“June?” Her mother sounded hesitant when she stuck her head out the door, and in the dim glow of the porch light Juniper could see worry carve a deep line between the older woman’s eyebrows. With one hand, Reb carefully smoothed her still-dark hair from her temple to the tight bun at the nape of her neck and attempted a smile. It wavered. Still, Juniper’s chest flooded with something sticky and complicated at the familiar sight: wire-rimmed glasses, crooked half smile, knowing gaze.
“Hi, Mom.” They met over the threshold and hugged awkwardly, like strangers. Reb smelled of wine with a faint undertone of sweat, an odor that reeked of anxiety. Juniper realized with a start that her mother had been drinking. It was in her shallow breath, the rheumy gaze of her pink-rimmed eyes. Even more startling was the realization that her own mother was afraid of her—of those stolen nights with Willa in her arms and what they might look like now that Willa was old enough to make her own decisions. Now that Juniper was staying. Even if only for a while.
She had reason to be afraid.
“Welcome!” Mandy burst into the entryway, tipping the delicate balance toward pure mayhem. All at once, the private moment with her mother fell away and Juniper noticed that the boys were still screaming in the background, and the timer on the stove rang a shrill, insistent note. Before she could even return her sister-in-law’s enthusiastic greeting, Mandy had stood on tiptoe to throw her arms around Juniper’s neck. Into her hair she said: “Shut the door, you’re letting all the cold air in,” and then abruptly let go to call the dog inside. “Come on, Diesel.”
Diesel loped past them, and Juniper pulled the door shut behind her before allowing Mandy to slide her coat off her shoulders. She had learned long ago that it was easier to just go along with Mandy’s ministrations. Mandy had set up this dinner, probably planned the menu, and would no doubt orchestrate the conversation with a cache of benign questions that would steer them clear of politics and religion, Juniper’s extended absence, and what had happened so long ago. She sparked like a live flame, bright and warm and irresistible.
“Thank you,” Juniper said quietly, surprising herself. But Mandy always made her feel vaguely grateful. Thank you for the sincere welcome. For trying so hard. For saving my brother.
“Everyone is so excited to see you, Junebug! We kind of can’t believe you’re here.” Mandy looped her arm through Juniper’s and sashayed them both into the dining room, presenting her to the group and declaring: “Here she is!” Juniper’s cheeks bloomed crimson.
Law was closest, and he dutifully draped an arm across her shoulders. “Hey,” he said, brushing the hard line of his jaw across her forehead. It was a wooden affection, but unexpected, and Juniper caught her breath. Then the brief moment of contact was over, and she was left staring at the only father she’d ever known.
Lawrence Baker hadn’t altered his look in thirty years: buzz-cut gray hair, short clean fingernails, starched shirts. He even instructed Reb to iron a crease into his jeans and buff out marks on his shoes every night. Or, he used to. As far as Juniper could tell, he still did. He was scrubbed and neat as ever, even if his shoulders had rounded by degrees and his back was no longer ramrod straight. “Welcome home,” he told her.
“Hi, Dad,” she said, stumbling over the word just a bit. She felt drunk. A little dizzy; a lot nauseated. The scent of her mother’s pot roast and mashed potatoes was overwhelming, and the old-fashioned radiator that ran the length of the room was pumping out dry, hot air that made it hard to breathe.
“Boy, it’s warm in here, isn’t it?” Mandy slipped an arm around Juniper before she could swoon, and eased her into a chair. “Crack the window, would you, Lawrence? I think we all need a little fresh air.”
Lawrence Baker wasn’t the sort to be bossed around, but he left the room without a backward glance, and Juniper found herself alone with Mandy and, across the table, Jonathan. He was sitting on the long bench with his back against the wall and a glass of wine in his fist. It was mostly gone. He stared at her over the dregs, and for the life of her, Juniper couldn’t make out his expression. Apathy? Disdain? Perhaps this was already his second glass and he was comfortably numb.
“Hey, J.” It was all she could think to say.
He laughed. It was a wry chuckle, but in his blue eyes Juniper could see a flash of the boy she had known. Something inside her gave way, and when Jonathan pushed himself up from the table and leaned over to give her a brotherly kiss on the forehead, she had to squeeze her eyes closed.