Taft by Ann Patchett Page B

in front of me and lit up like a Christmas tree. I could see everything, every part of her was bright, the blue cloth of her shirt that showed at the neck where her jacket was open, her hands, her mouth, her bright eyes. The light made her beautiful in a way that she wasn't really. She smiled at me and waved.
    I followed her out into the field, half dizzy from the sight of her. We crossed the dried out grass to the tall piece of marble where a woman made out of bronze was laying a wreath.
    "It's from Iowa," Fay said. "They put this here for all the boys from Iowa who died. Way out here in the middle of nowhere." She climbed up the base of the thing to spread her hands out on the marble. "It's beautiful," she said. "It's so cold. Come feel how cold it is."
    But when I went to touch the statue it was Fay I touched, her hair. I put my hands on either side of her head and felt its small shape. I could almost get my hands completely around her head. My thumbs were resting on her eyebrows and I brought her head to my chest and I held her there against me. Her hair was fine and soft and I put my hand against her neck and wrapped my other arm across her back and she held me, like I was the tree and she was the soldier asleep. The headlights weren't so bright because we were far away from them, but they showed us to anyone who could have been passing by. When we walked back to the car she held onto my arm like it was all she wanted. Like this was the most natural thing in the world.

    "We moved out here after my father died. Not right after. We stayed home for almost three months before it was just sort of clear that we couldn't do it. It wasn't like he'd been sick or anything. It was his heart. There hadn't been any time to think about what we might do later. My mother worked in my high school. She was the secretary, but that was only part-time and after my father died she didn't go back to work anymore. They kept her job open for her but she just couldn't go back. She wanted a big funeral. She said they didn't have any sort of a wedding because there hadn't been any money so at least she was going to have a good funeral. It was, I guess. I mean, who can tell the difference? After that there was nothing left. No insurance. Nothing. People were real nice and everything, everybody was willing to float us along, but you know that's got to come to an end sooner or later. We were just kind of hanging out, eating what people came by with and what the grocery sent over. I think sometimes if we'd been living in a city like Memphis there wouldn't even have been that. I didn't think about the money right at first. You don't think about it when you're at home and your parents have always taken care of things. I figured my mother was handling it. But she just sort of melted. She spent all her time outside. Even when it got cold she'd get all bundled up and sit out back in a folding chair. My father had been building a deck on the back of the house right before he died. It wasn't quite finished. It was like she felt closer to him, sitting out on that deck."
    "You said he was building a deck?"
    She nodded. "It was nice. Even unfinished it was nice. My mother sat out there all the time. She didn't like to be in the house any more than she had to be."
    "What about Carl?"
    "Carl got a job at the lumberyard after school. My dad had friends down there who were looking out for us. I already had a job at the Dairy Queen and they gave me more hours. Carl and I got so worried about money that we didn't even feel as bad as we should have. I mean, we felt horrible, but it was almost like there wasn't time. My mother was sitting outside all day. I'd always have to go tell her it was time to come in, time to have something to eat. She was always stalling, a few more minutes, another half hour. I think she would have slept out there if I'd let her. She didn't even know the power had been cut off until Carl got home from work. She'd been putting all the mail in a