Anger blindsided Jude. It was one of her new emotions. She had never been angry before, not really, but it was always with her now, as much a part of her as the shape of her face and the color of her skin. It took tremendous effort not to show it all the time. She spun away from her mother before she said something she would regret and headed into the house.
In the entryway, she came to a halt. “Where’s Mia’s sweater?”
“What?” Zach said, coming up behind her.
“Mia’s green sweater. It was hanging right here.” Jude’s anger mutated into panic.
“It’s in the laundry,” her mother said. “I was going to wash it along with—”
Jude ran to the laundry room and pawed through the pile of dirty clothes until she found Mia’s sweater. Bringing it to her face, she pressed the soft wool to her nose, inhaling Mia’s scent. Her tears dampened the fabric, but she didn’t care. Ignoring her family’s stares, she stumbled into her bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her, collapsing on the bed.
Finally, after what felt like hours, she heard her bedroom door open.
“Hey,” Molly said from the doorway. She stood there, looking sad and uncertain in a chic black dress with a cinch belt, wringing her hands together. Her white hair was a mess, pulled back from her face in a thin headband; a black grow-out line spread along her forehead. “Can I come in?”
“Could I stop you?”
“No.”
Jude crawled to a sit, leaned back against her silk upholstered headboard.
Molly got up onto the big bed and took Jude into her arms, holding her as if she were a child. Jude didn’t mean to cry again, but she couldn’t help it.
“I used to think I was strong,” Jude whispered.
“You are strong,” Molly said, tucking a damp strand of hair behind Jude’s ear.
“No,” she said, pulling back. “I have no idea who I am anymore.” It was true. All of this had shown her the truth of her soul: she was weak, fragile. Not the woman she’d imagined herself to be at all.
Or maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe she knew now what she hadn’t known before: she wasn’t kind and caring and compassionate and even-tempered. She was angry and weak and even a little vindictive. Most of all, she was a bad mother.
Everything lately pissed her off. Sunshine. Healthy children. Parents who complained about their kids. Lexi.
Jude suddenly didn’t want to be touched. She pulled out of Molly’s arms and slumped back against the headboard. “She wasn’t wearing her seatbelt.” She said it quietly, afraid; it had only been a few days, and already Jude had learned that people didn’t want to hear about Mia. How was she supposed to stop talking about her daughter? But just the mention of her name could send people running for the door.
“Tell me,” Molly said, holding her hand, settling in beside her.
“Thanks,” Jude said. “No one wants to hear about her.”
“I’ll listen to anything you want to say.”
Jude turned to her. “She always wore her seatbelt.” She drew in a shaking breath and reached over into the nightstand for tissues.
A mistake; she saw that instantly.
Inside the drawer, she saw a small blue velvet ring box sitting beside a pair of Costco reading glasses. Knowing she shouldn’t touch it, she took it out, flipped it open.
“What’s that?” Molly asked.
“Mia’s graduation present.”
Molly was silent for a moment. “It’s beautiful.”
“I was going to take her shopping with me for the stone. A girls’ day. Maybe a mani-pedi when we were done.” On that, Jude’s resolve cracked, and she started to cry.
“Oh, Jude,” Molly said, hugging her again.
Jude should have felt enveloped by her friend’s love, but she couldn’t feel anything at all. Not then, as she stared down at this beautiful, unfinished ring with gaping, empty prongs …
Fifteen
The high school parking lot was full of cars on this sunny Saturday afternoon.
Lexi sat in the passenger seat of her aunt’s Ford Fairlane, staring through the grimy windshield at the crowd gathered around the flagpole.
“You belong here, Alexa,” her aunt said. “You’ve worked as hard for this day as anyone else.”
“I’m afraid,” she said quietly.
“I know,” her aunt said. “That’s why I’m here.”
Lexi took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. The old door creaked open, popping at the end of its arc.