no point.
“Hey, where’s Michael?” she asked, turning to the cabinet to get a pot for Jana’s soup.
“He’s staying at Jeffrey’s tonight.” Carmen had to turn to determine who had spoken; she’d never realized Siena and Troy actually
sounded
alike. And they looked more—she shivered—like brother and sister than they did like Romeo and Juliet.
“Okay, perfect!” Oh, two beers were too many, she thought. One would have given her courage, but the second was making her overly cheerful and dumb. She poured herself a glass of water and drank half of it, standing over the sink, while the three young people watched. “Jana sent dinner.” She took the bowls and a fistful of soup-spoons to the table and began doling them out to each of four places.
“You saw Jana today?” Siena asked.
Carmen turned. She might as well get this over with. Meeting her daughter’s gaze, she locked on and said, “Yes, we talked for quite a while this afternoon.”
“Oh.” Siena bowed her head and reddened, and Carmen thought again of the night after the funeral when her daughter had been so wild with grief, she’d looked on the brink of throwing up. If Carmen hadn’t been so busy with her own unexpected longing for Jobe, with bedding Danny, and now with doctor appointments and worry, she might have noticed how effectively Siena had calmed. Carmen stared at her daughter and wished ardently for the twelve-year-old she’dglimpsed the other day, or the imperious three-year-old with sheets of golden-red hair.
Siena was opening the bag from Jana’s café, Troy’s hand resting on her hip—as if he owned her!—while she leaned forward to look inside. “Mmmm.” Siena inhaled in a way a little too sensual for Carmen’s taste. “Smells really good.”
What kind of hypocrite was she? Carmen wondered. Not long ago, she’d been distracting herself in bed with Danny, practically begging him to get out of town with her so she could stop thinking about Jobe. Siena and Troy were just as entitled to their rites of comfort even if they were still teenagers, probably even more. She sighed as she poured soup into the pot and lit the burner underneath. It was hell sometimes being a mother who’d misbehaved. Carmen wished for the clarity Olive must have felt, her past so pure she could make rules without wavering at all.
The food was ready and Carmen wished again that she hadn’t drunk so much beer. It would be nice to have a glass of wine to hold right now. But every headline she’d ever seen linking alcohol and breast cancer was dancing through her head. She could picture herself drinking Merlot, the wine drizzling directly into the comet and plumping it out, encouraging it to grow.
“Can you call Luca, please?” she asked Troy through a tight, fake smile.
And take your hands off my daughter’s ass
. He did so but not without patting Siena lovingly, the gesture of someone who was parting from her for days.
As on the night they’d eaten goulash, Carmen saw an image of the two of them at an altar and knew that their relationship would become, in time, what her own marriage had been. Siena was brilliant, the child whose mind was most like Jobe’s; Troy was an average student and gifted baseball player. She’d grow tired of him in about five years—around the time she’d be ready for graduate school, the luster of Troy’s athletic sex would begin to wear off—which was probably just long enough to get a marriage and a baby started. Was there no way to stop history from repeating itself?
Carmen shook her head and laughed to herself. She was just tipsy enough to be paranoid but too sober to shrug it off.
What the hell? The cancer was already there
. She poured herself a glass of red wine.
She sat with this while the children filled bowls and plates at the counter.
“Why aren’t you eating with us?” It didn’t matter how much Luca aged. His voice sounded childlike and plaintive to her. Carmen’s first impulse was to
“Hey, where’s Michael?” she asked, turning to the cabinet to get a pot for Jana’s soup.
“He’s staying at Jeffrey’s tonight.” Carmen had to turn to determine who had spoken; she’d never realized Siena and Troy actually
sounded
alike. And they looked more—she shivered—like brother and sister than they did like Romeo and Juliet.
“Okay, perfect!” Oh, two beers were too many, she thought. One would have given her courage, but the second was making her overly cheerful and dumb. She poured herself a glass of water and drank half of it, standing over the sink, while the three young people watched. “Jana sent dinner.” She took the bowls and a fistful of soup-spoons to the table and began doling them out to each of four places.
“You saw Jana today?” Siena asked.
Carmen turned. She might as well get this over with. Meeting her daughter’s gaze, she locked on and said, “Yes, we talked for quite a while this afternoon.”
“Oh.” Siena bowed her head and reddened, and Carmen thought again of the night after the funeral when her daughter had been so wild with grief, she’d looked on the brink of throwing up. If Carmen hadn’t been so busy with her own unexpected longing for Jobe, with bedding Danny, and now with doctor appointments and worry, she might have noticed how effectively Siena had calmed. Carmen stared at her daughter and wished ardently for the twelve-year-old she’dglimpsed the other day, or the imperious three-year-old with sheets of golden-red hair.
Siena was opening the bag from Jana’s café, Troy’s hand resting on her hip—as if he owned her!—while she leaned forward to look inside. “Mmmm.” Siena inhaled in a way a little too sensual for Carmen’s taste. “Smells really good.”
What kind of hypocrite was she? Carmen wondered. Not long ago, she’d been distracting herself in bed with Danny, practically begging him to get out of town with her so she could stop thinking about Jobe. Siena and Troy were just as entitled to their rites of comfort even if they were still teenagers, probably even more. She sighed as she poured soup into the pot and lit the burner underneath. It was hell sometimes being a mother who’d misbehaved. Carmen wished for the clarity Olive must have felt, her past so pure she could make rules without wavering at all.
The food was ready and Carmen wished again that she hadn’t drunk so much beer. It would be nice to have a glass of wine to hold right now. But every headline she’d ever seen linking alcohol and breast cancer was dancing through her head. She could picture herself drinking Merlot, the wine drizzling directly into the comet and plumping it out, encouraging it to grow.
“Can you call Luca, please?” she asked Troy through a tight, fake smile.
And take your hands off my daughter’s ass
. He did so but not without patting Siena lovingly, the gesture of someone who was parting from her for days.
As on the night they’d eaten goulash, Carmen saw an image of the two of them at an altar and knew that their relationship would become, in time, what her own marriage had been. Siena was brilliant, the child whose mind was most like Jobe’s; Troy was an average student and gifted baseball player. She’d grow tired of him in about five years—around the time she’d be ready for graduate school, the luster of Troy’s athletic sex would begin to wear off—which was probably just long enough to get a marriage and a baby started. Was there no way to stop history from repeating itself?
Carmen shook her head and laughed to herself. She was just tipsy enough to be paranoid but too sober to shrug it off.
What the hell? The cancer was already there
. She poured herself a glass of red wine.
She sat with this while the children filled bowls and plates at the counter.
“Why aren’t you eating with us?” It didn’t matter how much Luca aged. His voice sounded childlike and plaintive to her. Carmen’s first impulse was to
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