“No. I figured—look.” She didn’t want to think about that night, about the way Conor O’Kane had peered into the car, the words he’d said to her, or about the guilt she’d felt watching a dead man’s boots go out the door. “That’s the past. I want to focus on these next couple of months. I have to think about Dylan and Opal. And Sam. I never meant to hurt him.”
“Poor Sam! So, your father ... he was fine with ... with Wendy and all?”
“I wouldn’t say fine, but he said that there was nothing I could tell him that would make him stop loving me.”
Faye’s eyebrows twitched and flicked like she was having a complete and separate conversation in her head. “That’s always seemed so strange to me, when people say things like that. Of course, you could say something—or do something—that could change everything. Even dogs run away when they’re treated badly. Love is full of conditions.”
“I think he meant I didn’t need to keep anything about myself secret from him.”
“Well,” her mother said, a million miles away.
“Are we going to be okay, Mom? You and me?”
Her mother refocused, returned to their conversation. “Like you said, you’ve got a lot to deal with, the kids, Sam. With Wendy, I suppose. Your job. You’ll have to call Molly. She’ll be disappointed. You know she looks up to you.”
There was that word Maeve feared. Disappointed. She nearly doubled over. “Does she, Mom? Look up to me? I’m not so sure about that.” It occurred to her then. “Wait. Doyouhave conditions for loving me? Which is worse: That my marriage fell apart or that I was in bed with Wendy? Is it worse that I’m a cheater or that I’m a lesbian? You made it pretty clear a long time ago that I was an embarrassment to you. I’m sorry I’m not the daughter you thought I was.” If that hurt her mother, Maeve didn’t care. She was done pretending. She sat up straight, wished Wendy was there to hear her say the word, to own her feelings after all these years.
“Maeve! That’s not true. I have loved you every single day of your life. I will always love you. You are not an embarrassment. Not at all.”
She could not read her mother’s face, flushed now, her expression far away again like she was trying to remember the verses of a poem or the thing she’d forgotten from a long list. Finally, “I don’t understand why you would choose such a difficult path, is all.”
“Mom. I didn’tchoose. I want what you and Dad have—a happy life, children, the whole thing. As much as I have that with Sam, I hid this part of myself, evenfrommyself. I thought I could keep faking it. Then Sam found out, and it spilled all over the place into this mess.”
Her mother shook her head like she’d been swarmed by bees. “I can’t believe your father threw up his hands and accepted this.”
“Why are you so shocked by that? You don’t give him enough credit.”
“But you lied to us. I would have thought ...”
Maeve bit her tongue, remembering that it was her mother who told her to keep the part about Wendy a secret.It would break his heart, she’d said.There was no use trying to fix blame. This was simply the way it unfolded. “If I lied, I did it because I thought I had to. I was afraid you guys would hate me if you knew. I tried to be what I thoughtyouwanted me to be, Mom. The worst part is that I lied to myself. If I’d been honest from the start ... who knows?”
“Well, you wouldn’t have Dylan and Opal,” her mother snapped.
“That’s true,” Maeve said, dismissing her mother’s accusatory tone. “And as hard as that is to think about, I’m also glad I don’t have to keep pretending to be something I’m not.”
“We all do our best to not hurt people. I did my best to protect you, to protect this whole family, to keep you all safe. That’s all I’ve ever done. But no one is perfect.”
“I never said I was perfect, Mom.”
“And neither did I, Maeve. Neither did I.” Her mother leaned forward, arms extended, both hands open. Maeve accepted the gesture. “Honey, I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t enough for me. Jean, my mother, held me—” Faye’s voice faltered, and Maeve tightened her grip. “She held me apart from her. I would never want to do that to you or Molly. I swear.”
Her father came around the side of the house, his white shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, jeans and boots tired from wear and overuse. Still, the sun hit him in a way that for the briefest moment caught Maeve by surprise.
Tears welled in her mother’s eyes. She must have seen it, too, that halo. She let out a rough laugh and slapped her own knees, putting an end to the conversation. “You’re braver than I ever was, I’ll give you that,” she said before turning her attention to William, who lifted his shoulders, surrendering to the moment.
“Quite the bombshell, huh?” he said.
This can’t be it, Maeve thought. No screaming, no cursing. She wasn’t disowned or told to stay away from the house, the family. “So,” she said. “What’s next?”
“I don’t know about the two of you,” her father said. “But I sure could use a beer. Anyone else?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
1992: Washington, DC
The cabbie left Molly’s suitcase on the curb in front of a house with faded peace flags blowing on the porch, concrete pagodas in the yard, happy Buddhas plopped among ferns. Molly sucked the last breath of cinnamon out of a spent piece of gum then spat it into the gutter. She hoped the girl Brenda was home, hoped that she wouldn’t have to stay in some cheap hotel or the Y. The place gave off hippie vibes, and the word “ashram” popped into Molly’s head. She briefly considered the possibility that it was some kind of religious cult or sex cult. It would be just her luck. If Brenda let her stay, this would be the fifth place she’d lived since she’d dropped out two years before.
She’d spent her last weekend at college getting drunk with that guy Chris, having sex in the top bunk of a double while his roommate slept below them. Shelby was pissed at her for bailing, but after—no. She hated even thinking about it. She’d called home and asked her dad to come get her. So, the first place was back home. The dreaded farmhouse.
