But every time she leaves the table, every time her back is turned, their faces droop, their shoulders sag and they look like loan sharks tallying up debts. I think of Moroni, the way he praised your mother to the sky, then called her a witch behind her back. I think of what the man on the street told me, that first day in Happy Camp: We take bets. On how long you all will last.
I can understand why they don’t like her; she is a tough woman to like. But they also rely on her. There are not a lot of opportunities in Happy Camp. The surroundings are so beautiful that sometimes the poverty catches you off guard. Elodie and Geraldine wear the same dresses they wore to church. Sitting across from them, I can see that what I thought were patterns are actually the kind of sweat stains that never go away. The darkness of their hairlines comes from the dirt caked underneath. And even though Addy’s food tastes like fertilizer and is probably loaded with herbal remedies not approved by the FDA, they still eat all of it.
In a place like this, Addy is glamorous, a queen. And I wonder if that’s why she stays, even if she claims to hate it. The truth is, I can’t imagine her anyplace else.
All through dinner I prickle with the need to mention you. I try to think of ways to bring you into the conversation without drawing attention.
Your daughters are beautiful, Clementine. Addy, what about your daughter?
Homer, what was it like growing up here? What was it like growing up with your sister?
But instead I eat you mother’s food and feel light-headed in the fresh air. Whenever I’m asked a question, I say, Yes, yes, I love it here. Yes, I’m so lucky to be here. Yes, yes, yes until all I want is to run, run to the perimeter and cross it, cross it so I can breathe and see the forest and the trees.
The girls buzz around Jed, so enthusiastic that it exhausts me, makes me wonder if I ever had that much energy, and why I never used it for anything good. For his part, Jed is polite but distracted. Every time our eyes meet over the table, it feels like an accident.
“I better get back.” He pushes out his chair, and everyone at the table moves at once, like he has broken the spell.
“I made dessert,” Addy says. Everyone looks from Addy to Jed.
“It is getting late,” I say, which your mother doesn’t like.
Jed gets unsteadily to his feet, like it is physically difficult to leave her table. “Thank you for dinner.”
“You’ll stay for dessert, or you’ll be rude.” The table is quiet. I think oddly of the gun at her hip, as if she will shoot him for leaving; that is how thickly her will is imposed on everything. It’s like she has brought a glass dome to the table and we are all trapped inside it and I think of what you said—It was the middle of nowhere, and I couldn’t escape—and I wonder if you meant from her, how you said, The Murder of Dee Dee Blanchard: I get that. I get that so much.
Jed and your mother lock eyes. I think she wants him to fight her. You said she liked strong people. I think she misses you. You were strong and now you’ve vanished and all that’s left, the only people for her to play with, are broken and lost.
Jed takes a deep breath and sinks back into his chair.
Your mother brings out brownies, which are her own special recipe. “The secret,” she informs us, “is the hot sauce.” She pours it over each brownie as she serves it, so hot that the brownies collapse, leaving gaping holes. And the chorus begins.
There is nothing like overpraising food for turning it to mud in your mouth.
* * *
—
Dinner finishes and Jed escapes, stalking along the main path to the other side of the ranch. Everyone watches him go. Your mother shakes her head. “That man is up to no good.” Elodie and Geraldine hurry in to placate her.
“Your dinner was amazing.”
“The dessert was top-notch.”
Clementine is taking the dishes back to the kitchen. I follow her, through the house with the glowing white Christ statue, the slick black piano. It’s quiet in the kitchen, a hollow where the echoes can collect. I want to ask her about you right then and there, but someone could come in at any moment, so I say, “Friday?”
She gasps at my voice, surprised that she is not alone. “Yes.” She smiles her useful smile. “Don’t worry about Addy. I’ll work it out with her.”
I glance toward the living room. My words gather in my throat, then all run out almost at once. “I wanted to tell you something; it’s about Rachel.”
She catches my eyes. “Not here,” she says, and I don’t know why. Her eyes are wide, and then she passes into the shadow of the hallway so I can’t read her face.
Homer appears suddenly, coming from outside, and moves in beside her. “There you are.” He is so casually handsome, like the lead in a Hallmark movie, and he slides his arms around her waist, kisses the tendon on her neck.
“Sorry,” she says to him. “Just trying to help your mother.” She takes his hand and presses it, like she’s ensuring their connection, and then she moves on to the kitchen, leaving him with me.
“Well, hello,” he says like we haven’t been sitting across from each other for the past hour. He leans easily on the counter, crosses his arms. “We really enjoyed you at church.” Church people say the weirdest things.
“Um, yeah, it was really interesting.”
“We don’t have a lot of people in our congregation. We used to have more.” Like that might convince me to come back.
“It was really fun.” The more I say it, the less we both believe it.
“I hope you’ll come again.”
“Of course.” I have no intention of ever going again. I glance quickly, into the dark living room, then say, “Did Rachel go to church?”
“Rachel?” Like he’s trying to place her. “No.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yes.” He scratches his neck, like his mask itches. “Rachel and I were very different. I believe in forgiveness.” What wouldn’t you forgive? “I believe people can change.”
“That’s nice,” I say.
“I think so.”
We finish cleaning up, and your mother loads me down with leftovers, dry, papery food so dense, it feels like dumbbells in my hands. I pass through the group, saying goodbye. I feel the uncomfortable burr of loneliness, thinking about going back to the staff cabin, the stink and the stuffiness, when your mother’s house is so clean and cheerful.
I say goodbye to your mother, your father, your brother, your nieces, Elodie and Geraldine. Clementine is waiting by the door. She moves in to hug me, then tilts her head so she can speak into my ear. A thrill runs up my spine; I think she will finally tell me something important.