stop beating yourself up over that. As we say in the biz, your past doesn’t have to become your future. I find circumstances where kids have the best opportunity to thrive. Look at her. Tell me I made a mistake and I’ll take her away.”
Glory watched Juniper climb up the arena fence, leap off the highest rung, and run to the tire swing. Her hair was the color of a crow’s wing, flashing in the sunlight. Immediately the horses trotted to the other side of the corral in hopes more carrots would appear.
“That right there is a ten-year-old kid who turned forty overnight. Her heart is in smithereens. Her world is ugly. Do we just give up on her? Let her go astray because there’s too much wrong to cope with? I knew you’d say no outright if I told you who she was. And then you know what we’d have?”
“What?”
“Two separate unhappy people giving up instead of a pair of unhappy people working together toward whatever kind of life there is after so much sorrow. This is the gospel according to Caroline. Amen.”
Gospel, Glory thought. A story of good tidings, sometimes true, sometimes metaphoric. It was the perfect word for what Caroline did. She gave up her weekends, her social life, and even salon haircuts to help kids find a home.
Glory slipped the shears into her jacket pocket furious that Dan had used any of his last words on someone else. That he felt he had to arrange life for her after him, that somehow he thought she would fall apart if left to her own devices, made her livid. Smithereens were her way of life, too. “Caroline, I know your job involves client confidentiality, but you should have told me who Juniper was. Last night when I figured things out, I was pretty mad at you. And now? You and Dan talking like that about me? I’m even angrier.”
Caroline ran her fingers through her newly cut hair. It looked 100 percent better neck-length versus straggling unevenly over her shoulders. “You have every right to be, Glory. I behaved like a coward. I hope someday you’ll forgive me.” She started to stand up, but Glory pushed her back down.
“I will if you tell me everything. What else did Dan say?”
“Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“Do you really think I could answer no to that question and go on being your friend?”
“Wow, you are mad. Okay, he said he was afraid to die.”
“That can’t be true. He was so peaceful at the end. He told me he was looking forward to seeing his brother again, his dad, all his childhood horses. He believed in heaven.”
Caroline smiled gently. “He wasn’t scared because of what might or might not come next for him, he was scared to leave you.”
“Why?”
“Are you serious? You guys were joined at the hip. He was worried you wouldn’t have a reason to get up in the morning. That maybe you’d stop living your life. Suicide. He used that word.”
They had been joined at the hip, then so roughly wrenched apart it felt like being severed with a machete. Of course Glory wanted to stop living. She wanted to go with Dan. During her first week at Target, she stood at the register plotting ways to join him. She could adopt her animals out; let someone else do the rescuing for a change. Who cared if she sold the ranch? Dan’s mom was in assisted living, provided for; Glory could walk into the Pacific Ocean like that writer Virginia Woolf. Or she could move closer to Halle, get a little apartment, take computer classes, and remodel her personality to fit in with the world she’d lived apart from for twenty years. Find an office job. She could go to Halle’s parties and be that quirky single woman who made a great listener or could talk about alfalfa crops while everyone else was discussing the political situation in Korea, or haute couture. Start over or stop? She couldn’t make up her mind. Her mother had enough Social Security to cover her modest lifestyle. Halle had Bart and bucks out the kazoo. All Lorna had to do was throw a rock and
Glory watched Juniper climb up the arena fence, leap off the highest rung, and run to the tire swing. Her hair was the color of a crow’s wing, flashing in the sunlight. Immediately the horses trotted to the other side of the corral in hopes more carrots would appear.
“That right there is a ten-year-old kid who turned forty overnight. Her heart is in smithereens. Her world is ugly. Do we just give up on her? Let her go astray because there’s too much wrong to cope with? I knew you’d say no outright if I told you who she was. And then you know what we’d have?”
“What?”
“Two separate unhappy people giving up instead of a pair of unhappy people working together toward whatever kind of life there is after so much sorrow. This is the gospel according to Caroline. Amen.”
Gospel, Glory thought. A story of good tidings, sometimes true, sometimes metaphoric. It was the perfect word for what Caroline did. She gave up her weekends, her social life, and even salon haircuts to help kids find a home.
Glory slipped the shears into her jacket pocket furious that Dan had used any of his last words on someone else. That he felt he had to arrange life for her after him, that somehow he thought she would fall apart if left to her own devices, made her livid. Smithereens were her way of life, too. “Caroline, I know your job involves client confidentiality, but you should have told me who Juniper was. Last night when I figured things out, I was pretty mad at you. And now? You and Dan talking like that about me? I’m even angrier.”
Caroline ran her fingers through her newly cut hair. It looked 100 percent better neck-length versus straggling unevenly over her shoulders. “You have every right to be, Glory. I behaved like a coward. I hope someday you’ll forgive me.” She started to stand up, but Glory pushed her back down.
“I will if you tell me everything. What else did Dan say?”
“Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“Do you really think I could answer no to that question and go on being your friend?”
“Wow, you are mad. Okay, he said he was afraid to die.”
“That can’t be true. He was so peaceful at the end. He told me he was looking forward to seeing his brother again, his dad, all his childhood horses. He believed in heaven.”
Caroline smiled gently. “He wasn’t scared because of what might or might not come next for him, he was scared to leave you.”
“Why?”
“Are you serious? You guys were joined at the hip. He was worried you wouldn’t have a reason to get up in the morning. That maybe you’d stop living your life. Suicide. He used that word.”
They had been joined at the hip, then so roughly wrenched apart it felt like being severed with a machete. Of course Glory wanted to stop living. She wanted to go with Dan. During her first week at Target, she stood at the register plotting ways to join him. She could adopt her animals out; let someone else do the rescuing for a change. Who cared if she sold the ranch? Dan’s mom was in assisted living, provided for; Glory could walk into the Pacific Ocean like that writer Virginia Woolf. Or she could move closer to Halle, get a little apartment, take computer classes, and remodel her personality to fit in with the world she’d lived apart from for twenty years. Find an office job. She could go to Halle’s parties and be that quirky single woman who made a great listener or could talk about alfalfa crops while everyone else was discussing the political situation in Korea, or haute couture. Start over or stop? She couldn’t make up her mind. Her mother had enough Social Security to cover her modest lifestyle. Halle had Bart and bucks out the kazoo. All Lorna had to do was throw a rock and
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