. Call his friend. Finding his mind blank when it came to excuses, he’d told Kilian a version of the truth—that he wanted to drive around and think for a little while. He needed to make sure no one heard him when he talked to Jensen, since he hadn’t been at all sure what the call would entail. Jenson’s profane, generous greeting brought him some measure of relief.

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“We’re in Texas,” he said. “I guess my mom told you. I’m with Kilian.” “Your mom didn’t tell me dick,” he said. “She acted like you were some Pentagon secret. But a girl from Kilian’s residence hall said she was gone, so I figured you were together. What the hell are you doing?” “At the moment,” he said, “I’m not too sure. I’m working here. Kilian was going to start looking for a job but . . .” he didn’t want to tell him about the baby. “She got sick, and that’s been put on hold for now.” “Why?” Jenson asked. “I mean, like, in general—why? Why are you there at all?” “I had to leave, dude. It’s hard to explain. I just . . .” Conner didn’t know how to begin. He had to ask. He’d waited too long and had put himself through hell wondering. “Jenson? Did you ever hear anything, you know, about me and that girl I hooked up with that night?” Jenson had been at the party, had seen him drunk and stumbling up the stairs with her at the house where she lived. “Listen,” Jenson said, “I like Kilian and all. But no one’s going to judge you for that. You’re not fucking married.” Not yet. “I know.” Conner felt his pulse racing. “But she was, well, we were both shit-faced. Then afterwards, she seemed really upset about what happened.” “Yeah,” Jenson didn’t seem surprised. “That’s her deal, I guess. At least that’s what everybody says.” “What do you mean?” “She does the ‘I didn’t mean for it to happen; it’s your fault,’ sobbing routine with everybody. From what I hear, that is. I’m one of the, maybe three, guys on campus to have missed out on the performance. Kilian’s not still pissed, is she? That was three months ago, dude.” Conner couldn’t speak. He’d agonized over this random girl for

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months, and she probably wouldn’t recognize him in a crowd. Jesus Christ. “Conner?” “I’m here,” Conner said. “Listen, let me call you back. I’ve got some stuff going on here. I’m sorry I haven’t answered your calls, man, but I’ll get back in touch soon. I promise.” “Sure, whatever, dude. It’s cool,” Jensen sounded perplexed. “I’m just glad you’re all right. You know, they’re going to be closing up the residence halls after exams. Campus security let me check your room when I couldn’t find you and there’s some stuff in there. Want me to try and get it for you? I can mail anything you want, or I can stick it in my storage unit.” Conner had lived in a single. No roommate. He figured they would just give his room to somebody else, but maybe his folks had already paid for the semester. “I don’t know.” Conner thought of what he’d left. Toiletries. A few clothes he didn’t wear anymore and an old bedspread. Some books. Nothing he wanted. “No,” he said, “don’t bother. If you want to, stick the stuff in a box for Goodwill or something.” “Okay. There isn’t much there, but I’ll try to get what there is.” After Conner got off the phone, he sat for a long time. Everything was quiet. A few cicadas, an occasional car passing on the highway behind him—those were the only sounds. He had no distractions; nothing to do but think. He’d been beating himself up for months and, it was over. If he’d stuck around, if he’d let it play out, he and Kilian might still be in school. But maybe not. Maybe he would have decided to leave with her anyway. That night, after the girl’s rant had run its course, she screamed at him to get out. Still drunk and feeling guilty as hell, he’d gone to Kilian’s room. He’d planned on telling her. Trying to sort out what came next. But she hadn’t been there. She hadn’t been anywhere. He woke up half the people on her hall, asking for her. It

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was four o’clock in the morning, for Christ’s sake. He didn’t know whether to be mad—maybe she’d had her own party with somebody else—or worried. Finally, he’d camped outside her door. Just before seven, she’d come down the hall. “Hey,” she said, smiling down at him, but looking pale. Ghostly pale. “What are you doing here?” He stood up. “I was worried,” he said. He had been worried, but an entirely selfish concern. In his gut, he’d been sure that she found out somehow. That she took off or something. It killed him, thinking she might not stay with him if she knew. Looking at her standing in the hall, he realized he should have been worried about her. All he wanted was to be with her. He didn’t want to tell her anything. Waiting for her there, he’d realized he never wanted her to know. Her coat was open and underneath, she wore jeans and a lacey white pajama top. He could see her nipples through the sheer cotton and the conflicting feelings of wanting to both screw her and protect her at the same time overwhelmed him. “Where were you?” he asked. “At health services,” she said. “I’ve had a cold and my breathing was off last night. No big deal, but they wanted me to stay there just to be sure. They gave me a bunch of antibiotics. I would have called you, but it was really late. I figured you were asleep. You look like shit.” “When I couldn’t find you . . .” He stepped toward her, pulled her against him. She felt better than anything in his world. She was his world. He didn’t give a shit about the classes or the parties or anything else that took up most of his days. He only cared about her. It had taken most of that morning to convince her, but she’d finally agreed to leave with him. “You’re right,” she said, eventually. “Look at me, how I just spent last night. I can’t afford to wait for my life to start.”

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“I didn’t mean that,” he said, horrified at her interpretation of his urgency. “I know. But it’s true. Give me an hour, cowboy. I’ll come by your place in my truck.” They had left, and on the highway, he felt released from everything bad in his world. They existed outside of time, in a place that belonged only to them. Having Jenson give away the stuff in his room suddenly seemed more than appropriate. Whatever he’d left in Rhode Island wasn’t his anymore. Whatever he’d left behind had belonged to someone else anyway—to somebody he used to be.

Holli

My cell phone woke me. Disoriented from deep sleep, I missed the caller. I checked my missed calls, saw the name of a client who needed a marketing proposal for an art installation in October. I’d have to return to the real world eventually. But not at that moment. I put the phone back on the nightstand. Alone in my old bed, I looked around at high school keepsakes staring from the shelves. After only two days away, it seemed strange that my life in New York had ever existed. That it still existed, waiting for me to get back. I wondered where Harrison had slept. Raine had four bedrooms, but two of them were used mostly for storage. Harrison and I always slept together when we visited. We hadn’t been at the house together at the same time since the divorce. I pulled on a robe and went to the kitchen. A pot of coffee had been made. I saw Harrison out on the stoop, talking on his cell phone. Grandma Raine was nowhere in sight. She never used to sleep in, but I didn’t know her routine these days. In the living room, a blanket and pillow on the couch answered my question about Harrison’s sleeping arrangements. Couches never bothered him. The one that took up an entire side of his small office had been his bed more nights of our marriage than I cared to remember when his work was going late.

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“That’s really interesting.” Harrison’s voice carried from the front stoop. “Why don’t you run the calculations again, see if it comes up the same.” He was engaged in some discussion of space, time, or matter, well beyond my comprehension. I could hear familiar buzz words and would have understood about as many if he’d been speaking French. Maybe a few more in Spanish. But for the most part, his working life remained in a rarified plane of existence from which I was excluded—though not by anyone’s choice. I felt a familiar loneliness, hearing him talk. Then it occurred to me that it hadn’t always been that way with his work. At first, when he took the job with NASA, I’d felt fully engaged in his life, excited about who he was and what he did. I’d been a real partner, even though I understood no more about his job in Houston than I did later when he went to Columbia. Had Harrison changed? Or had I? “Good morning,” he said, coming in the door after his call ended. “Sleep okay?” I sat down with my coffee. The newspaper was open and on the table, so Harrison had likely been up for awhile. “Straight through,” I said. “First time I’ve done that in days.” “It’s your old bed. Muscle memory takes you right back to childhood.” He had a theory for everything. “Everything okay at work?” I tried to sound casual, but both of us knew my real question. How long could he stay in Thaxton before getting pulled back into his real life? We’d made our flight arrangements for a week, figuring we could shorten or expand. What I hadn’t counted on was how much I would rely on him. “One of my post docs had a question,” he said. “Brilliant stuff he’s doing.” “Harrison?” Too much was going on to be dancing around him. “Do you have to go back soon?”

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He didn’t immediately look at me, which said a lot. He filled his coffee, took his time with the sugar. “I should fly back day after tomorrow,” he replied, his tone weary, “but things are a lot more complicated here than we thought.” He sat down at the table next to me. “There’s just this symposium Friday morning. I’d planned to miss it, but John just told me that the head of the department has been called out of town. That puts them down two panelists.” “And your absence would be notable.” I tried to hide my disappointment. I hated needing him after a few years of feeling more or less self-sufficient. I especially hated needing him when he felt so torn. It put us both back to a place I didn’t want to go again. “I’d forgotten how it felt,” he said. “What?” “Letting you down,” he said. “How lousy it feels.” I nodded. I felt lousy, too. I hadn’t even said anything yet, and I’d already become demanding. It all flooded back—the resentment, paired with the guilt. A sick combination. I should have said something nice, let him off the hook, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak at all. Our problems weren’t all generated by him. I could own up to that fact now—something I hadn’t been able to do when our marriage was falling apart. “Talk to me, Holli,” he said. He looked as if he was physically bracing for my words. Could I have ever been that intimidating? “I’m a little scared of how I’ll handle things when you’re gone, but . . .” I felt like crying. Jesus, how much harder could it get? “You love your work,” I offered. “You shouldn’t have to apologize for that.” I thought of our closeness over the last couple of days. How could one phone call put us at odds with each other? “If there is something I can do here,” he said. “Something I can accomplish, I can stay. But these problems are open-ended, Holli. At least that’s what it seems like at the moment.”

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I wasn’t just a little scared, I realized. It terrified me to think of him leaving, but any arguments I could make had a nebulous quality. Moral support. Emotional comfort. Strength in numbers. Harrison understood quantifiable results. He was used to identifying problems and then fixing them. But there was no equation that could tell me what to do about Conner and Kilian. When I found out I was pregnant, Harrison went out and bought a ring. Problem solved. But Conner’s dilemma had more complications than an unplanned pregnancy. He and Kilian could get married, but all of us knew that getting married and having the child could be just the beginning of their difficulties. “I can handle things here,” I said, trying to sound as if I meant it. “And who knows what will happen by day after tomorrow? Look what’s happened in the last forty-eight hours.” I wanted so much to extinguish the pleading tantrum inside of me. It took all of the effort I could muster at seven-thirty in the morning, but I kept the beast at bay. “Oh, speaking of what’s happening,” Harrison said. “Conner asked me this morning if I could drive Kilian to the airport to meet her aunt.” “Oh, right. She’s coming in today.” He topped off his coffee with what was left in the pot. “I need to find someplace and fax the insurance stuff to New York for my guy to look over. See if he has any ideas.” “I bet they have a fax at the library,” I told him. Thaxton was a little shy on Kinko’s-type franchises. “So why isn’t Conner taking her to the airport?” I asked. “He felt like he needed to put in some time at work. His boss has been so patient with him.” “Hanson Anderson,” I said. “Sounds like he ought to write fairy tales, doesn’t it?” I thought of my dad’s only employee the entire time he owned the shop. Hanson was a good guy who had turned into an even better old man in the time I’d known him. Thinking

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about it, I realized he was my dad’s closest friend. For the first time since Daddy died, I wished I could talk to him. Not argue, or justify anything. Just talk. I’d made so little effort when he was alive. “Yeah, Hanson’s a nice old guy,” Harrison said. Anyway, I told Conner I’d go. I don’t mind driving out to the airport,” Harrison said. “I’m getting a little stir crazy here, anyway. And Conner said Maureen’s getting a rental car, so I don’t think I have to stick around too long. I’ll just get Kilian there and take off.” “If she’s getting a rental car, why do you have to go at all?” I pulled a carton of eggs out of the fridge, along with the butter. “Kilian’s worried about Maureen navigating her way from DFW to here.” I laughed. “Exit the highway on a state road that goes on forever. Then take a right at the boarded-up gas station.” “Exactly,” he said. “Do you want some toast? Eggs?” “If you’re making something for yourself,” he said, “I could eat.” He looked at me, his expression soft. “Thank you for letting it go for the moment. Let’s see what happens today.” That was new for him, too. He didn’t like to leave a discussion with loose ends. Maybe both of us had grown up a little in the time we’d been apart. I got out a frying pan, and Harrison made himself useful with the toast. In the spirit of acting like a grown-up, I made a decision. “I think I’m going to go over and talk with Georgia today,” I said. “You’re going to her house?” “I think so,” I said, realizing how nervous it made me to just entertain the idea. I hadn’t set foot inside my old home in so long. I could count on my fingers the times I’d been inside there since I left for college. “I’ve got to get some resolution. I can’t keep battling the past.”

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“Are things different for you now?” “What do you mean?” I moved scrambled eggs around with a spatula. “With Georgia. After everything that Raine had to say last night.” “I don’t know,” I said. I hadn’t thought about it—whether Georgia and Daddy’s innocence in my mother’s crash changed the way I felt about my childhood. “I don’t think so. Regardless of their reasons, they rejected me as a member of their nuclear family. No, they didn’t reject me, they evicted me. That hasn’t changed. There’s no way to rewrite that one.” “So why are you going over there?” He put a piece of toast on each plate. I ladled eggs beside them. “I’m following a gut feeling,” I said. “My own problems with Georgia aren’t Raine’s battle to fight. Not anymore. I’m all grown up. You were right. I’ve got to think about what my grandmother needs, and that means at least talking to Georgia.” I thought of my grandmother, how small she’d looked sitting on my bed the night before. “Raine asked me not to move her out of this house.” “Did you talk about that last night?” he asked “Yeah,” I said. “It broke my heart to hear her talk about losing her memories.” “The role reversal,” he said, “when we take charge over the people who raised us. It never seems right. I’ve taken over the finances for my folks. I write all their checks.” “Really?” How much had life changed for him since we had been apart, I wondered. Had he gone through all of that alone? “I’m sorry I wasn’t around when that happened,” I said. He shook his head as if it didn’t matter. But it did. “So this visit to Georgia . . . ?” “Raine cares about her, and that just kills me, but I have to do the right thing and get past it.”

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“That’s good,” he said, “if you can do it.” The distance between knowing and doing seemed to be an endless stretch of road. “You’ll need the car,” he said. “I’ll drive Raine’s old Ford to the airport, and you take the rental car.” We finished breakfast. Out the back window, I could see Conner standing outside the trailer with a cup of coffee. When had he started drinking coffee? I couldn’t remember, and it made me sad. After a few minutes, he got in the truck and started the engine. “What’s wrong?” Harrison stood beside me, looking at our son. “He’s going to be a father, I guess,” I said. “And it doesn’t seem like his own childhood’s quite done.” I blinked to keep from crying. “Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m the one who’s not ready for it to be over yet.” Harrison didn’t say anything. He just stayed close, watched Conner with me. I could hear Grandma Raine up and about down the hall. I poured myself another cup of coffee and waited for her to come in and greet me. Georgia stood outside watering her flowers. One pant leg was rolled up and the heavy boot had been replaced by a smaller brace, so she was moving around more easily than before. Tina’s Buick sat in the carport beside Georgia’s older model sedan. I didn’t know if having her around would make the visit to my old house more or less painful. “Hey, there.” Georgia shielded her eyes from the sun, watched me get out of the car. She looked wary. “Your foot,” I said, walking over to her. “It’s better.” “Tina drove me to the doctor early this morning,” she said, glancing down. “I have to keep this on for a week or so, but it’s better than that other thing.”

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We stood there—a wordless, awkward moment following the bare efforts at a greeting. It was midmorning and already we were both sweating. “I thought we needed to talk,” I said. She stayed silent for a moment, looking at me as if trying to discern what I had in mind. Then she nodded. “Let’s go inside. I’ll get us something cold to drink.” She headed toward the door, but I hesitated. I was making the visit into more than it had to be. It was just a house. It didn’t even look like the home where I’d lived until I was nine. The color, the landscaping, everything had changed over the years. But my absence from the place over time had made it a pilgrimage of sorts. “You okay?” she asked, pausing on the front step. “This is kind of hard for me.” It was the most unguarded thing I’d said to her since I was a child. “Do you want me to bring something out here?” Her offer seemed genuine. “We could sit on the swing.” I looked toward the backyard. A bench swing sat in the corner under the few trees the property could sustain. “That’s okay,” I said, going toward the door. “I’m okay.” Inside the front door, a small hall led directly to the kitchen and den, a large room separated by a counter. I was struck by how worn out it all looked to me, how small the rooms were. I’d never taken much note of it before, when my father was alive. Getting in and out—making it through our difficult, sporadic interactions—had been the focus of my adult visits to the house. I stood and looked around while Georgia busied herself with glasses and ice. As a kid, I’d thought of my house as the new one—everything shiny and modern when laid against Grandma Raine’s place. But as I looked around Georgia’s kitchen, I saw the cracked linoleum and the old appliances. The same countertops where my mother cooked all our meals had become dated and sad. Georgia’s decorating tastes didn’t help, but I didn’t know if that reflected her

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preferences or her finances. The odd part was that Raine’s house, with its solid moldings and wood floors, had become timeless and sturdy by comparison. Everything about Raine’s place spoke of endurance. “Hollyanne?” Georgia stood at the table with two glasses of iced tea. “You want to sit down?” I went to the kitchen table, but remained distracted. I couldn’t stop regarding everything around me. My old swing-set, metal and rusting, still sat in the backyard. Tina had used it after me. I’d left most of my toys there for her, telling myself I was too old for them. Really, I think I just wanted part of myself to be in her life every day. Around me, every piece of upholstery, all the window treatments, included floral patterns and ruffles. Even the toaster sported a decorative cozy. My mother hadn’t cared for ruffles. She never wore them and certainly didn’t dress her house up with them. I had to stop making comparisons. My father had lived in the house with Georgia longer than he’d been married to Mama. My childhood, from birth to age nine, existed nowhere except in my own memory. In retrospect, the modern shine of my old house lasted only slightly longer than my mother. “Where’s Tina?” I asked. “Next door,” she said, settling in a chair across from me. “Mrs. Jakes got in a few bushels of beans from her son’s garden and wanted to give us some—in exchange for a visit, of course. She didn’t say that about the visit, but it goes with the gift. That old woman can talk the ears off a donkey.” Pot calling the kettle, I thought, in the spirit of clichés. “Did you have something you wanted to talk about?” Georgia asked. She’d been unusually patient, not like herself. Or maybe she had become a patient person while I was busy avoiding her. “Grandma Raine has gotten attached to you,” I began, clueless as to where I was going. “I don’t really understand all of it, although

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she’s explained some things to me.” I thought of Raine’s confession about my mother’s death. I had no intention of betraying my grandmother. It was her secret to tell—or not. I hadn’t reached the point where I felt compelled to override that decision. “I do appreciate your offer to help her,” I continued. “I had a gut reaction yesterday, and I was out of line accusing you of trying to get her house.” Was I? I looked around. Who wouldn’t prefer Raine’s house to what this one had become? “Thank you, Hollyanne. This wasn’t easy for you. I have a hard time figuring you out, but I do know that much.” I thought of all she’d said the other day, all of the details of her life and her guilt that I’d dismissed. She’d refused to take any bait I’d thrown at her. The Georgia I’d known all my life would have given as good as she got. Did that make everything she said true? Had my father’s life been a much sadder existence than I’d imagined? That bothered me more than I ever thought it could. He’d made a mistake—a terrible mistake—giving into infidelity, my mother at home, pregnant and trusting. But he didn’t deserve a life of complete misery. “Did you and Daddy . . .” I started the question, but found myself not wanting to finish. How much did I want to know? “Did we what?” she asked. “Did you love each other at all?” She shifted forward, resting one elbow on the table. She didn’t answer at once. I’m sure the question struck as odd coming from me. I’d never asked her anything personal before, not that I could recall. “I guess being together gave us a thread back to our younger lives,” she said, finally. “We built a marriage mostly around what we’d had and lost. We were good sometimes, though. Laughed a fair amount. I guess we both figured it was as close to real love as we were going to get after everything that happened. Your daddy was a good man in a lot of ways.”

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She seemed to straighten up, get stronger as she talked. I wondered if she’d ever had anyone to really ask her about her life before. Although she did—mercifully—spare me the details of their physical attraction, which was something I knew had existed. At least at first. “After a while, I found I could cope better when I threw myself into activities at the church. Ray, he’d go with me, but he wouldn’t let himself off that easy. The regret, it made him turn deep into himself. His work helped him the way church helped me. If we let ourselves get distracted, maybe have a little fun, it wasn’t all that hard a lot of times. We both understood and accepted that the guilt would always be there. He wasn’t a bad man.” I knew he wasn’t a bad man. I could have told him that. I had decades to tell him, but I never did. “Did he ever talk about me?” I didn’t know why I asked. I didn’t have the right to ask her. “He didn’t reflect much on anything with me,” she said. “We didn’t have those conversations. Once in awhile, I’d hear him on the phone with Raine, asking if you needed anything, or later, what she’d heard from you. He used to call her asking about Conner. That boy made him light up whenever they got together. I gave Raine credit, even then, because she’d tell him what he wanted to know. I guess that was his way of loving you, Hollyanne. Regardless of what happened, he didn’t want to stop being your daddy.” My heart beat faster, as if I was scared or nervous. She looked at me. She had to have seen that I was agitated. I could feel the color in my cheeks. But she didn’t say anything, and we both let it pass. “Anyway,” I switched gears, “about Raine. I know that I need to come to terms with your friendship. It’s apparently important to her, and that’s why I’m here.” “Raine never saw fit to completely forgive Ray in his lifetime,”

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Georgia said. “I’m sorry about that, but I don’t blame her. I’m just grateful she’s given me some of my life back.” I had to come to some decision about Georgia’s proposal. I thought talking with her might make things right for me. I half-expected some overwhelming confirmation of the decision to put my grandmother in her hands. I wanted to know that it was the right thing to do. But it didn’t come. Not the way I’d hoped. Georgia said all the right things, but the stubborn little girl I’d been refused to forget the pain she’d caused. My entire sense of who I was rested on that child. To take that away would be to start over again. I couldn’t change overnight, but for Raine’s sake, I could act contrary to my own feelings. I could settle this the way she wanted me to. “I’ve thought about your offer,” I said. “To look after Raine. For now, to just check in on her, and later . . .” Could I even say it? I didn’t want there to be a later. I wanted Raine to stay the way I’d always known her. “Later, if she needs more care, you could be there. I won’t stand in your way, if it’s still what she wants. She needs to stay in her house. That’s something I’ll honor in any way I can.” “Thank you,” she said. “That’s all I can ask.” “I flew down here hoping to find help for her, and I’ve become convinced this is the best solution. I won’t tell you it’s not hard for me. But my own feelings shouldn’t get in the way of what she needs.” Then I stopped. I tried to think of how to say it. I couldn’t have every trip that I made to see Raine polluted by all of these old feelings. “Georgia, when I visit, I’m going to want time with Raine.” “I’ll make myself scarce,” she said, finishing my thought. “You’re not easy for me to be around either, Hollyanne. You never have been.” A smile played around her mouth, as if she was joking, but she wasn’t. We both knew it.

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Still, for the first time I began to believe that the solution might work. “I’d planned on paying someone,” I said. “So I’m happy to compensate you. Whatever you think is fair.” She tensed up, and I realized I’d made a wrong turn. She probably thought I’d done it on purpose. But regardless of how innocent my intentions had been, I’d hit her pride. “I’m doing this out of friendship for Raine,” she said, her demeanor fully back to battle stations. “I know you find this hard to believe, but she’s as close to family as I have in this town. I do not need payment to look after family.” Her tone had so much of the old Georgia in it. “You’re not my family.” I said, a knee-jerk response to an unthinkable notion. “You could have been. Remember? I invited you over for Thanksgiving.” My voice was shaking. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. “All I could think about was that you had a baby, and I wanted a baby in this house. I’d been so ready, and you were my second chance. That was before I understood any of the other. You and Daddy. The accident. I was a clean slate, and I would have bought the whole notion of Mama Georgia in a second. But you made damn sure that didn’t happen. Not when Tina was born, not when I got married. You are not my family.” It all just came out, Tourette’s-like and bizarre, even to my own ears. I kept my tears in check, but I could feel them in my nose and in my throat. I wouldn’t cry in front of her. Pure stubbornness kept me from it. I was suddenly overcome and embarrassed. I’d lost control and made myself vulnerable in front of the woman who, more than anyone else, had defined the most painful chapters of my childhood. “I’m sorry, Hollyanne.” Her eyes were moist, as well. I could literally see my reflection in them, and it rattled me. “I would make it all different if I could,” she continued. “It’s just that I can’t live my life apologizing for my mistakes. But I’ll tell you this now: I

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am sorry.” She sat back in her chair. She looked tired. Tired of me. Maybe tired of life. “And I do know my mistakes, Hollyanne,” she said, finally. “I’ve lived with them as long as you have.” Her confession, her apology, stemmed my need to vent any further. It was as close to a resolution as we would come, at least at that moment. It was time to move on. “We’ll sort out your expenses, at least,” I said. “Gas. Any food you buy. That sort of thing. When she gets to the point where money is hard for her to sort out, I’ll get an account set up that you can draw out of.” “That’ll do fine,” she said. Then we were done. Nothing left to say, really. I thought of what I’d agreed to do—to sanction her place in Raine’s life. What was the worst thing that could come of it? If I was wrong—if she was scheming somehow—she could possibly find a way to claim what Raine had. But it was very little, really. Just the land with a house on it that I would never live in again; as estates went, it wasn’t worth so much. If my grandmother was happy, then even if the worst was true of Georgia, nothing significant was lost, with the exception of my pride. “I want to see Tina before I leave,” I said, eager to change to a lighter topic. “Any chance Mrs. Jakes will let her loose if I go over there to get them?” “She’ll just pull you in, too,” Georgia said, standing. “She’s like an octopus. If you wriggle out of one arm, there’s another there to grab you.” She picked up the phone. “I’ll dial Tina’s cell phone. Tell her to make like it’s some emergency. Maybe that’ll work.” She dialed my sister and instructed Tina on what to say to make it sound like a crisis was brewing—something so urgent that she could break free. Georgia was good at making up stories, making them sound real. I had to always keep that in mind, especially if she was going to be involved in Raine’s life. The other thing that

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occurred to me—a thought I hated—was that I was connected to Georgia forever. By marriage through Daddy and by blood through Tina. Whether you called it family or not, we were bound together. But I didn’t have to dwell on it. “She’ll be here directly,” Georgia said, hanging up. In the few minutes that it took my sister to extricate herself next door, I’d begun to reconcile my compromise with my stepmother, to see it as the only thing I could do to help Raine. Tina must have seen the conflicted emotions on my face. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, putting a large paper bag of green beans on the counter. “What do you mean?” I asked. “You look like you swallowed bad milk.” “Stop with the compliments,” I said. “I’m serious.” She was relentless. “Are you sick?” “I’m fine,” I told her. “We’ve just had a talk about some difficult things.” Georgia looked at me, then made herself busy, rinsing the beans. “I bet these things are full of bugs,” she said. Tina waited, obviously thought one of us would explain, but I had little left to offer at that point. She stayed close to me. Whether she realized it or not, she kept herself physically between Georgia and me. It must have been hard on her, I thought. All the years of anger between her mother and her sister. “Georgia’s going to be helping out with Raine,” I said. “Looking in on her. That sort of thing.” Tina raised her eyebrows, waited for more, and when it didn’t come, she let it go. “Y’all can pitch in any time,” Georgia said, settling down with a large plastic tub full of the beans. She had a smaller bowl in front of her, and she began to snap them into pieces. The smell of newly snapped beans, in the very room where my Mama had done the same thing hundreds of times, brought equal

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amounts of pleasure and pain. I thought of leaving, the urge to run came on strong, but the desire to stay prevailed. Georgia at her bowl. Tina and I put a second one between us. We continued with quiet purpose, the small sound of the kitchen clock and the tender snapping of the beans marking our progress. I had one problem figured out, however imperfect the solution. But the larger one still waited—a tightly complicated circumstance that would take more than pride to overcome. With the late morning closing in on noon, I regarded my sister. Her concentration on her task made her look like the child she used to be—determined and full of earnest effort, thoroughly stubborn when push came to shove. I knew I would remember sitting beside her in the room where my young life had existed for a while, and hers after mine. If only for the briefest of moments, the world stayed solid under me, and everything felt right.

Conner

Conner wished he and Kilian had more than one cell phone between them. Maybe his parents could put another phone onto the account he already used. It was the only remnant of his financial dependence on them since he’d moved, and none of them had mentioned it. He was alone in the shop. Hanson had gone to pick up a television at someone’s house, and he’d stayed behind to get caught up. The radio played classic hits, a compromise between Hanson’s country stations and Conner’s alternative rock. Conner used the shop phone to dial Kilian, but she still didn’t pick up. He looked at his watch. Maureen’s flight got in around noon. Kilian would be with his dad on the way to the airport. He speed-dialed his dad’s cell. “Hey, Conn,” his dad answered. “Hey,” he said. “I wanted to check on Kilian, and I thought she might be with you now.” “She’s right here. We’re about twenty minutes from the airport,” Harrison told him. “Hold on.” “Hey, cowboy,” she said, sounding hesitant and small. “Is everything okay?” he asked. “I tried to get you a couple of times after I got to work.”

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“Sorry,” she said. “I took a walk before it got too hot. Then I took a shower.” “Well, you seemed quiet when I left.” “Yeah,” she said. “It’s my aunt . . . you know. It’s never been really easy with her.” Clearly, she didn’t want to get into it, so he let it drop. “So are you driving right back to Thaxton with her?” he asked. He didn’t understand the whole rental car thing, but Kilian hadn’t wanted to listen to any alternatives. It seemed to him like money no one needed to spend. Especially Maureen, who didn’t seem to have much to begin with. There were plenty of cars around Raine’s and Georgia’s and, on top of that, no place to go, really. “We may stop off in Dallas first,” she told him. “Maureen loved that old TV show Dallas when it was on. You can even go to that ranch where the outside shots were filmed.” “South Fork?” “They had an ad in the paper for tours of the set.” Her voice had a hurried quality, like she wanted to get off the phone. “I got directions, so we might do that. I mean, she flew all this way.” None of that sounded right to Conner. Kilian had just left the hospital the day before, and even on a good day, sightseeing with her aunt would rank dead last on her list of things to do. “Don’t push it, Kil,” he said. “You haven’t given yourself a chance to rest.” “Jesus, Conn, we’re not going bungee jumping. I’ll call you later, okay?” “Okay.” What else could he say? “Hey, Conner,” his dad’s voice came on again. “If you want to grab a late lunch, I’ll stop by the shop on my way back.” “Yeah, that’ll be good.” After he hung up, he went back to the old Magnavox he was trying to resurrect. He looked around the shop. The work area was in the back, with retail items on display in the front. Only a few

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repairs waited for attention. Most of Hanson’s business these days was selling the new stuff—televisions, stereos, and speakers. Fewer and fewer people bothered to repair older units when they wore out, because they wanted something better anyway. He didn’t mind working the floor, but Conner’s favorite part of the job was still getting inside an old television. It seemed logical, ordered. It went from being broken to being fixed, with immediate gratification. A string of commercials ended, and he listened as a familiar song by Aerosmith came on the radio. His dad liked the band, the older albums especially. Conner smiled as Steven Tyler’s pterodactyl screech offered an unexpected sense of release. He felt his mood lifting, albeit slightly, turned up the volume as high as the small unit would permit and went back to work.

Holli

Tina rode with me, leaving her car at Georgia’s. She’d planned on driving back to San Antonio, but I talked her into staying one more night. “They’re going to fire me if I keep asking for more time off,” she said. “Our busy season is starting now.” She’d worked at a dude ranch for about two months, helping families coordinate their activities. “At least the job sounds like fun,” I ventured. “I hate goddamed horses.” She looked bored. “They’re more nervous than poodles.” She agreed to stay overnight as long as I let her take me to some local beauty shop so that a friend of hers from high school could take a look at my hair. “Annette is magic with scissors, Holli, I swear,” she said. “If anyone can undo the mess that woman in New York left you with, it’s Annette.” I’d almost gotten used to my new, shorter style, but in the spirit of sisterly bonding, I said I’d give it a shot. Annette, Tina’s hairdresser friend, did three parts talking to one part cutting, although I had to admit my hair looked fantastic when she got through with me. Probably the best cut I’d ever had. She’d taken only a little hair off, but in just the right ways. I wanted to hug her.

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“Didn’t I tell you?” Tina stood back with her hands on her hips, regarding me. “Honey, you fly down here every couple of months,” Annette said. “And I’ll cut it for free. How ’bout that?” I stared at myself in the mirror and realized I might have to take her up on it. This is it, I thought. A slice of the ridiculous freedom that should dominate my life for five minutes before an onslaught of new responsibility. Hair appointments and outings with my sister, moments devoid of obligation. It was childish and cathartic. And not something that I could indulge for much longer. “I got a partial foil coming in here in just a few minutes,” Annette told Tina, but if you don’t mind working around that, I can fix you up before you leave.” “Would you?” Tina sounded genuinely thrilled. “My pleasure,” Annette said, brushing pieces of my hair from the front of her apron. “Do you mind, Holli?” Tina asked. “We’re having fun, and it won’t be that much longer.” “I’ll call Harrison and let him know what I’m doing,” I said. “He was going to lunch with Conner, and then he said he’d head back to check on Raine.” I walked outside for better reception and heard the call going through. Even so, the signal was weak. “Conner was in a pretty good mood at lunch,” Harrison said over the uneven connection. “But I don’t know if I trust it. He was sort of all over the place.” “What do you mean?” “It’s hard to say,” he stopped. I could almost see his expression as he carefully considered my question. Harrison took even casual inquiries seriously. “One minute, he’d be a little manic, talking about the baby. The next, he’d get emotional, wanting to know about the two of us when we had him. Then he’d talk about Kilian.

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He’s not sure what’s going on with the aunt and this sightseeing trip into Dallas. I couldn’t keep up with him.” “Did he go back to work?” I wanted to physically place him somewhere. Harrison’s descriptions had my son bouncing around like some untethered punchball. “Yeah,” Harrison said. “He told me he feels calmer at work than he does anywhere else, which from the looks of things, isn’t saying much. But he’ll be back for dinner.” “Is Raine okay?” “She’s fine,” he said. “I helped her with her tomato plants out back when I got home. She’s watching her soap opera now.” “Well, Tina wants to get a haircut, and then we’ll head back.” “Take your time,” he said. “I’ve got a decent dial-up connection on my laptop, and I’m just answering emails.” After we hung up, I thought again of how attentive he’d been since we flew down. I wondered if it could be trusted, or if it was situational. All bets were off when he got back to New York. “You look like your prom date just called you.” Tina raised her eyebrow and cut her eyes my way, as I walked back in. Her hair was freshly shampooed, but the other woman had arrived, and Annette had gone off to get her started. I sat down at an empty salon chair, resisted the urge to make it spin around and around like a carnival ride. “Don’t look at me that way,” I told her. “When it comes to Harrison, I promise, I’m not blind. I know what it’s like to live with him. Been there; done that.” “From the looks of you two,” she said, “I’d say you done that pretty recently.” My face went hot. Tina had some kind of radar when it came to sex. “Am I crazy?” I felt too tired to lie. “I went through hell leaving him. I can’t do that again.” “I’m not a good one to offer advice on men,” she said. “I’m a jerk magnet. That last boyfriend of mine was a real dick.”

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“The New Zealand guy?” “Yeah. Creeps cross entire continents—travel over oceans—to find me. As for Harrison,” she paused, shrugged her shoulders. “I love the guy. But I’ve never seen you lower than the six months before and after you divorced him. You really have the nerve to go there again?” She sat down in the chair next to mine, a towel around her shoulders to keep her hair from dripping on her shirt. “I don’t know,” I said. “What’s more, that problem ranks about third or fourth on the list at the moment.” “No kidding, big sister.” “Besides, part of me kind of likes being single.” “Is that right?” She appeared genuinely amused. “How many men have you dated—really dated—since your divorce?” “Three.” “How many have you slept with?” she asked. “None of your business.” “Okay,” she said, taking a different tack. “How many of them do you care if you ever see again?” I took a moment to tell her, but the answer was there immediately. “None. But I don’t mean I like being single because of the men. I like having my own space. Making decisions that affect no one but me. I do get lonely sometimes, but I remember feeling the same way when Harrison was two feet from me. I don’t have any answers at the moment. How about your post-New Zealand guy love life?” “Hello?” She grinned. “They don’t call it a dude ranch for nothin’.” “Do you ever want to get married?” I asked. She smiled, but it looked a little pensive to me. “Yeah,” she said. “Someday.” Annette called her over to get started. Tina shrugged her shoulders, touched my arm as she got up to let Miss Wonder Scissors do her thing.

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It was nearly five o’clock when Annette was finished with Tina. “I feel store-bought and brand-new,” she said as we rode by long stretches of nothing at all. After an uncharacteristic spell of silence, my sister said what must have been on her mind all afternoon. “Are you and Mama getting along?” I didn’t know how to answer the question. I wouldn’t have called it getting along. Maybe not fighting was the same thing. “She’s been good to Raine,” I said. “I have to respect that. Our old baggage is what it is. I can’t change it.” “Mama’s not all bad.” She looked younger with her hair styled and in place. Like someone playing dress-up. “I know, Tina, but you were there. You have to remember most of it. You had to sneak around to call me most of the time when you were little. And since when do sisters not get to live in the same house anyway? That’s hard for me to forget. You had to sneak out to call me on my wedding day. Jesus, Tina. You were supposed to be there with me, and she didn’t even let you call me.” “There’s more to that than you understand, Holl.” “So tell me.” She hesitated. “What?” I prompted. “The reason I missed your wedding,” she said. “It was my fault, not Mama’s. I mean, it made perfect sense for you to assume she did that. I’m not trying to defend the way she treated you. But that one, she doesn’t deserve.” “What happened? She said she took you to Florida because your Grandaddy Jones had a stroke.” “He did.” “And?” “Mama had planned to leave in time. The day before we were supposed to drive, she was with him at the hospital. But he was

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better.” She stopped again. “I stayed at the house, while she took Grandmama to see him.” She looked out the window, closed her lips like she’d always done when she didn’t really want to confess something. “Spit it out, Tina.” “Grandaddy had his bourbon out at the little house in back,” she said. “I was with Uncle Jules, you know, my aunt’s husband.” “The one who got his hand shot off?” I asked. “Yeah, him,” she said. “He was a weird guy.” He always struck me as somebody who could easily play the psycho in a horror movie.” “Poor bastard,” she said. “How fucked up would you act if you were known as the Guy Who Got His Hand Blown Off?” “Okay,” I said, “I’m sorry.” “Anyway,” she said, “Jules said he wished he had a goddam drink. He’s a nice guy, Holli, just pissed as hell at the world. I told him Grandaddy had bourbon in the back house, and I took him out there.” She bit her bottom lip. “He took one bottle with him, and I stayed. I was fucking stupid, Holli. I wanted to know what it felt like to be drunk. I’d smoked cigarettes and fooled around with guys. But most of my friends had at least tried beer, and I hadn’t done anything like that so . . .” “So?” I prompted again when she halted. “So I drank. A lot, I guess. I didn’t have a clue about how much I should or shouldn’t drink. I ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. Thank God Jules put it together when Mama got home and they couldn’t find me. I don’t know how long I’d been passed out. I could’ve died.” “Jesus Christ, Tina.” A few things suddenly made sense. “I always wondered why you never drink liquor.” “The smell of it makes me sick to my stomach.” I thought of my wedding day. Her phone call. She’d sounded

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like she’d been crying, but her voice had been hoarse from something else entirely. “For God’s sake, why didn’t you tell me before?” I looked ahead at the road. For the first time, I felt real anger directed at my sister. “Mama told me not to,” she said. “She told me you’d blame her, and we didn’t have to tell you any different. She said it was water off a duck’s back because you hated her anyway. One more thing wouldn’t make much difference. Don’t get me wrong. She was mad as hell about it. Grounded me within an inch of whatever puking sick life I had left after it was over. But she said she hadn’t been all that good to you over the years. I think she thought that was something she could do to . . . I don’t know, to make up for some stuff.” Georgia had been right about one thing. I never once thought it could have been Tina’s fault. “I wanted to wear that bridesmaid dress more than anything in the world,” she said. I looked over. She had tears on her face. “Stupid . . . stupid,” she was talking to herself. “God, I was embarrassed. And so sad about missing the wedding. That was the worst punishment I could have had. I didn’t want you mad at me, Holli. It was your wedding day. It still ranks as the single dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Do you hate me?” “I don’t hate you,” I said. “I’m a little . . . a lot, pissed at you, though. Why are you telling me now?” Part of me didn’t even want to know. I’d had too much history rewritten for a lifetime in less than twenty-four hours. And that didn’t even count all the shit with Conner. “If you and Mama are getting along,” she said, “even a little bit . . .” She had a hopeful look, entirely unlike my feisty little sister. “I never realized that you wanted that for us,” I said.

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“It wasn’t worth wanting,” she told me. “It’s crazy to wish for things that can’t fucking happen. And I wouldn’t have asked you to let it happen. I know how she treated you. But . . .” She stopped there. I understood. If it was already happening—if Georgia and I had made the first steps toward each other—Tina wanted to help. Telling me was her way of helping. “I’m not asking you to forgive Mama, Holli,” she said. “But I love you and Mama. Sometimes I get tired of jumping from one side back to the other, just to love you both.” The discussion had run out of anywhere to go. We both sensed it. Tina reached over and turned on the radio. A jazz station she said she liked. I didn’t know she liked jazz—a lack of insight that in no way could be blamed on Georgia. It was a new sensation for me—any sort of generosity toward my stepmother. I tried it on for size as we made our way back to Raine’s. We turned in at Grandma Raine’s, and I saw all the cars. Raine’s Ford was parked in a different spot than before. Beside it was Conner’s truck and a tan compact—a Toyota of some sort—which I took to be Maureen’s rental car. Tina and I went in the kitchen door and saw Harrison sitting at the table with Maureen and Raine. No one was smiling. “Who died?” Tina asked, putting her large pocketbook on the table and looking around. Maureen looked down and Raine reached over and put a hand on her arm. Harrison shot me an anguished look that told me Tina’s question was all too close to home. “Where’s Conner?” I asked, feeling my pulse racing through my whole body. “And Kilian?” “They’re at the trailer talking,” Harrison said. “Apparent-

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ly, Kilian had an appointment this afternoon. She didn’t tell anyone about it. She didn’t even tell Maureen until they were there.” “Where?” I asked, but the truth of what had happened was already coming clear to me. “Maureen, what happened?” “He can tell you.” Her eyes were red. She’d obviously been crying, was threatening to start again. “Harrison?” I was still standing, couldn’t bring myself to sit down. Tina stood beside me. The smell of hairspray dominated the room, and I thought how silly we’d been, off getting fixed up while Kilian was somewhere else, changing our world. “I haven’t talked to Kilian,” Harrison said. “She came in and wanted to speak to Conner alone so they went to the trailer. But she told Maureen on the way there from the airport that she’d thought more about the doctors’ discussions of the risk. She said she’d decided to . . .” He stopped. His voice was catching. “I guess she changed her mind about having the baby.” “You can’t just walk in and get that done,” I said. I couldn’t even say the word abortion. “Don’t you have to go through counseling or something?” “The doctors had been through all the options with her on several occasions, I guess.” Maureen finally found her voice. “At the hospital. She said she’d changed her mind and she needed to do it while I was with her. She didn’t talk to Conner. I was coming in, and she didn’t want to put Conner through going with her. She thought it would be too hard on him. She didn’t even tell me any of it until I was in the car.” My face felt numb, my cheeks and all around my mouth. I felt paralyzed momentarily, like some inert substance. Present, but unwilling to react to anything around me. “Conner,” I said. “This is going to tear him up.”

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Harrison stood up and walked over to me. He pulled me close. As I felt tears on my face, I saw Raine sitting across the table from where Harrison had been. She was shaking her head, breathing hard as she stared at something she held in her fingers. Rings. My mother’s rings. She’d found them, after all.

Conner

Kilian had thrown up twice while she was trying to tell him, which didn’t make sense. She hadn’t even thrown up when she had the baby inside her. Weren’t women supposed to throw up when they were pregnant? Maybe it was the fierce emotions making her sick. Maybe the drugs they gave her for the procedure. He tried to reason it all out while she talked. He wanted to concentrate on something technical, something that could be explained with facts. “It would have been even more awful if I’d told you before,” she said. “I couldn’t stand to even think about it too long myself. I didn’t want to put you through that.” “You should have talked to me, Kil.” But maybe she was right. What could he have said? Risk your life? Do this anyway? But he’d thought she wanted to. He was so sure. She’d had her mind made up before she even told him about the baby. Now she’d settled it the other way—again, without telling him. “I could have at least been there for you.” Tears were all over his face, and he didn’t even care. Fuck it. If you couldn’t cry when you’d lost a baby, then you could never cry. A kind of panic rose in him. Oddly enough, he’d had nearly the same feelings when she’d told him she was pregnant. A full circle that had brought him around all over again.

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For the first time, he wished he’d never met Kilian. Then he looked at her and felt shitty for even thinking it. But he realized that for the first time, the bad in their relationship had caught up with the good. He never thought that would happen. Even when she was so sick, all he wanted to do was love her, protect her. Now he didn’t know how to feel. He’d thought about keeping her safe, had never once worried about the baby. He felt responsible somehow, then told himself it was really fucked up to feel guilty. Nothing he felt had any logic and he knew it, but he couldn’t make the thoughts go away. He wanted more than anything to just make them stop. “I know you probably hate me,” she said. “I can’t hate you,” he said. “But I don’t know what to think. How could you change your mind . . . I mean, a full one-eighty, and never say anything to me?” She had no explanation to offer. She looked at him clearly, but with sad eyes. Her sleeveless tan dress looked impossibly big on her. She’d bought it with him on the way home from the hospital when they stopped at Target. She told him she needed something to grow into as the baby got bigger. That had only been one day before. She had been counting on a baby less than twenty-four hours before. How did everything change so fast? He looked at her, sitting on the bed—their bed—her pale skin washed out even more by the white sheets that framed her, and for the first time, the actual ordeal of her procedure occurred to him. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked. “You know, after . . .” “I’ve been better,” she said. “But I’m okay. Just tired.” Then she added, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to make things right again. The way we were going seemed like too much—for everybody. I didn’t know what else to do.” Right again? What did that mean? Did she really think it was

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right to leave him trailing behind, picking up the mess after every decision she made all by herself? What the fuck was right about that? “I’m going to get my stuff together,” she said. “I’ll go with Maureen to a hotel, then figure out how to get back up north with her. See if I can get on her flight without paying a fortune.” She waited for him to respond, and the silence became a presence in the room with them. She’d just said she was leaving, and he couldn’t make himself argue with her. She went back to collecting her things, and he realized that she didn’t have much. The equipment she used to keep her lungs clear made up the bulk of it. A few clothes and shoes. She traveled light. Maybe he should have known this was temporary for her. In a way, he realized she saw everything as temporary. Even life. Underneath it all, he was angry and he knew it, but he couldn’t fully allow it. She was fragile and sick, and no one in their right mind would blame her for not risking everything. But she’d decided to take those chances; she’d convinced him that the baby was worth it, worth the complete commitment of his life, as well. He’d believed her. He’d asked her to marry him. “Listen,” she said finally, “I’m not expecting you to forgive me.” “I don’t know what to feel,” he said honestly. “I wouldn’t have blamed you or tried to stop you, but . . .” “I understand,” she said. “But I really think it was better like this. I don’t know what’s right or wrong. I may never know. I do love you, Conner. And that’s true.” She said his whole name. She almost never did that. It was always either “cowboy” or “Conn.” He didn’t know what it meant that she called him Conner. Maybe she was already putting as much distance between them as possible. In the absence of understanding her, he was left to decipher clues to answer his questions. “When did you decide to do this?” he asked.

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She stood up and came next to him. “When I saw you asleep last night. It was the first time in a week or two that I’d seen your face relaxed,” she said. He didn’t know if that was supposed to be her answer, but it made no more sense than anything else. “Will you look around the trailer for any of my stuff? I’m going to start packing.” “You don’t have to leave, Kil,” he said, suddenly realizing that she really meant to be gone. It was hard sometimes to separate Kilian’s intentions from her drama. “We can work through this. Try to sort it out and see where we are with each other.” “That would just be a longer way of breaking up,” she said. “And harder. This is the last time I get to decide something that hurts you,” she said, tears finally coming out of her eyes. “I don’t want to do that anymore.” He believed her. Either she was that good at lying or she meant it. It did hurt. He felt it physically across his chest, in his gut. He put his arms around her, and she let him. They stayed pressed against each other until the moment fully came and went—until it seemed that they were hanging on to nothing—and then Conner pulled back, feeling lost and bordering on foolish. He went to look for her things in the other rooms, listened to her putting the various pieces of her life into enough order so that she could leave him. And he wished he had it in him to really tell her to stay, to insist that she try. Instead, he gathered the books and hair elastics, the CDs and the flip-flops, and he took them in to her. He handed them over like something he might barter in exchange for things he couldn’t name.

Holli

Harrison, Tina, and I watched them come out of the trailer, both carrying suitcases and large boxes of things, equipment of some sort that I realized she must need for her lungs. I suddenly felt what Conner had expressed all along—a protective instinct that made me want to keep Kilian safe. The tough exterior that she maintained kept everyone from seeing how broken she was at times underneath, both physically and emotionally. She was a walking contradiction. Fierce and fragile, always at odds with herself. My lack of anger toward her made me wonder if part of me might have wanted this outcome all along. Not the grandmother waiting deep inside my bone and blood, the one already anticipating a fully realized child. But the more-present mother in me who knew what that child would mean for Conner. That long walk between the trailer and Raine’s seemed too much for them to travel alone under the circumstances. Harrison must have sensed it too, because he said, “I’m going to help them carry some stuff.” It didn’t seem surprising at all that she had decided to leave. “I’ll go get Maureen, tell her that they’ve come out,” Tina said. Nothing about Kilian made it sensible for her to have a baby, considering the risks to her and all the unknowns for the child.

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But I was sad beyond words. My initial shock at the news of her pregnancy had calmed, and where those feelings had lived, I found the image of a child. A baby like Conner had been. Someone who was part of Conner. I couldn’t imagine that little person would never be. Kilian let Harrison take the boxes from her. He and Conner went toward Maureen’s rental car. Best I could tell, they weren’t talking. Kilian came to me, set her remaining suitcase on the ground. “You’ve talked to Maureen?” she asked. “Yeah,” I nodded. “She filled us in on things.” Kilian bit her bottom lip, her mouth turned down at the corners. “I thought this was the best way, but . . .” She stopped. Her words had taken on a manic quality, the strain of what she’d been through evident in her voice, her eyes, her small shaking hands. “Kilian,” I said, struggling, “I know this was hard for you.” “I just couldn’t . . .” she said quietly, letting the sentence trail. Then she added, her mouth fully down like a toddler in the midst of utter misery. I pushed strands of hair from her face, let my hand rest on her neck for a moment. I could feel her pulse moving fast just underneath the skin. “I couldn’t hurt him anymore,” she said, finally. She said it like words written on a page, and I wondered what was going on inside her head. It seemed unthinkable that it would end right there. All the questions and decisions made and remade over the last days came down to a few minutes of saying goodbye in the yard. It seemed there was nothing left to talk about, but Kilian stood there, making no move toward Maureen’s car. “Are you going to be okay?” I asked. She shook her head. “Not really. Not for awhile.” For the first time, I thought I understood exactly how she felt. I

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ached for the baby that was lost to us. Sometimes, it seemed as if I’d spent most of my life aching for lost babies. And even though Kilian had made a choice, she must have felt that undeniable absence. “You did what you felt you had to do.” She nodded. She seemed overwhelmed, began pulling with one hand the fingers of the other. “Kilian, you need to settle down.” I wanted to put her out of whatever anguish she felt, but my resources had fallen pretty low. “I’m just sorry,” she said. “That’s something you have to know. That’s the truth.” As flawed as everything about the moment seemed to be, I felt as close to her as I thought possible. “Do you want to go inside?” I asked. “We could talk. I can listen if you need to just get some things out.” For a second, I thought she might say yes, that she needed an emotional confidant, and, as unlikely a choice as I was to fill that role, it made as much sense as anything else. But she finally shook her head. “I can’t,” she said. “Everything will get worse—even more complicated—if I stay longer. I’ll just go with Maureen now. We’ll get to a hotel for the night, then sort out how to get back up north.” “Listen, Kilian . . .” I began without any real idea of what I needed to tell her. “The brunt of what’s happened today won’t hit you right away. I lost a child once. It’s going to be hard. You’ve got my numbers. Call anytime.” “Thanks,” she said, tossing away my offer with a dismissive shrug. A naïve response to something unbearably large. Her flippant tone made her a young girl again. Maybe that was best. It was possible that she now had that option once more. Harrison had taken the rest of her bags, and when everything was loaded and ready, we all moved away to give Conner time to say goodbye. I don’t know what they said to each other before she got in the car to go with her aunt, but I do know that I haven’t

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seen Conner sob so openly since he was five. In two days time, he’d come to embrace the notion of being in a life with her and a child. I didn’t know how long it would take for him to stop mourning. I wondered if we ever completely stopped mourning the ones we had lost.

Conner

Conner stood in the driveway, legs heavy as steel. He physically hurt, a shocking pain that went through the ribs on his right side and down through his belly. He wondered if what had happened could cause literal pain, or if he had appendicitis or something. Maureen’s car was still in sight. In all the movies, the guy would come to his senses at about that moment, when the car could still be seen, and would take off running, an adrenaline-fueled act of will. But he couldn’t see his way clear to take a breath, much less move. The pain shot lower in his gut. His body threatened to buckle at the knees. “Conn.” Harrison stood next to him, kept a steady hand on his arm. He thought he heard another voice, a woman’s voice. A comforting sound, somehow. He turned to see if his mother was there, but she was still standing near the house. The voice, he realized, might have been no more than a thought. The sharp stabs throughout his body’s core had eased enough so that he could stand straight. “Conn,” his dad said. “Let’s go inside. Okay, buddy?” His arm itched. Mosquitoes were out. He wished they would bite him more, but he didn’t know why. What the fuck was that about? He thought that he would like to be in a fight. He hadn’t had a physical brawl with anyone since middle school, but at that

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moment, he wished someone would just beat the shit out of him. That was even more fucked up than the mosquitoes, and it scared him a little. He made his mind go somewhere else. He focused on the road, the dust that Kilian had left before her car went out of sight. “Conner?” His mother’s voice now. “Come on, honey. Daddy’s right. Let’s go inside.” He knew he should go with them, but he couldn’t seem to move. He had no idea what would come next—if there even was a next. It seemed like the end of everything.

Holli

Conner shut down after Kilian left. At first, he looked as if he might get some of it out. He began scratching oddly at his shoulders and arms. He looked possessed. Harrison went to him and, after a few minutes, I followed, both of us clueless as to how to comfort him. Finally, he went still, simply stared out toward the road where Kilian had been and then, was not. “Hey, son,” Harrison said gently for the second time, “let’s go back inside, okay?” Conner nodded in agreement but still didn’t take his eyes off the road. I touched his arm as lightly as I could manage, urged him with my hand against his shoulder to move toward Raine’s house. Tina and Raine were in the kitchen. Tina smoked, which she never did inside the house—but no one asked her to put it out. Conner stood in front of her and held out his hand. She gave him the cigarette, and he took a drag and handed it back. “Conner.” It was Raine talking. Her tone commanded our attention. “You’ve had the kind of hurt that, at first, is more than a body can stand.” Her words landed solid and practical. “The only way through it is to look at the next few minutes, not even the next few days. You understand?” She sounded clear and with absolute authority.

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“Yes, ma’am,” he said, responding to her with an eagerness that surprised me. “You think you might be able to rest?” she asked, hands on her hips as she stood facing him. She was taking over in ways that Harrison and I obviously could not manage. “I don’t know.” Conner shook his head, looked around the room as if the answer could be found somewhere in sight. “I’m tired, but I don’t know if I can sleep. My mind, everything really, feels so wound up.” “Hollyanne?” She turned to me. “Sugar, do you have anything in your suitcase, any kind of medicine, that’s good for calming somebody down? Your boy could use a little, if you do.” I looked at my grandmother, stunned. She was right. I had Ativan with me. But how did she know to ask about what medicines I carried? She’d never kept more than aspirin and antacids in the house her entire life, and here she was asking about anxiety drugs? Even with her current troubles, my grandmother held resources for comfort that left me in awe. “I have something that might settle your nerves, Conner. Do you think that would help?” I asked. He nodded. His eyes had a cloudy, swimmy quality. I would have sworn he was already on something, if I didn’t know so well what pain looked like in a person’s face. “You give him that,” Raine said, “and then we’ll see if he can rest.” Tina watched the exchange, clearly amazed. Her cigarette had burned to ashes in her hand has she held it over a tea saucer she was using as an ashtray. She looked at me and raised her eyebrows as if asking a question. I didn’t have any answers. I motioned for her to go back to my room with me. “What the hell was that?” she asked, “I’ve never seen Raine like that.” She watched as I rummaged through my toilet kit for the pill bottle.

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“That’s the woman who saved my life,” I said, finding the right bottle. “Now she’s taking on my son with all his problems.” I was glad I’d talked with Georgia. I would go to the ends of the earth to do the right things for Raine. My grandmother deserved that, and more. “Sometimes, I think a crisis brings all of her faculties—her strength—into focus, “ I said. I remembered Conner talking about the day Kilian got sick, how Raine took over getting the EMTs to the trailer. “Come on to the back here,” I heard Raine telling Conner, leading him down the hall. “Wash up a little and your mama will bring you something. Let’s see if you can rest.” After a while, he did finally sleep. Tina had gone back to Georgia’s. Harrison, Raine, and I sat vigil beside Raine’s large bed. It’s a wonder that Conner could relax at all with all of us surrounding him, but no one offered to leave. After he fell asleep, we still didn’t move for a while. I watched him, thought of all the nights I’d sat by his bed when he’d been a kid. He would never do that for the child he’d made with Kilian. I thought of my first little sister, my own second child . . . There was another to join them, I supposed. Harrison went out of the room first, then Raine. Satisfied, at last, that Conner would sleep through the night, I got up to face my own demons, which at the very least—thank God for small blessings—would be easier than watching my son face his. Nothing’s ever gone. The thought came so clearly to me that I wondered if I, or someone else, had vocalized it. No one was in the hall outside the room where Conner slept and, I was fairly certain I hadn’t spoken. Although in my state of mind, I wouldn’t have sworn to anything. I could hear Harrison talking with Tina in the kitchen, but I didn’t feel up to joining them. I went into my old room. The darkness seemed so comforting as I walked in, that I didn’t turn on the

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light. I sat on the bed, thinking that maybe I could just lie down and sleep if I tried. Perhaps it could be that simple. As I moved my hand over the chenille pattern of my bedspread, I felt something soft. A mound of material. I picked it up, running the worn cloth through my fingers. The old flannel was unmistakable to me, even in the dark. I put it to my face. Shampoo, Jergen’s lotion, and baby powder. The smell—the amalgam of her—could not still exist after decades of her absence. But it did. Or maybe the memory was just that powerful. In spite of the gut-wrenching events of the evening, I felt a momentary rush of happiness. Unfiltered, childhood happiness. It was there and gone in an instant, but the contentment of it lingered. “Nothing is ever gone.” This time it was my voice, as I mumbled in absolute disbelief at the robe’s unlikely appearance. I felt my heartbeat from shoulder to shoulder through my chest, more rapid with every second, and when Raine walked in and switched on the lamp by the door, the brightness jolted me as if the light itself carried current. “Hollyanne!” she said. “For heaven’s sake, you startled me.” I looked at her, searching for the cool, competent woman that had handled Conner with such ease. Instead, Raine seemed shaken, back to someone who needed my care. I felt the robe in my hands. Tears came to my eyes as the lime green color blurred to a pool. “Where did you find this?” I asked her. She shook her head. “I haven’t seen that thing since you were little,” she said. “Where’d you get it?” I looked at my grandmother. “It was just here.” Maybe Georgia had kept it all along and returned it as a gesture of good will. Maybe there was no real explanation. “Grandma Raine?” I began, not really knowing what I planned to say. “Thank you for helping Conner. You were wonderful, calming him down. Calming all of us down.”

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“Sometimes,” she said, “I feel so sure of what I need to do, and as strong as I was as a girl. It’s like a gift handed to me. That’s the only way I can explain it.” She walked over and touched the robe I held in my hands. Alicia’s earlier talk of faith seemed all too relevant. Faith and love coming together, she’d said. No one can explain the alchemy of spirit those elements conjure. I motioned for her to sit beside me on the bed. I leaned into her slight frame, the same way I had on the night men landed on the moon. Again, both of us needed comfort, for reasons so similar and yet so different. Sitting on the bed, we cried, and together held the robe that still smelled of my mother.

Kilian—Boston, November 2008

Kilian listened to Anna play make-believe as she made “pies” in the sandbox. It was Anna’s birthday and Kilian was keeping the little girl outside while the woman who had adopted her (Kilian still couldn’t bring herself to say “Anna’s mother,” but that’s what she was, of course) decorated inside the house for the party. “What does the moon look like?” Anna, bundled tight inside her winter jacket, asked her imaginary friend. She slapped the sand down flat into a tin pie pan and kept her gaze on the invisible friend sitting directly across. “That’s very interesting,” Anna said, nodding her head. Kilian walked over and sat on the dry grass beside the sandbox. “So what does the moon look like?” she asked. “Cheese?” Anna laughed. “No. She says the moon looks like a beach without water. But she says heaven has rain. The drops are warm like a bath.” The girl’s words startled Kilian. They didn’t sound at all like the imagination of a five-year-old. Then again, Anna often surprised her with pure, unfiltered insight. “Hey, guys,” Rebecca called out from the back door, “Why don’t you two walk down to see the ducks? Kil, the party won’t start for

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two hours, and Anna will be shot out of a cannon by then if she waits around here.” “What do you say, Anna-girl? The ducks?” Kilian helped her up, felt the scrape of Anna’s small, sandy hands against her fingers. “Yeah!” Anna said, marching across the brown grass that had gone dormant until spring. “I have a secret,” Anna said. They stood beside the pond where fallen leaves floated in the gentle wake of the ducks. “What’s that?” Kilian asked. She watched birds draw together around an old lady throwing rice or something out of a bag. “Is it a good secret?” “I’m going to get a baby brother,” Anna said. “Really?” Kilian wondered if Rebecca had looked into adopting another baby. She didn’t know how she felt about that. When Rebecca had agreed to adopt Anna, Kilian had thought of her as an only child. Maybe a sibling would be a good thing. “Did your mommy tell you that?” “No,” Anna said. “My friend who told me about the moon said so. Will you babysit my baby brother, too?” “Will I get cooties?” Kilian asked. “Nooooo . . .” Anna grinned. “Cooties aren’t real.” Then her expression suddenly changed, turned troubled. “Kilian?” “Yeah, Anna-girl?” “Do you think you’ll be an angel someday?” The question was far removed from the child’s earlier, whimsical tone. “Did somebody tell you that, sweetheart?” Kilian kept her voice light. She didn’t want Anna to see how much the question rattled her. She felt her hands trembling so she put them in the pockets of her jacket. “Anna-girl?” Anna shrugged and ran off toward the group of pigeons, still picking at the remains of the grains the old lady had left behind. Birds scattered as she ran through their gathering.

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Kilian followed quickly to keep up, coughed as she became winded in the cold air. As she reached the girl, she slowed and took in a hard, shallow breath. Picking up pieces of rice, Anna threw them again to watch the birds scramble. She looked up at Kilian and smiled. “If I was an angel,” Kilian said, sitting on the bench near the girl, “I would be your guardian angel.” “You have clouds coming out of your mouth,” Anna said, smiling again. “I think clouds in the sky happen when all the angels breathe.” Kilian made a decision. It had been something she knew she would have to do, eventually. Rebecca knew it too. Had agreed, in fact, before the decisions about adoption had been final. Tomorrow or the next day, sometime in the week ahead, she would go to New York. She would find Conner. She became aware once again of the overwhelming love she felt for Anna. Love like that was stronger than lungs and skin and heart. Love like that would outlast time.

Holli

Harrison slept over at my house, something that he rarely does. In the five years since that surreal few days at Raine’s house, he’d been at my place overnight maybe four times. The last time he’d stayed, eight months before, I’d just gotten the news that Raine died. Georgia called and told us, her voice shaking, barely able to say the words. Georgia said that Raine had complained a little of indigestion the night before, but nothing terrible. She died in her sleep, with Georgia just down the hall. I never would have expected Georgia’s presence to comfort me, but it did. Otherwise, Raine would’ve been alone. No one should die alone. And she died in her own home. With Georgia’s help, I’d been able to honor my promise. Harrison and I do stay together often. It’s just that I’m usually at his place in the city. He got a new, slightly larger, apartment a few years before. As for making accommodations for him at my house—I bought a bigger couch. “What passes for breakfast in this kitchen?” Harrison asked, rooting through the pantry. “Oatmeal,” I said. “It’s good for your cholesterol.” “I’m sure grass is probably good for my health, too,” he said, “but I don’t eat it. I want eggs.”

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I looked out the window, down toward the village. “You know where the market is.” I’d gotten better at that. Not taking on the martyr’s role in the relationship, sacrificing myself for the good of breakfast. In his defense, he simply went passive about the maintenance of life, and someone else usually took over. He didn’t really expect me to cater to his passivity. It took a divorce for me to figure out silent resentment didn’t get either of us what we wanted. “I’ll be back in ten,” he said, pulling on his jacket and boots. In five years, we’d also figured out that we were better people being a couple, but a better couple living apart. A small amount of icy snow from a few days before left slick patches on the road and trail. I watched him go toward the village, amazed that we were together and in love after such a haphazard, improbable reconciliation in Texas. I started a second pot of coffee and settled down to check my email. Several work projects had come all at once. The most interesting (and least substantive) project involved coordinating PR for an ensemble that substituted sports equipment for instruments to make their music. Harrison said it was a new low for me. “I’m selling it as a novelty act. That’s not a lie.” That was my story, and I was sticking to it. I had gotten deep into the cyber rant of one of the tonal experts of the group when a phone call provided blessed interruption to my task. “Holli?” It took a few seconds to place the young woman’s voice, and when I did, it took me another second or two to respond. “Hi, Kilian,” I managed, finally. “How are you?” “Well, I’m just down the street from you,” she said. “I think I’m probably near your house, but I don’t know exactly where you live. I was in the city . . .” she stopped, as if trying to fashion a better explanation for dropping in on me unannounced. “I need to talk to you,” she said.

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“Where are you, exactly?” I asked. “I’m standing in front of a little grocery store.” “Harrison is actually inside at the moment,” I said. “Why don’t you wait at the door and walk back up the hill with him?” “Okay,” she said. Then after a few more awkward seconds she added, “I’ll be there in a few minutes then.” I hung up the phone and dialed Harrison. Better to warn him, so that he was ready for the ambush after checkout at the market. But as the dialtone began, I heard his phone ring in the bedroom. Sorry then, darling. You’re on your own. I went to the window. Looking through the trees, I could make out the form of a young woman down the hill, standing just outside the grocery. It was hard to tell if she’d changed in five years. Then again, the biggest changes in all of us after our ordeal were the least visible ones. I saw them coming up the hill long before they reached the house. My heart rate hit double-time as I waited. What the hell did she want? I hoped it was something simple. Money or help finding a specialist in New York if her condition had gotten worse. Something like that. Something that didn’t involve my son. As they reached the front walkway, Harrison looked as if he’d emerged from electroshock treatment. His still-longish hair was blown askew by the wind, and his face carried the startled look of someone who’s reached his threshold of whatever he’s just endured. “Look who was waiting for me,” he said, with attempts at a jovial tone. “Kilian called me, but you didn’t have your cell phone with you,” I said by way of apology. He knew this, of course, but it seemed important to fill the room with chatter. “So you two are . . .” Kilian looked at us, then around the room. “Not married,” I said. “But together.”

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“Partners, I’m told, is the new term,” Harrison chimed in, making us sound very Greenwich Village. “Cool,” she said without comment. She wore a large parka and looked small inside it. It looked like a man’s jacket, and I wondered if she had someone in her life. I took the coat from her. “Come on in the kitchen,” I said. Without her coat, she looked nearly the same. She’d moved from her late teens to her early twenties since I’d last seen her, but if someone had told me she was sixteen, I wouldn’t have been surprised. She was one of those people that would suddenly go from looking impossibly young to looking forty when she wasn’t yet. I had this thought, and then remembered that she might never reach forty. “Do you want some eggs?” I said, taking the grocery bag from a mute Harrison. “Just coffee if you have some,” she said. “I had a bagel about an hour ago, and I’m still full.” Harrison took the coat from me and went off toward the bedroom while I got busy in the kitchen. I talked over my shoulder, trying to sound casual. “How are you feeling these days?” I asked, hoping to cut to the issue of her health, if that was her reason for coming to see me. “Have you been well?” “Overall,” she said. “A few problems here and there, but most of them not as bad as the one in Texas.” “And you’re in Boston still?” I looked back at her and she nodded. I felt lost, reduced to an awkward Q&A in an attempt to sort out her intentions. I handed her a cup of coffee as Harrison came back into the room. We all sat down at the table with our mugs, and after a small silence, I finally spoke up. “Are you in some sort of trouble, Kilian? Do you need help?”

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Harrison settled back in his chair, the creaking sound of the wood filled the room momentarily. “I went to find Conner first,” she said, and my stomach dropped. “I wanted to talk with him and . . .” she gestured with her hands, as if signs rather than words could get her thoughts across the table. “Did you talk to him?” Harrison asked. She shook her head. “I chickened out.” Again, her hands went into motion. The small stubby fingers had the same childlike quality that I remembered. “I saw him going into his apartment and a really, really pregnant girl—woman, I guess—was with him. His wife?” This time, I nodded. “Jana,” I said. “They’ve been married for about a year and a half.” “I saw them,” she said, “from across the street. He was laughing. He looked good. Happy.” “He is,” I said. “He’s getting as much work as he can handle.” I paused then added, “He designs the lighting for performances. You knew that, right?” She nodded. “I was curious, so I looked him up online. He’s busy.” “He gets a lot of downtown work. A few better paying jobs on Broadway. The baby . . .” I stopped. It was hard to see Kilian sitting at my table and even say the word baby. “Jana’s due in a few weeks.” She sat silent for a few seconds. I didn’t know what else to say. Did she just want to check in with us after all the time that had passed, or was there something more urgent? Some reason? “Kilian,” I said, “I’ll help you if there’s anything . . .” “I need to tell you something.” She stopped me midsentence. “I’ve known that I would tell you someday, and I meant to do it before, but I just didn’t. Then this week, I don’t know, I realized that it needs to be now. I was going to talk to Conner, but . . . The pregnant wife and all . . . I freaked out. I knew you were here.”

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She looked at me, then over at Harrison. “I’m glad you’re here, too.” “What’s wrong, Kilian?” Harrison said gently. She offered him a weak smile. “I’ve been doing okay, but with CF, as you get older, you start to wonder . . .” she said, then stopped, as if she hadn’t planned out what to say after this disturbing pronouncement. “But you said your health had been fine,” I said. “I know,” she said. “It’s just that I need to make sure I do this in time—in the right way.” Harrison leaned forward. The two of us flanked her on either side. We waited. With Kilian, I remembered, it always came down to her particular timing. “I lied to you,” she said. “All those years ago.” For a moment, I was afraid that was all we were going to get from her. I lied. You fill in the rest. But she continued. “In Texas. That last day with Maureen.” Her hands were shaking. In fact, her entire body trembled. I put my hand on her arm, hoping to calm her, but she pulled away. So again, I waited. “I went with Maureen from the airport that day, and I planned to have the abortion,” she said. “But I didn’t. The doctors wouldn’t, actually. So soon after I’d been sick. I planned to do it when I got to Boston, but . . .” She was still talking, giving some explanation of her words, but I couldn’t hear her. A small shiver vibrated on the surface of my skin as my heartbeat built to something I feared my body could not contain. “ . . . wrong of me, I know,” she was saying. It didn’t matter. But I didn’t. The only words that I could hold in my thoughts. A whooshing sound, my blood going through the veins in my neck, in my head. But I didn’t. I looked at Harrison. Wetness filled his eyes. He’d lived with it, too. The sadness of something—no, someone—lost to us. But I didn’t.

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“Where is the baby?” I interrupted whatever it was she was saying. “Kilian, what happened?” She took in a shallow breath—an effort, I saw. The telling of her story was hard on her. For a moment, I braced myself to hear the unthinkable. That the baby we’d suddenly found again, was lost after all. “Her name is Anna,” she said. “Her whole name is Holly Anne Lassiter, but she’s called Anna.” Tears openly fell from my eyes at the sound of my name. Harrison looked away from us—to keep himself together, I imagined. One of us needed to, but it wouldn’t be me. The unfamiliar last name stopped me. “Lassiter? Did you marry?” Harrison asked. “Lassiter is the name of her adopted mother,” she explained. “Rebecca owns a gallery in Boston. She was—is—my boss. She hired me when I was still pregnant to keep the books at the gallery while I went to school at Tufts. After I had Anna, I kept her for a few months. I tried . . .” She looked from me to Harrison and then back. “I really wanted to be her mother, but, I don’t know . . . I sucked at it and I was kind of falling apart. Crying a lot, and not able to sleep. Then I got sick and Rebecca had both of us—me and Anna—come stay with her. After a while, I moved out, but Anna stayed. It was the right thing to do.” Kilian, who had been so reluctant to begin, could suddenly not slow down. Her words came out fast, and I struggled to hear every syllable, every word about my grandchild, the girl who had my name. “Rebecca owns a brownstone. Really nice place. And she has lots of help there. I work as Anna’s nanny, and some at the gallery still. Anna loved Rebecca from the very beginning, sensed how maternal she was. I was never enough like a mom. I couldn’t even buy the idea myself. How was this little kid supposed to believe I was her mother? Rebecca offered to adopt her. She wanted a kid—

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had thought about having one by herself.” Then she did stop. Her breathing came fast. She’d worn herself out with all the sentences. But it wasn’t enough for me. “Is she . . . Is little Anna . . . okay?” I asked. “She doesn’t have CF,” Kilian said. I could see that she was overwrought and emotional, but still she wasn’t crying. I didn’t know how she managed. “I never thought she’d be sick,” Kilian said. “I knew somehow she’d be okay. Even before I knew she was she.” I wanted to ask her everything, but no single question would form in my thoughts. There were too many questions. And then I thought of Conner. His life was going to be flipped upside down— again. And Jana. Just weeks away from her own child’s birth. “Do you hate me?” Kilian asked. I didn’t answer right away, and Harrison didn’t either. It wasn’t that the answer was in question. I didn’t hate Kilian. I couldn’t. I was angry with her, but grateful, too. I didn’t know what to do with all of my conflicted emotions. “You gave birth to my grandchild,” I said. “It was a risk and you did it anyway. I don’t understand the lies, Kilian. Keeping it from Conner for so long. You don’t have the right to play with people like that, but . . . I don’t hate you. You had her. You made a life for her. And you’re here now. That all counts for something.” What I didn’t say was that leaving Conner had allowed him to find a normal life for himself. But we all knew it. I was left flailing about in the middle ground between anger and gratitude. “Tell us about her,” Harrison said. “She’s five now . . .” I heard this and caught my breath. Of course, she would be. “She has an imaginary friend, and you’re going to think I’m totally crazy,” she said, “but I think it might be your mother.” She laughed like she was kidding, but I wasn’t so sure.

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A normal person, a sane person would have dismissed the idea. But I looked at Harrison and I knew that even his scientific mind would not reject what Kilian said, any more than I would. “So let’s see,” Kilian continued. “She’s sure she’s going to have a baby brother, and she believes in angels. She has a yellow cat named Rocket.” I listened to her and thought of this imaginary friend of my granddaughter. I knew what Kilian could not have known. That Conner’s wife was having a boy. “Does Anna’s adopted mother know you’re here?” Harrison asked, keeping his contributions practical. Kilian nodded. “I’ve been honest with her about everything.” She smiled but still looked so sad. “What does she expect will happen?” Harrison asked. Kilian shrugged. It was a response I remember so clearly from my few days with her in Texas. She’d had to defend herself against life for as long as she’d lived. The mother in me wanted to protect her, but as Conner’s mother, I wanted to strangle her. “It’s a real question, Kilian,” I tried to sound kind. “Where is this supposed to go from here?” “It depends on what Conner wants,” she said. “I think Rebecca would fight him if he wanted sole custody. That would rip Anna to shreds. But Becca’s willing to give him any open privileges he wants. Even joint custody, if he asks for it. She’s kept me in her life. She’s a really good person—both of you have to understand that. Conner has to understand. She hired me when I was a pregnant girl enrolled in college. She adopted Anna, even though it was complicated as hell.” “You and Rebecca,” I began, not knowing quite how to ask, “are you two . . . ?” “Lesbians?” She laughed. Giggled almost, and it broke the tension for me. “No. God, no,” she said. “I mean, if I switched to that

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team, Becca would be the love of my life, I guess. But no, it’s men for me. Always has been. For her, too. But she doesn’t go out that much.” “So you haven’t made any plans for what happens after we drop this in Conner’s lap?” Harrison was the serious one again. She shook her head. “The arrangement sort of happened,” she said. “Rebecca legally adopted Anna. Beyond that, we’ve always taken it one day at a time. It’s just that the days have turned into years now, and Anna’s a real person. Not just a baby.” I thought of Conner, of his apartment in the Village with the tiny room set aside for the baby Jacob. And Jana. How would she handle this? “I think we need to wait a little longer to tell Conner,” I said, panic rising in my chest. “Holl,” Harrison broke in. “He’s been in the dark for too long already.” He looked at Kilian. “I’m not making judgments. You did what you did. But he deserves to know. He deserved to know five years ago.” “But think of what he and Jana have going on now, Harrison,” I said. “A new baby flips your life on its end for a while. We should give them time to adjust to one child before we tell them about Anna. Conner can’t handle this, too. Not at the same time.” Kilian looked from one of us to the other. What did she want? How much consideration did she really deserve? She had lied to all of us. Kept Anna away for five years. Then again, what would our lives look like now if she hadn’t? “What do you want to do, Kilian?” I said. It was, after all, between her and Conner. It always had been. “I need to talk with him,” she said. “I need to see Conner and tell him he has a daughter.”

Conner

“You should probably talk to her,” Jana said. She sat in the small nook of the apartment that looked out onto the street. The lady who rented the place out had described the spot as the “dining area.” Jana’s belly took up more than half the space carved out by the small bay window. “I’m not thrilled with the whole thing, but your mother said that you need to see her. Your dad, too, for that matter. They must have some reason. I think we have to listen to that.” Conner looked at his wife. He met her a few months after leaving Texas, when he’d been just shy of suicidal. He was living in his mom’s apartment, had gone through the motions of enrolling at NYU. Then Jana appeared. First his friend, then more. She’d been majoring in theater at the time, but her whole being suggested far less drama than he’d ever had with Kilian. “Conner?” She shifted in the small wooden chair. It took effort for her to move at all. She looked fucking miserable. “Don’t go catatonic on me.” Her tone was light. “This is just one conversation. Go have it with her, send her back to Boston, and we’ll go on with our lives. Much as I hate to think of you in a room with that woman, it’s better than wondering what the hell she wants. If you don’t talk to her now, it’ll come back to bite us in the ass later.” “I guess.” He looked out the side window, down to an alley be-

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low. The sun on the sidewalk made it look warmer than it really was outside. They’d been fortunate to get a corner apartment for about the same rent as all the others. But then, he’d been lucky since the day he met Jana. It bothered him that the thought of Kilian still pulled at him, even a little. She’d been fragile and he’d been strong. At least for a while. “I love you,” he said, walking over to where Jana sat. “I know,” she said, smiling. “And that’s why we’ve got to go ahead with this meeting, or whatever it is. For years—ever since I met you—we’ve both known that Kilian was out there; that she could pop up at any minute, like the scary thing you dread in a horror movie. Getting this over with will make that go away.” He’d like to think she was right. But somehow he had a different feeling about seeing Kilian again. Something deep in his gut made him afraid, and he couldn’t explain it to Jana or to himself. A nagging intuition told him that whatever Kilian wanted, it would mark the beginning of something, rather than the end.

Holli

A secret becomes a hard presence over time—a weapon we must choose to lay down. Unlike other problems that soften and blur with time and tolerance, a secret will not resolve without the telling. Kilian kept her daughter a secret. Maybe she had genuinely wanted to free Conner, or maybe she decided the life they planned would never suit her. Regardless, her decision had brought us all to where we were, and all hell was going to rain down soon because of it. “Conner’s home,” Harrison said, coming back into the kitchen after calling our son. “Do you think you’re up to seeing him now?” Kilian sucked air into her fragile lungs. “Okay,” she said, nodding. “What did you tell him?” “I told him that you needed to talk to him,” Harrison told her. “And I told him that both his mom and I felt it was important that he do it today.” I thought of my own secret. The one I inherited. Raine’s passing had left me the sole caretaker of my mother’s final hours. As I cleared our cups, taking them from the table to the sink, I realized I didn’t want to hold on to secrets anymore. I no longer wanted to hurt Georgia. I decided that soon it would be time for me to make a long overdue call.

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Telling Georgia would release us both. And it would give Tina what I’d come to realize she’d always wanted—the freedom to love her mother and her sister without standing in between, trying to keep the peace. I should have done it years ago for my sister, if not for myself. At least now would be better than never. Harrison offered to drive Kilian into the city. I said I’d come along, too. We would drop her at a coffee shop where Conner waited and then we’d go back to stay with Jana until he was done. This would be difficult. We had temporary custody of knowledge that would rock her entire world, just weeks before her own baby arrived. We rode without talking. Harrison kept his eye on the road and I looked out the window. Kilian, in back, had her words to sort out. I wanted to give her space to choose wisely. It would be difficult for me and for Harrison once we reached Jana. We knew why Kilian wanted to talk with Conner, and yet it wasn’t our place to tell her. Kilian’s secret felt like something solid, tangible. And I thought again that I wanted to be done with all deceptions, every single one. I would not love my stepmother. I couldn’t. Raine loved her at the end, and I found this remarkable. But almost as remarkable was the realization that I was no longer angry with her. This lack of anger, not unlike the sudden absence of pain, brought with it a kind of exhilaration, an unbidden release. This nearly giddy sense ran at odds with the knowledge of all the shit that would soon hit the fan from every direction at my son’s apartment. The drive to Conner’s neighborhood seemed all too short. “Wish me luck,” Kilian said as she got out of the car. I could see Conner through the window of the coffee shop. He sat, his elbows on the table, forehead resting on the heel of his hands. I wanted to rush in and be with him through the conversation. Sit at a nearby table and swoop in when he needed me. But I stayed tight inside the car beside Harrison and watched Kilian

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go inside alone. We drove away before she reached him. As hard as it was, this was better than seeing the look on his face when he saw her. “What do we say to Jana?” Harrison asked, looking for a parking spot. “I guess we tell her that Conner will have to talk to her when he gets back. Secrets have specific ownership, and this one belongs to Conner and Kilian.” As we drove slowly, looking for a place to leave the car, I imagined Anna—my little namesake—making a visit to these same streets. In all of the worry over what this news would mean, the one thing that I hadn’t allowed myself to feel was happiness at her very existence. “Harrison,” I said, “we have a granddaughter.” A slow smile came to his face. “I’ll be damned,” he said, his smile changing into a full-blown grin. “She’s alive,” he said, after a minute. “She’s alive,” I echoed. And up ahead, a parking spot presented itself like the miracle that it was.

Epilogue

Conner lifted Anna high so she could see the goats that clustered near the fence. Two months shy of six, Anna seemed to have grown four inches, just in the months that we had known her. The day was muggy, and with a patchy, overcast sky. In the distance, storm clouds approached, but the animals looked remarkably content in the mid-September heat. Thaxton would not see cooler weather until nearly November. So different from the worlds Anna knew in the Northeast. “Can I feed them sometime?” she asked Conner. “We’ll ask the people who own the place,” Conner answered, steadying her as she stood on a mid-rung of the fence. Old Mr. Gray who’d lived down the street from Raine for as long as I could remember had sold his property to a young couple that raised goats and alpaca. The livestock fascinated Anna. It was her first trip to Texas, her first trip traveling with Conner, Jana, and little Jacob. She was delighted by her baby brother. Jana, on the other hand, was having a hard time adjusting. For months, her moods had shifted from quiet to irritable. She was trying, I could tell, and my heart broke for her. Conner had felt nothing but joy at the news. As angry as he had a right to be with Kilian, he’d chosen to focus instead on the gift

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of Anna. The darkest stain on his soul had been removed. After a rocky start, Rebecca was as reasonable as Kilian promised she would be. She named Conner as Anna’s legal father and set up generous visitations between the two of them. Jana’s acceptance of the girl remained the only obstacle to harmony in Conner’s world. “I’m hungry,” Anna said, looking at me. “Come back to the house in fifteen minutes or so,” I said, turning to go back across the street. “I’ll have some lunch on the table by then.” “Me-ma?” Anna had called me that spontaneously. I liked it because it had no precedent, came from no one but her. “Can I have pie instead of a sandwich for lunch?” The child had somehow never had pie before we came into her life. It seemed inconceivable to me. Then again, Rebecca didn’t even let her have cereal with sugar in it. When she was with us, she couldn’t get enough sweets. Especially pie. Any flavor, it didn’t matter. “How about a little sandwich, then a little pie?” She nodded seriously, as if the deal had been struck in good faith. Then she turned back to the animals. “Holli,” Tina called from the kitchen door as I neared the house. “Your oven timer’s going off. Want me to check it?” “Sure,” I called back. “I’ve got sandwich rolls heating. Just turn it off.” Rebecca had phoned twice already since we’d arrived the night before. She was smart enough to call my cell without disrupting Anna’s trip. She said she knew it was important that Anna have time with her other family. I was often tempted to feel that Rebecca was the other. Initially, nothing had been easy in the woman’s adjustment to sharing her daughter. Kilian lived long enough to smooth the way. If she hadn’t, it would have been much harder.

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Kilian could have lived longer. She’d been doing well. A freak accident, a fire in her building had brought complications that, weeks later, led to her death. We thought she’d made it through, but nearly a month after the blaze, her lungs gave in to an infection she couldn’t fight. Maureen had reached me with the news four months before, during intermission at the theater. I was handling the press for a modern dance company from Finland. The call interrupted my conversation with a critic who’d just asked me exactly how many birds had died so that the lead dancer could wear a plume the size of a small lawn trailing from her backside. “Excuse me,” I said, glad to feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. “Holli? It’s Maureen.” I would have recognized her voice anyway. “I have some bad news.” “What’s happened?” “We lost Kilian,” she said. I knew she’d gone back into the hospital, but I thought she would be in and out, as she had been so many times before. I leaned against the wall of the theater lobby. Darin, the box office manager for the theater, came over, concerned. “Are you all right?” he asked. I shook my head. “Bad news,” I mouthed back. Maureen was going into far too much detail—the efforts made to save her, Kilian curled in bed, too weak to eat. I wished I’d been there to be the mother that she always wanted. I pointed toward the bar and Darin nodded, returned moments later with water in one hand and red wine in the other. I took the wine. “Things were going so well for her,” Maureen said. “She and the boyfriend were even talking about marriage. She was so happy. I guess that’s a good thing, but it makes it harder too.” “How’s Anna?” I asked. “Torn up,” she said. “Torn to pieces over it.”

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She had to be, I realized. Anna hadn’t known Kilian as her mother, but she understood what love was. And Kilian loved her more than anything. “But she was happy,” I offered. “That’s something to hold on to. Is there anything I can do to help?” “She’ll be buried at my church here,” Maureen said. “She went to that big church in Boston where Rebecca takes Anna. We’ll have the funeral at the chapel there, but they don’t have a cemetery, so I thought I’d put her beside her mom and dad. You think that’s the right thing to do?” I was still propped up by the wall. The dark red of the lobby bled into the people standing around me. “I think that’s exactly the right thing, Maureen.” I was surprised Kilian hadn’t made plans herself where she wanted to be buried. Maybe her fascination with her own demise had diminished after she built a new life in Boston. That made me feel a little better. “It’s just the right thing,” I said again. “The boyfriend blames himself,” Maureen said. “He thinks he should have gotten her out of the smoke faster than he did at the time of the fire. But no one could have. He barely kept from passing out himself while he carried her.” Jake was the boyfriend. I’d met him once. He looked a little like Conner. Kilian told me he was irreverent and kind. “I’ll let you go,” Maureen said. “I just thought you’d want to know.” “I appreciate the call,” I said again. “I know it hasn’t been easy for you.” I didn’t know if I meant the funeral arrangements, or Kilian in general. It didn’t matter, I guess. “You’ve always been kind to me and to Kilian,” she said. “She thought a lot of you.” After she was off the phone, I remained shaken, unsteady. I stayed near the wall until I could be reasonably sure my balance would hold.

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The critic I’d excused myself from earlier made his way back toward me. He looked none too cheerful about going back in for round two of the Finns. “So you never answered me,” he said. “Were those entire birds she was wearing on her ass?” “I was assured no fowl were harmed in the making of the dance,” I said, trying to steer my thoughts away from Kilian, but it was impossible. The ornate setting of the lobby suddenly looked to me like a funeral home viewing room remembered from childhood. It seemed an appropriately surreal backdrop for news of Kilian. She always created a little drama wherever she went. The lights were flashing to signal the end of intermission. “Terrible night to forget my cyanide pills,” the critic moaned. I handed him a voucher for a drink at the lobby bar. “You’ve got time, if you hurry,” I said. “I’m on deadline,” he said. “It can only help.” I would have physically fought anyone who’d tried to take my drink away at that moment. The critic took the voucher and headed off toward the bar. I got Darin’s attention before he headed back inside. “I hate to do this to you, but I’ve got to leave. I’m in no shape to sit through this.” “Who is?” he said. “These poor people.” He looked around the room. “They look like they’re going back to a funeral.” When he saw my face, he stopped joking. “I’m sorry. You’ve had bad news, and I’m running on about the show. What happened?” he asked. “Kilian,” I told him. “She took a bad turn.” He didn’t need to hear any more. He put his hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry.” He’d seen the picture in my wallet of the thin, beautiful girl standing with my granddaughter in front of one of the Swan Boats in Boston’s Public Garden.

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Two days later, Harrison, Conner, and I had gone to the funeral. Everyone but Jana. She was gracious in declining the trip, but it was no secret to any of us that she’d come to loathe Kilian’s name. I looked back across the road at Conner and Anna, still standing with the animals. Conner stared back, not toward Raine’s house, but beyond. Where the trailer had once been, there was only bare land. We’d sold the home he’d shared with Kilian, even before Raine died. It was, in fact, her idea. “Conner doesn’t need to look at that place every time he’s here,” she’d said in one of her clearer moments. But in a way, I thought he still did see it, in spite of our best efforts. Anna put her hand up to shade her eyes, looked out across the pasture to where a group of alpaca fed. Even in the months that I’d known her, she’d become less like a child and more like a young girl. She looked like Kilian—something no one brought up in front of Jana. My daughter-in-law had wrestled with multiple demons as she fought off both her resentment of Anna’s appearance in their lives, and run-of-the-mill baby blues. If she’d been a less stable person to begin with, we’d have all been sunk; but with love and a fair amount of pharmaceuticals, she’d come through the worst of it, we believed. Or at least, we hoped. Conner had looked absolutely ragged for the better part of a year. “Me-ma!” Anna squealed. “I touched it!” “Really?” I called back to her. “You’re a brave girl.” Conner smiled, lifted her down, and they walked together handin-hand. I could hear Georgia inside the kitchen, complaining that the stove needed some work. Since Raine’s death, Georgia had lived at her own house but had kept up Raine’s place for us, too. “I can make do until you decide what you want to do with it,” she’d offered. “It doesn’t take much to ride out and look after

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things. Besides, I like spending a little time out here anyway. It makes me feel close to old Raine.” In spite of myself, I felt grateful. I couldn’t think of selling it. Not yet. “You know,” she said to me the last time we saw her, “I think I miss your grandmother more than I did Ray when he died.” She must have realized how her words sounded because she qualified them with, “I loved Ray. I really did. But we made life hard for each other. It was the nature of things with our marriage. When I was with Raine, life was easier for both of us. Don’t that beat all?” I believed her. I’d seen it myself. After I’d told Georgia about the real cause of my mother’s death, I heard a sound on the other end of the phone line, and I realized she was crying. “No love has ever been lost between us, Hollyanne,” she said, “but you’ve earned my gratitude today. It’s purely the grace of God that’s brought us to this.” I remember mumbling some agreement, unable to really speak. I’d hung up feeling emptied-out, and not at all like I thought I would. But from then on, the two of us had some understanding of each other. A new respect. She’d been so relieved and so devoid of anger that I wished Raine had been the one to tell her, to feel her gratitude. “Just look at those two,” Tina said, coming outside to stand beside me. She watched Conner and Anna, lit a cigarette, and inhaled deeply. “I mean, it seems like Kilian spit out a mirror image of herself.” I knew we were both thinking the same thing—that the older I’d gotten as a child, the more I’d looked like my mother. The difficulty of that had made Georgia hard, and then mean. In the wake of the parallels, I was afraid for my granddaughter. Conner flew to Boston when he could, but he and Jana had Anna in New York one

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weekend a month for the time being, and for longer periods in the summer—enough to cause damage if the child felt rejected or set aside by my daughter-in-law. “Do you think that your mama might be willing to talk to Jana?” I asked Tina. She stood for a minute, looking out at Raine’s property, a place that had been in both of our lives forever. “It’d be hard for both of them,” she said. “Especially for Jana. She doesn’t like to talk about Kilian.” “But this is important,” I said, petitioning Tina because we both knew that she would do the asking. “Anna doesn’t deserve to be blamed for things she didn’t cause.” “Yeah,” she said. “I guess the two of us took the brunt of things, after the grown-ups in our lives fucked everything up. If Mama has some time to get used to the idea, she’ll agree. She’s wild about that little Anna.” “Will you ask her?” “Sure,” she said, “I always do what you want, don’t I?” She reached up and brushed my bangs out of my eyes. I stood with my sister on the stoop of my grandmother’s house, smelled new pies in the kitchen, baked by Georgia especially for Anna. Somewhere, down the hall, Jana played with little Jacob in the rooms where I had played, where my mother had played before that. Harrison, oblivious to it all, napped on the couch in the den. And finally, leaving the animals behind, Conner held tight to Anna’s hand as they crossed the road toward home. Taking all of this in, for the first time in my life, the future came into much clearer focus than the past. In the midafternoon, a blue patch of sky revealed a faint moon. Half full and thin as lace, it rose over us. I felt the wind pick up slightly, the summer storm riding toward

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us on the freshening gusts. Anna told me once that clouds in the sky happen when angels breathe, and as I looked at the approaching thunderheads, spirited and fierce in their gathering force, I couldn’t help but smile as it occurred to me that Kilian must be very near.

Acknowledgments

Writing is a private pursuit, but the publication of a book is anything but solitary. And with the exception of my dear family, no one lived this book with me longer and with more enthusiasm than my remarkable agent, Susan Ginsburg. She offered an editor’s eye on early drafts and then changed hats to agent extraordinaire when the time arrived. Once again Susan, endless gratitude for your belief in my work and for your friendship. In addition, a great deal of credit must go to Lyssa Keusch, my wonderful (new) editor. With a clear eye and a gentle hand, she moved this book in the right direction from the moment she took hold of the pages. Also, many thanks to Carrie Feron at HarperCollins for the many insights and to May Chen for all of the advice and hard work. I also could not have developed these particular characters without having experienced life as the mother of my children. Franklin, Gillian and Edward inform me about life in such interesting ways. And I especially want to thank Franklin for his early read of some of Conner’s sections. While the details of Franklin’s life are far removed from Conner’s problems (thank God!) he offered tremendous insight into the perspective of a twenty-year-old sorting out the transition into an adult world. Thanks, Buddy. Likewise, I never had a younger sister, but my own big sis, Joyce

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Ross, has been a selfless, loving presence in my life since the day I was born. Holli and Tina’s relationship was a rich and emotional writing experience for me because of you, my sister. Thank you. Thanks to Marc and Viviane Bauquet Farre, Holli had a home nestled on the Hudson. Thanks for the hospitality. Much appreciation to Dr. Bonnie Ramsey, for her advice on living with cystic fibrosis. Any mistakes I might have made are my own, but anything that rings true in Kilian’s world came from Bonnie’s patience with my endless questions. Her work with CF has improved the lives of countless patients and her advice to me on this subject made this a better book. As always, thanks to my early readers in Texas, the members of my writers group (each one, a delightful talent to read): Ian Pierce, Jeanne Skartsiaris, Mary Turner, Lou Tasciotti, Kathy Yank and Chris Smith. They have offered constant, unconditional support and valuable suggestions for every book I’ve undertaken in the last seven years, and this one is no exception. Thanks guys. Also gratitude goes to Rick Lange for a late-stage proofread. I have to thank Ellen Jacobs for providing a terrific role model when it came time to choose Holli’s career. (And also for a home in New York when I arrive jet-lagged, and for the exciting rides in the Mini-Cooper!) You’re one of a kind, Ellen. Diane Hammond and Lynn Saunders offered moral support at all the right times. Endless thanks. As always, the early steps toward my career as a published author could not have happened without the friendship and support of Colleen Murphy and Victoria Skurnick. You both remain the angels of my literary life. And even though repetition in writing must often be avoided, I have repeated myself once again and thank Hilda Lee for her early vision of what my life could become. Finally, my family must come first and last in all my attempts at gratitude, especially my wonderful husband who is a constant source of love and support. Rick and the kids put up with far too much so that these books arrive in print. I love you all.

About the Author JEAN REYNOLDS PAGE is the author of A Blessed Event and Accidental Happiness. She grew up in North Carolina and graduated with a degree in journalism from The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She worked as an arts publicist in New York City and for over a decade reviewed dance performances for numerous publications before turning full time to fiction in 2001. In addition to North Carolina and New York, she has lived in Boston and Dallas. She moved with her husband and three children to the Seattle area in 2002. Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

Also by Jean Reynolds Page Accidental Happiness A Blessed Event

Credits Designed by Elizabeth M. Glover

Copyright This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. THE SPACE BETWEEN BEFORE AND AFTER. Copyright © 2008 by Jean Reynolds Page. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. Adobe Acrobat eBook Reader April 2008 ISBN 978-0-06-165077-2 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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