This was the great paradox of my mother. If Shay had been a member of the congregation, she would’ve embraced every one of her rough edges and abrupt endings. She would’ve admired Shay’s willingness to try again—and again and again. And she’d marvel in the woman my wife had become. She’d celebrate Shay.
But my mother couldn’t extend that grace when it came to anyone who passed beyond the arm’s length of the congregation and into the circle of her family. And that circle was rife with judgment and straitjacket structure and expectations that had never made a whole hell of a lot of sense.
“Shay is a teacher,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “She’s teaching at Hope Elementary this year. Second grade. They love her there.”
I love her here.
And for fuck’s sake, my wife wasn’t a stray pup from the wrong side of the tracks. It’d always bothered me when my mother eyed Shay like she was a cautionary tale on legs. Aside from the fact Shay’s mother was a household name, the only portion of Shay’s life not spent in a cashmere bubble was the time spent in this town.
“That’s good to hear.” She cleared her throat again. Talking for this long was difficult for her. We’d need to wrap this up soon. She couldn’t spend all her energy for the day on a phone call. “I would’ve traveled there for a wedding, you know.”
“I know.” If I kept walking, I’d hit the old stone wall separating the orchard from Twin Tulip. Maybe I could throw rocks for an hour or two. That was a highly reliable way to process emotions. I wouldn’t be able to feel my arm tomorrow but I didn’t need both of them every day. “We wanted something small.”
“I’m just one person, Noah. You can have a small wedding and still invite your only living parent.”
I was in no mood to point out that she never went anywhere without my aunt and at least a half dozen people who fell into the mixed bag of friends, distant relatives, and people she met along the way and swept into her de facto flock.
“We did what felt right for us,” I said.
She sniffed. “I’ll have to live with that.”
That comment brought a rueful smile to my face. Unlike my sister, rebellion wasn’t my drug of choice. I found that subversive compliance worked much better for me. I was going to do whatever the hell I wanted but I’d make it look like I was toeing the line. Or better yet, I’d toe the line so hard I’d prove why the line was a fucked-up notion to begin with.
But this—marrying thetroubled girland refusing to apologize for doing it our way—went down with the salty satisfaction of pure, clear-eyed rebellion.
“Well. I have a team preparing Eva’s appeal,” I said, rounding a short row of Pink Lady apples. “I’ll take Gennie to visit her next month. Any interest in traveling for that?”
I didn’t have to ask to know the answer.
“That’s too much for me,” she replied. “It would take me a month to recover from a trip to apenitentiary, Noah.”
There was no grace for Eva. None whatsoever. There were moments when I debated whether she was deserving of grace. She’d pulled that trigger. She’d killed that agent and wounded others. But she was still my sister. She was my mother’s daughter. If we couldn’t be the ones to love her through the worst, most impossible moments, what was the point of family? What was the point of any of it if we stopped giving a shit the minute those people fucked up?
“Right,” I murmured. “I’ll let you know when I get any news on the appeal.”
“It’s enough to know you’re working on it. The details stress me too much.” After a round of coughing, she added, “Look after my granddaughter. That’s all I need.”
“I hear you, Mom. That’s what I’m doing.”
“And extend my congratulations to your new wife. Let’s hope she’s a good influence for Imogen.” She sniffed. “Maybe you could bring her for a visit for the holiday season.”
I bent to grab an egg-shaped rock from under a Gala apple tree. I tossed it in the air once and let it thunk down into my palm. It was going to sound great splashing into the cove. “We’ll see about that.”
chaptertwenty-six
Noah
Students will be able to confess (almost) everything.
“Then Ella saidher baby brother takes baths in the kitchen sink! That is disgusting!” Gennie roared.
I met Shay’s gaze across the kitchen table as she gathered plates and silverware from dinner. I gave a single shake of my head and hoped she knew that meantdoes this story make any sense to you? Are babies really bathed in sinks?
“Is it disgusting because of the baby or disgusting because of the sink?” she asked.
Gennie scrunched up her face. “All of it.”
“What if you were bathed in the sink?” she asked.
