That Grams had Nettie the way she should have—as her granddaughter when I married her.
A thought took place in my head.
Another bump against my hand, as if the baby inside of Nettie, my own flesh and blood, agreed with my subconscious’s plan.
Why not marry Nettie for real? Why not give this baby legitimacy? Why not give my grams everything that she ever wanted for me—Nettie and a baby, happy.
“What are y’all over there whispering about?” Denver asked, causing the entire table to focus on us.
Luckily my hand was shielded by the table.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want my club to know about the baby.
I wouldn’t mind it.
But I wanted to keep it to myself for a while.
I wanted to just focus on us before I brought the rest of the world into it.
Nettie seemed to be of the same frame of mind because she said, “Grams.”
Denver’s face fell.
Eleven
It’s not my fault you thought I was normal. That’s on you.
—Nettie to Boone
Nettie
Grams.
The woman who’d literally been the only positive female role model for me.
When I’d met her when I was fourteen, we’d been walking down the sidewalk in front of the grocery store together.
The day I’d met her had also been the first time that I’d met Boone.
“What is your hurry, young man?”
I looked up to find an old woman staring at me.
I’d had my hoodie up over my head, and I was walking like the hounds of hell were on my heels.
Why?
Because I’d skipped church.
My father was going to beat the shit out of me.
I just knew it.
But I couldn’t be in that place with those people and pretend that everything was okay.
Here was the thing.
Some of them probably were—my father’s congregation.
