“She talks about this kid, Bryant, a lot.”
“Roll your eyes all you want, dear,” she says with a laugh. “But you had crushes at her age, too.”
“I call bullshit.”
“You would, but it’s true. In fact, I think your first one was about that age. Juliet, of all people.”
“Gross,” I say, feigning a gag.
“It didn’t last long. None of them did, if I recall correctly.” She does. I didn’t have girlfriends. Nobody ever kept my hyperactive attention until I left Stowaway. “Your dad said Juliet was home.”
“She is,” I confirm. “She’s out and about today. She and Lou are shopping or something, I think.”
“Lou? Is that the Lulu Paige has been chatty about?”
“Yeah, she’s a friend of Jules’s. Was in a tough spot and has been staying next door until she’s back on her feet,” I say. Mom raises a single brow. “What?”
“Grady, I know you as well as I know myself. You can’t hide anything from me, no matter how hard you try.” She reaches over to pat my hand. “Is she special?”
“Don’t know her well enough,” I say, shrugging a shoulder.
“But you want to.” She’s not asking, she’s telling.
“It’s not like that.”
“Why not?”
“She’s too much for a small town.” I don’t know what else to say. She’s a famous model who’s only here to heal before she gets back to her real life. Lou will leave and become Louisa again. Or, at least, something more like Louisa.
“I’ve heard that before,” she says. “It was said of Irma, who ended up loving it here so much, only death could pull her away.”
“I miss her,” I say, because I do. Every day. She was like a second mother to me but also a friend. Someone I always knew I could get the truth from.
“Me too. As much as I love coming out here and spending time with you and Paige, it’s hard. I still expect my best friend to be waiting on her back patio with a cup of coffee every morning.”
Irma was that special type of person my mother talks about. Full of life, perpetually optimistic, even if she had little reason to be. She was a fighter, a problem solver, a take charge fixer. The Jackson women don’t let much get in between them and their goal. For Irma, it was building a life here; for her daughter, it was finding her next high; for Juliet, it was getting the fuck out of this small town.
I wonder what Lou’s goal is. Will she get her life back? I can easily picture her in some big New York City apartment rather than here in a house older than her by at least twice. I’ve never been to New York. Or anywhere, really. Brenda and I honeymooned with a road trip along the West Coast. We took a trip to Yellowstone, once, when I was young, and that’s as far east as I’ve ever been.
My limited view never bothered me until we had Paige. She deserves the world and I want more for her than I ever had. A better life, better education, more opportunities, less struggle.
I wish I’d been able to give her an even happier home than I had. Which would have been hard, because my parents are fucking great. Instead, I gave her Brenda and me fighting nonstop for the first six years of her life.
Dad and Paige come in from the backyard, my daughter wearing a huge grin. “Papa says he’ll build me shelves in the greenhouse. And a bench so I have a place to sit and watch the grass grow,” she says. “’Cept I’m not growing grass in there.”
“I think that’s what they call a figure of speech,” I tell her. “Shower up, kiddo. Dinner will be ready by the time you’re done.”
“And then, Jules and Lulu should be home with my surprise!” She runs down the hall, talking to herself and making guesses of what the surprise could be.
“Diablos Rex,” I tell my parents when she’s out of earshot. There’s a semi-famous doughnut shop in the city—Paige’s favorite.
“Juliet didn’t drive all the way to Portland just for a damn doughnut, did she? We could have stopped on the way and grabbed some,” Dad says.
“No, babe,” Mom says. “She’s shopping with her friend.”
“What friend?”
“The one staying at Irma’s house,” she volleys back.
