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  Arnie sat at the kitchen table, swaying back and forth, staring blankly at a small television on the counter. A rerun of Designing Women played, Delta Burke and Annie Potts bickering in thick southern accents.

  “Isn’t there a baseball game on or something?” Faith asked.

  “Well, yeah, probably,” Reba said. “But he doesn’t know the difference. Might as well put something on one of us enjoys.”

  Faith turned off the TV and sneered. “We don’t pay you to watch your stories, Reba. I’ve told you before, Dad likes baseball.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Faith turned to her father and took his hands in hers. Sitting in the chair next to him, she looked into his eyes. Looking for something. Forgiveness? She didn’t know. Michelle and Reba talked of his “good moments” occasionally, but it had been a long time since Faith had seen a spark of life in him, and she resented it. She was doing the best she could under the circumstances. Keeping her daughter safe. Not that Michelle, or anyone for that matter, gave her a sliver of credit. They just ate the food that her salary paid for—excessively in Michelle’s case—never offering so much as a “thank you” or “I love you.”

  I’m not a monster, she thought.

  Keep telling yourself that, a voice inside chided. The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves.

  “Shut up!” she blurted, standing and clutching her head.

  “Excuse me,” Reba said, taking a step back.

  Tears spilled down Faith’s cheeks. “I’m…I’m sorry, Reba. It’s just that I’m under so much pressure right now. Ever since Mom died, Dad’s been like this.” She pointed at her father. “And if he could see what’s become of his granddaughter, he’d lose what little life he’s clinging to.”

  Reba started grabbing her things from the kitchen table, clearly avoiding the conversation.

  “Sorry if my problems bore you,” Faith shrilled.

  Reba shook her head. “No, you certainly don’t bore me, Mrs. Bree—”

  “Then what is it?” Faith’s eyes narrowed. “Why does everyone hate me?”

  “I don’t hate you, ma’am. I just…”

  “Just what?” Faith growled in a whisper.

  “Well…I just don’t understand you is all. When Mr. Schafer has his good moments, he talks about nothing but Michelle. She tells him everything, and he just smiles and nods. And he knows that his wife is gone. Has nothing to do with his sad situation.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that he loves his grandbaby unconditionally. And I just don’t understand why you and your girl can’t do the same for each other. Being in this house with the both of you, even if only a few hours a week…it’s more than a body can bear.”

  Reba clutched her things to her chest, a paperback peeking from her arms: The Bridges of Madison County. Faith, intensely hurt by the veiled accusation that her father loved Michelle and not her, stabbed a finger at the book, a dark smile playing at the edges of her mouth. “You’re a romantic, aren’t you?”

  Reba nodded.

  “Figures! If you’d seen the things that Michelle and I have, you wouldn’t be.”

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Breedlove. I’ve seen some pretty bad stuff. And if you’d talk to your daughter more often, you’d know she’s a romantic, too.”

  “What the fuck do you know? You’re a fifty-year-old loser who makes eight dollars an hour.”

  Reba, tears welling, rushed toward the back door without a word.

  “Wait,” Faith snapped.

  Reba stopped and turned. “What?”

  Faith closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “You know, Mrs. Breedlove, I deal with a lot of patients who are cruel to me. But most of them are out of it—don’t know what they’re doing. You, on the other hand, know exactly what you’re doing. You play crazy well, but you’re not my patient, you’re my boss, and you owe me some respect, regardless of how little you pay me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Faith repeated. “Will you be back tomorrow?”

  “I have to think about it, but I don’t think so.” With that, Reba exited the house and slammed the door.

  Arnie laughed.

  “Daddy?” Faith said, leaning close to him. “Daddy? Are you with me?”

  “Smart cookie,” Arnie mumbled. Then he drifted back into oblivion while Faith wept.

  —Chapter Two—

  1

  The only customers in Lombardi’s, Michelle and Laura sat mutely in a corner booth, picking at their food. Silence wasn’t normal for them when together; but it was for the restaurant, on the decline despite the booming town around it. Kyle and Stacy Moon, the young couple Fiona Sicuro had willed the business to, did their best to keep things going, but nothing worked. Michelle knew how hard it was to please the dead, and her heart bled for the Moons.

  “Why do we always come here?” Laura whispered.

  Michelle took a sip of Diet Pepsi and shrugged. “What’s wrong with coming here?”

  A pained expression swept Laura’s face, and she motioned for Michelle to keep her voice down.

  “No you don’t,” Michelle said. “If something is important enough to say then it’s important enough to be heard. This ass-crack town is all whispers and glares, and I’m not about to become part of it. So spit it out, sister, what’s wrong with this place?”

  Laura lowered her head and, still speaking in a whisper, said, “It’s depressing, Shell. It’s dead. Don’t you ever want to be around people, around…life?”

  Michelle laughed then took a large bite of pizza. Still chewing, she said, “I love life. I love people. But I’m not going to slog into Applebee’s or TGIFriday’s and eat tasteless gruel with a bunch of Stepford soccer moms and their beer-swilling masters. Come on, Laura, I thought you knew me better than that.”

  “It’s just that…that today should be special. We just graduated, and I want to…I don’t know…have a little fun?”

  Kyle Moon, who had probably overheard some of the conversation if not all of it, came around a corner, two plates of tiramisu in his outstretched hands. A bright smile on his face, he set the plates on the table and said, “Congratulations, girls.”

  Michelle put her hand to her heart, eyes widening. “My favorite. Thank you, Kyle.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said. “It’s the least we can do for our best customers. Stacy and I are so sad to see you two leave for college, but we have high hopes for you.”

  “Where is Stacy?” Laura asked.

  “She wasn’t feeling well, so she went home sick.”

  “I hope she gets well soon,” Michelle said.

  Kyle’s smile widened. “Well, other than throwing up all afternoon, she feels great.”

  “Come again?” said Michelle.

  Kyle laughed. “It’s a good kind of sick. She’s pregnant.”

  Laura stood and wrapped Kyle in a tight embrace. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “We should be the ones congratulating you.”

  The happiness of the moment, however, was lost on Michelle, who felt like she was shrinking into the booth. What kind of future does a newborn have in this town? she asked herself, as she had many times before. Although this was different—two of the few people she still cared about involved. She wanted to cry but was bereft of tears.

  “What’s wrong?” Laura asked. “Jump up and give this man a hug. He’s gonna be a daddy!”

  Michelle slipped a crisp hundred-dollar bill out of her purse and put it on the table.

  “No you don’t,” said Kyle. “Dinner’s on the house tonight. We insist. Fiona, bless her soul, insists.” Looking up at the dingy ceiling, Kyle made the sign of the cross—forehead, heart, left shoulder, right.

  Michelle shook her head at the ridiculous ritual and tried to steer the conversation in a relevant direction. “Have the developers made any more offers on the place?”

  Laura turned to Michelle, mouth agape. “What kind of que
stion is that, Shell?”

  Kyle nodded solemnly. “Well, yeah, but—”

  “But what?” Michelle asked.

  “We can’t sell this place. Fiona meant the world to us, and we just can’t let her family legacy die. It’s such an important chapter in this town’s history. You of all people should know that. Things will pick up. They have to.”

  “They won’t,” Michelle said coldly. “And you should take the money and run as far away as you can.”

  “Michelle!” Laura shouted.

  “It’s okay,” Kyle said, sliding into the booth across from Michelle. He took the hundred-dollar bill from the table and handed it to her. “I know that Fiona meant a lot to you, too. And I know why you still come here—don’t think for a moment that we don’t appreciate it.”

  Michelle pushed the money back at him. “You need it more than I do. I only wish I had more on me right now. I can hit an ATM when—”

  “You’re young,” he said. “Look out for your own interests, find a way to be happy, to live in the now. You’ll regret it if you don’t. The last thing you need to worry about is—”

  “Take the money and run,” Michelle said. “Just do it. You have no idea the cost of holding onto your dreams in this place. If you don’t believe me, look up Dexter Ridge, Wyoming and Clear River, Illinois online. It’s not just about you anymore, so don’t be naïve.”

  Kyle nodded. “Maybe. But…we’re happy. We have what we want, and we’ll figure out how to make this place work again. Stacy’s formulating a few new recipes that will make everyone salivate for miles. I’ve been talking to a marketing firm in Kansas City, and—”

  “It won’t work,” Michelle said. “You’re not part of the pattern. There’s nothing you can do.”

  Laura nudged herself next to Michelle and put an arm around her. “You’re being rude,” she said, stroking Michelle’s long black hair.

  Michelle closed her eyes and let Laura’s touch soothe her for a moment. She was being unfair to the people she cared about, most of all Laura. Poor, sweet Laura, who would probably give in sooner or later and become romantically involved with Michelle. But to what end? Simply going through the motions, appeasing Michelle’s demonstrative nature?

  That wouldn’t be good for either of them.

  Besides, Michelle had seen Reggie, and, while she didn’t know exactly what that meant, the future was a big red question mark. She didn’t want to fight for Kyle and Stacy and their unborn child. If anything, she wanted the stakes to be lower so that she might resist her calling this time. Most importantly, she didn’t want Laura in the line of fire. She would need to build a wall between them, and soon.

  “I’m sorry,” Michelle said. She took the hundred-dollar bill from Kyle, leaned across the table, and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. “Dinner was on you tonight, all right, but this is a gift for the baby.”

  He smiled. “I can’t exactly turn down a gift, can I?”

  Laura kissed Michelle on the cheek and said, “Much better. Now let’s dig into this wonderful dessert so Kyle can shut down and get home to his family.”

  2

  “Why not?” Laura shouted.

  Standing outside the restaurant, Michelle rubbed her temples and moaned. “Christ, Laura, if you really wanna go, don’t let me stop you. But don’t forget that those people weren’t exactly your friends either.”

  Laura pulled a cigarette from her purse and lit it. She tilted her head back, blew smoke into the clear night sky, and found herself transfixed by the stars. Pinpoints of possibility, she mused. She knew that going to the party shouldn’t be important, and that, fundamentally, Michelle was right. Yet, she strangely wanted closure before moving on, even if it meant smiling and nodding and forgiving trespasses for one night. She also wanted Michelle to come with her and not cause a scene. Fat fucking chance.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Michelle said.

  “I smoke when I’m tense.”

  “But I don’t like it.”

  Laura thought about snuffing out the cigarette, then, still looking into space, she took another deep drag and shook her head. “I love you, Michelle, I really do. You’re brilliant and you don’t take shit from anyone. I can’t begin to tell you how much I admire those qualities.”

  “But?”

  Laura’s eyes locked with Michelle’s, her brow furrowing. “You’re too hard. You need to let go, just like Kyle said. You know, live in the moment. Who cares if we party with douchebags and wanna-be divas for one night? We’ve given them the middle finger for four years now, so why can’t we just…let shit slide for a change? I just wanna have a little fun.”

  “Thanks, Cyndi Lauper. Let’s just grab a fifth of mash whiskey and join the orgy of evil for one night—is that really what you’re saying?”

  “Goddamn!” Laura shouted, smashing the cigarette butt under her sneaker. “You act like I’m asking you to party with the Third Reich or something. I’m just asking you to keep an open mind and say goodbye to the past. I just…well, I just think the last four years will haunt you less if you see your tormentors for what they are.”

  “And what are they, dear Laura?”

  “People. Flawed. Insecure. Maybe a little envious of people like you.”

  “Envious?”

  “Yeah, Shell. You know who you are already. That’s a hell of a lot more than most of them can say. I certainly envy you—I’m just willing to admit it.”

  Both sides of Michelle’s mouth turned down, a rare expression. “I don’t think I’m going to college,” she said firmly.

  “What? You’ve talked about nothing other than leaving this place for the last four years. Starting fresh, finding people who value individualism like you do. How can you say that you might not be going to college? You, of all people!”

  “There’s no ‘maybe’ about it. I’m not going,” Michelle said coldly.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  “But something happened today.”

  “What? What the hell happened?”

  Michelle shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all you have to say? You’re fucking sorry?” Laura couldn’t believe what was happening. Of all the ways this conversation could have gone off the rails, she hadn’t expected this. She was more worried about Michelle than ever, and she was torn between wanting to strangle her friend and hug her.

  “No. I’m not sorry about the college thing. I’m pissed about that. But I’m sorry for putting heavy demands on our friendship. I know I can act like a bull in a china shop sometimes and…” Starting to cry, Michelle looked away.

  “Then where are you going?” Laura asked.

  “Nowhere,” Michelle choked. “I’m staying right here.”

  Laura stepped toward her friend and pointed at the sky. “Look,” she said, struggling for a gentle tone. “Just, look.”

  Michelle pensively gazed upward. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

  “See what you want to see, Shell. I’m not here to determine your reality. But don’t deny that you’re seeing something.”

  “Yeah, I’m seeing fucking stars through a weepy-ass haze, and they’re doing nothing for me. What the fuck are you trying to prove, Galileo?”

  “Whenever shit gets me down, I just look up at the sky, especially at night. It reminds me how small I am. It reminds me that there’s so much more out there—shit I’ll never understand if I live a dozen lifetimes. Oak Lawn sucks, I’ll grant you that, but it’s a mere blemish on the universe’s ass. It doesn’t count for anything. We have to walk away from it, never look back, forget it exists.”

  Michelle lowered her head. “I know,” she muttered. “And I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But, like you said, there are things you’ll never understand, even if you live a dozen lifetimes. And…I can’t make you understand the crossroads I’m at or what’s on the line if I walk
away. I don’t even understand it. And, trust me, I sure as hell don’t want to do what I have to do, whatever it is.”

  Laura put an arm around Michelle’s waist and pulled her close. She ran a hand through Michelle’s hair then lifted her friend’s chin with a firm finger. Michelle’s eyes grew, and, in that moment, Laura wanted to kiss her. Really kiss her. She moistened her lips, tilted her head, moved in—

  “What are you doing?” Michelle said, pushing Laura away.

  “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

  “Not like this. Not like this.”

  “Then like what? What is it you want, Michelle? I’m having a hard time understanding you tonight.”

  Michelle started away.

  “Wait,” Laura said, “let me walk you home.”

  “I know my way.”

  “Come on!” Laura shouted. “Don’t be like this.”

  But Michelle didn’t respond, just kept walking, leaving Laura with a flurry of emotions—anger, fear, confusion. She considered going after her friend, but that felt awkward. Then she considered going to the graduation party at Steve Mann’s house, and that strangely felt right.

  3

  Faith struggled through another episode of The Rockford Files, hoping that it would elicit some reaction from her father. She’d bought the DVD-set months ago, remembering that it had been his favorite program in another time; another life. He stared blankly at the screen, his head canted lazily to one side of the recliner.

  “That Jim Rockford is sure one hell of a guy,” she said.

  The only response was the wheeze of her father’s breathing. How much longer does he have? she wondered. Will I ever have a chance to make things right between us?

  She could never atone with her mother or Cale or Dawn; the veil of death made that impossible. She’d tried with Michelle—was still trying—but there was time enough for that. Michelle was young. Her father was a different matter. He’d been Faith’s rock for a long time, the person she most respected. It was important she reach him before it was too late.