As if on cue, Nola Wren, still in her strawberry swimsuit, climbed into William’s lap and leaned sleepily into his chest, her hand drifting up to stroke the ruddy stubble.
“How much time do we have?” Maeve asked, slumping into her chair.
“Before she gets here? She said she’d be here Friday night, if that’s what you mean.”
Maeve stood, pulled a dozing Nola Wren from William’s arms. “I need to get her out of this swimsuit and put her down for a nap. And for your information, I meant how much time do I have left to spend with this child who I have raised and loved. Molly will take her away from all of us. Maybe not Friday but soon. It’s only a matter of time now. The clock’s ticking. You better get used to the idea.”
After bath and story time, Maeve and Wendy tucked in Nola Wren, snuggled her tight with her favorite stuffed bear. Maeve rubbed her back while Wendy sang a lullaby, her voice husky and off-key. Maeve could not grasp how it was possible she could lose something so dear. “I’m going to check the locks,” Maeve said. Downstairs, Maeve peered through the glass panes on the new front door, half expecting to see her sister on the other side. She unbolted and bolted the lock again, then went to the kitchen to do the same at the back door, though she knew there was no lock that could keep her family safe now.
Later, Maeve sat up in bed, a novel propped on her knees. She couldn’t concentrate. And she felt like a jerk. She wanted Molly to be happy, but why did her happiness have to come at Maeve’s expense? Hadn’t she sacrificed enough to hold this family together? To give Nola Wren the stability Molly couldn’t? The kids were doing well, looking forward to school starting. They had friends, stayed out of trouble for the most part. At thirteen, Dylan was as laid back as his namesakeBob. Like Sam, he was not easily fazed and, thankfully, not high strung like she was. Opal was hotheaded and too smart for her own good. Both kids were agile and confident, beautifully coordinated, outdoorsy, though neither was interested in basketball nor any organized sports, regardless of how hard she and Wendy tried to nudge them.
And now Nola Wren. Maeve’s lips moved as the fight she was having in her head with her sister seeped out.
Wendy came into the bedroom, slipped off her pajama bottoms, and slid in next to Maeve, wearing only a T-shirt and underwear. “Your book’s upside down.”
Maeve startled, checked the cover. It wasn’t. She pushed Wendy playfully, set the book on her side table. She tsked. How could this be happening? Nola Wren belonged to Maeve and Wendy. They had raised her, made a home for her. They were there when she took her first steps, when she said “Mom-ah” and “Mom-e.” They’d gotten her through ear infections, croup. They’d bought the baby seats and the strollers while Molly was off doing whatever it was that she was doing. She’d had more sympathy early on, when Wendy figured that Molly’s postpartum depression must have been severe, well beyond the “baby blues” that the moms’ groups at her OB-GYN practice discussed. Surely she got over it, Maeve reasoned. Surely if she wanted to be Nola Wren’s mother, she would have found her way back.
“I was thinking about the kids,” Maeve said.
“I know. Me too.” Wendy scooted down, turned on her side toward Maeve, who scooted and matched her there. “I’m really sad,” Wendy said.
Maeve drew her into an embrace. “Me too, honey. Me too.”
After Wendy fell asleep, Maeve tiptoed out of their bedroom. She rattled the gate at the top of the stairs to make sure it was secure, then peeked into the girls’ room. The ocean-themed nightlight spun mermaids and dolphins and seashells along navy blue walls. They’d flipped all the rooms around, moved Dylan out of the big room into the smaller one so that Opal could share with Nola Wren. The kids fussed a little, fought a little. But theywere the ones who took apart the crib. They were the ones who put the toddler bed together. Dylan, reminding Maeve of her father, shrugged it all off. “No big deal. There’s room for all of us.” Sam had shocked them with a rare joke about the fact that they would indeed need to paint Dylan’s bedroom after all. While she watched Nola Wren sleep—legs and arms splayed like a sea star, ruby lips tapping together, popping invisible bubbles—Maeve tried to imagine a life without her, the shoes she wouldn’t buy, the scrapes she wouldn’t kiss and make better. She had already played out Nola Wren’s first day of kindergarten, how she and Wendy would walk into the school proudly, how they would each hold her hand and explain that Nola Wren had two moms. But this beautiful child actually had three moms, and only one could determine her fate. And Maeve couldn’t be that mom, no matter how much she wanted to be.
The next day, after Sam returned from the camping trip with the kids, they sat around the big table at the farmhouse. Opal, eight years old now, picked up Nola Wren and held her on her lap. “No one is taking my sister away from me,” she said defiantly.
Faye let out of gust of air, pushed back from the table, and huffed into the kitchen.
“Mom,” Maeve said. “You can’t walk away. We have to talk this through.”
A voice from the kitchen. “Give me a second, Maeve.”
“Let your mother get squared away,” William said. “And, sweetie?” he said to Opal. “This is going to be a tough one. The last thing we need is another fight on our hands. You’re going to have to trust us that we’re all thinking about what’s best for Nola Wren.”
Faye returned, wiping her eyes.
“Mom? You okay?”
“Fine. I’m fine.”
Maeve looked around the table. Sam and the kids were grungy from camping and reeked of wood smoke and insect repellent. Dylan laid his arm on the table, rested his head there. Sam put his hand along the back of Dylan’s chair. Opal sat next to Dylan, holding Nola Wren, who dropped a spoon into William’s shirt pocket. Faye had her hand on top of William’s. Wendy was next to Faye, turned slightly in her favor, her back toward Maeve but her chair scooted close. Maeve’s instinct was to close the circle, make everyone hold hands or link arms to form a coven or tribe or wagon circle. But they weren’t being raided. Molly was coming home, and that had to be a good thing. They would make room for her, but where would she fit in?
Wendy nudged her. Maeve realized she’d been staring at them all, lost in thought.
“It’s going to be okay,” her mother said, reading her mind. The pain in her voice was so pronounced, everyone turned. “If Molly’s coming home, it’s because she’s trying to forgive herself. And we have to find it in ourselves to forgive her too. After that, we’ll have to see.”
“Are we done talking now?” Dylan droned, lifting the mood. “Seriously. I wanna go home and take a shower. I stink.”
“You do,” said Sam.
“You should talk.”
“Okay,” said Maeve. “So, we’re agreed.”
“Yeah, no one freak out when Aunt Molly gets here,” said Opal. Nola Wren squirted out of her arms and ran around to Wendy.
“We have to get her home. We done?”
