Chapter
Eight
Icould lie or defer, but I don’t.
“Becky told me about Cra—Mr. Gilbert.”
After a brief stare, my mother turns away, opens the refrigerator, and removes a large, covered bowl. “Chicken salad,” she announces as if it’s a response to my answer.
Shannon Thorne’s chicken salad is legendary in Blue Gil. It also takes time to make. There’s no way she threw it together in ten minutes.
“Homemade?” My questioning response hangs in the air as I wonder if we’re avoiding the conversation at hand.
“Of course it’s homemade.” She doesn’t peer in my direction as she arranges lettuce leaves and tomato slices on two plates and adds large spoonfuls of chicken salad. Looking up, she says, “I saved some for the family.”
Saved?
My stomach turns as she places a plate before me. “You made it for the funeral.”
“That wasn’t a question, but yes.” Her blue eyes meet mine. “There was a gathering in the high school cafeteria after the service. It turned out that the service had to be moved from the funeral home to the high school gymnasium.”
“Really? Why not at the church?” The sanctuary of the Methodist church is nearly twice as large as the funeral home. It isn’t unusual for funeral services to be held within.
My mom shakes her head as she comes around the breakfast bar to sit on the tall stool at my side. “Oh, Jillian, it was something else. Entire football teams arrived via buses from all over the state. The coach over in Lawton arranged the gathering as a tribute. Every team in our conference was represented. Once the funeral home found out about the tribute, they contacted me.” She turns my direction. “It was the right thing to do.”
Reaching over, she pats my knee. “Eat, Jillian. You could use some home cooking. You’re too thin.”
I’m far from thin. I am blessed with genes that cause curves. Keeping the curves from becoming too voluptuous requires diet and exercise. I’m better at exercise than diet.
“I cook,” I reply with a feigned tone of defensiveness, and then add, “I learned from the best.”
“Oh, you should stay for dinner. Your dad and sister...why don’t you move your things home? You can stay as long as you’d like.”
I take a deep breath and let my senses take everything in. “I don’t know how to say this.”
“Say what?”
Laying the fork down, I try to sum up my feelings. “It feels...good to be here, better than I imagined or hoped. It also feels like I’m eighteen again, and if I just let go, I could let you and Dad take care of my needs while pretending I’m no longer an adult.”
“You didn’t exactly do that when you were eighteen. You’ve always been the independent one.”
“It’s tempting, Mom, but I’m not eighteen.”
“No, but you’re not too old to be taken care of.”
“I think the separation that staying out at Stark Lake provides is good. I have work to do while I’m here. It’s quiet out at the cottages. That doesn’t mean I won’t come around if you and Dad will have me.”
“You’re always welcome,” Mom says. “That shouldn’t need to be said, but if it does, Jillian Thorne, you’re part of this family and always welcome.”
I wasn’t certain if it needed to be said, but maybe I needed to hear it.
“You’d have the house to yourself during the work week.” When I didn’t reply, she feigned a smile. “Of course you can stay for dinner tonight, but tomorrow is Sunday. We’ll make a family reunion out of it. Come with us to church, and then we’ll have our meal here after. Olivia and Matthew can come, and I’ll send Ollie a text.”
Olivia is a year younger than me. She and Matt met at Michigan State. The two of them live together in Three Rivers—about twenty minutes away. I met him once when they came to California after their college graduation. He seemed a bit quiet but obviously supportive of Olivia. I haven’t seen their place. Liv has sent mepictures. It looks homey. My sister’s degree is in human resources and Matt’s is in agriculture. Currently, they both work for a logistics company that transports livestock.
I contemplate my mother’s offer. “I’m not sure I brought church clothes.” It’s a backhanded excuse, and I say a little prayer it works.
“God doesn’t care what you wear.”
