The Girl Who Slept with God: A Novel (24 page)

Jory gave him a look. “I can think of one or two.”

The candles flickered and burned. The four of them stood together in a small circle.

“I guess we could blow them out and relight them if they get down too far.” Grace knit her brows together. “I’ll go get the matches.”

“No,” said Frances, hopping up and down. “That’s not how it works—the wish won’t count then!”

Their father leaned his head hallward. “Esther!” He raised his voice further. “We have the cake in here!” He smiled apologetically. “She hasn’t been feeling very well.”

“It’s okay,” said Jory. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, of course it does.” Her father stared at the cake and the rapidly melting candles. He gave a quick glance down the hall. Jory could tell he wanted to run his hand through his hair. “Well, okay, all right,” he said, and smiled a crooked smile. “Let’s go ahead and sing.”

They sat around the kitchen table and ate the cake and the Neapolitan ice cream, which (Grace told Jory)
someone
had anonymously provided. Frances had the kitten in her lap and was surreptitiously allowing it generous licks off her spoon. Their father had two bowls “in honor of the day” and their mother had none. “It’s just a little stomach thing,” she said, and scooted her chair a ways back from the table.

“So,” said their father. He handed Jory a small, flat package covered in bronco-busting, cow-lassoing cowboys.

Inside was a new red leather Bible with her name embossed in gold across the bottom right corner. Jory held the Bible in her lap. “Thank you,” she said, still looking at its cover. She ran her finger slowly across her name.

“It’s the newest version,” her father said. “The
Good News for Modern Man
. Evidently the young people think its language is more accessible.” He frowned at this. “It was gone over by a lot of genuinely excellent Bible scholars, though, so even if it doesn’t have the beauty of the King James language, it still retains the meaning of the original.” He crossed one leg over the other. “I feel pretty good about it.”

“I’m sure Jory will get lots of use out of it.” Grace smiled at their father. And then at Jory.

Jory tried to nod.

“Okay.” Her father handed her a slightly larger package.

“This is from me,” said Frances.

“Oh, really,” said Jory. “Should I be afraid to open it?”

Frances held her spoon in midair. “I can’t remember.” Frances squinted at their mother. “I can’t remember. Should she?”

Their mother sighed and rolled her eyes. “Really, Frances, I don’t know why you’re acting like this.”

Jory tore the paper wrapping off and put it on the table.

“Now I remember,” said Frances, standing up on her chair and letting the sleeping kitten slide scratchily to the floor. “It’s a bug house!”

Jory turned the box over. “How wonderful, Fran. Tell me what I do with it.”

“It has baby butterflies in there that hatch out when they’re ready. And you get to watch them.”

“A friend of mine in the biology lab got it for me,” her father said. “It has a dozen monarch butterfly chrysali in stasis that will hatch out in a few weeks, if you follow the instructions.”

“How cool,” said Jory, busily reading about the four stages of the butterfly’s life: egg, larva, pupa, adult. “Thank you very much, Frances.”

“You’re very welcome,” said Frances.

“One more,” said her father. “This one’s from your mother.”

“Oren.” Her mother clucked her tongue.

Jory unwrapped the largest box and lifted the lid. Inside, underneath a layer of white tissue paper, were three pairs of corduroy bell-bottoms. In her size. One pair was sky blue and another was a beautiful deep rust red. The third was a golden sand shade that matched her moccasins exactly. She turned to look at her mother.

Her mother was busily winding her watch. “Grace mentioned that you didn’t have any appropriate school clothes.” She quit her winding and gazed out the window.

“Thank you,” whispered Jory. Her mother was a riddle that she could never quite solve. Even if her mother was currently incensed or furious or deeply depressed, each Christmas and birthday was a magical event thanks to her ability and willingness to choose and wrap and present the most marvelous and unforeseen gifts. She somehow seemed to know and anticipate exactly what each of her daughters most longed for. Whether she might later retract these presents or even throw them in the trash was
another matter entirely. Jory gazed down in wonder at her new and perfect clothes.

Grace held up the serving knife. “Who’d like more cake?”

“Oh, no,” said Frances.

They all turned to look as Frances ran over and squatted down next to the kitten. It was making several desperate noises and widening its mouth alarmingly. Suddenly it arched its tiny back and disgorged a large pool of pinky-brown ice cream next to a crumpled sheet of cowboy paper.

“Well,” said their father, “now it’s a party.”

They all stood outside in the dark next to the green Buick. Frances was sound asleep and slung over their father’s shoulder. She had had a very bad tantrum of sorts at the end of the night; why wasn’t entirely clear.

“Thank you both for coming,” Grace said.

“For Pete’s sake, Grace—you sound like you’re our dinner hostess.” Their mother pulled a sweater across her shoulders. “Will we be getting a thank-you card in the mail?”

Jory could see the look on Grace’s face.

“Esther,” their father said.

“Whatever you are angry about,” said Grace, “it probably isn’t because I’m acting like a dinner hostess.”

“Well, I for one had a wonderful time.” Their father smiled brightly in the semidarkness. “Wonderful cake, wonderful company.”

“Yes, we’re all just wonderful,” said their mother, buttoning the buttons on her sweater. “Oh—and, Jory, by the way, I got a call from Rhonda Russell’s mother the other day, and she was wondering why exactly you and Rhonda and your grandmother got evicted from Super Thrift Drug. And, well, frankly, I just didn’t know what to tell her. So maybe you’d like to explain to your father and me why it is that you and your
grandmother
got evicted from Super Thrift.” Her mother crossed her sweatered arms over her chest.

Grace stared at Jory.

“Esther,” her father said. “Do we need to talk about this right now?”

“Why not?” Jory’s mother turned to him. “What’s wrong with right now? I think right now is a perfectly good time to talk about this.”

“It was my fault.” Grace put her hands in the pockets of her dress.

“Oh, really?” Their mother shook her head at Grace.

Jory closed her eyes and took a breath. “It was
my
fault,” she said. “I lied. I lied to Dad about having my period so I could skip PE and Grace talked Mrs. Kleinfelter into taking me to get . . . sanitary stuff and Mrs. Kleinfelter automatically went to Super Thrift because that’s where she gets her prescriptions filled and so we had to go in and Rhonda was there and then when they saw me they made us leave because they think I stole the earrings but I didn’t—and it doesn’t matter what you think because I didn’t steal them. I
didn’t
steal them. I’ve done plenty of bad things, but that wasn’t one of them.”

A light winked on in Mrs. Kleinfelter’s house and a lone cricket suddenly ceased its scritching. The night breeze stirred and Jory hugged her own elbows tightly.

Jory’s father switched Frances to his other shoulder. “Well, I guess that pretty much answers that.” He reached out and patted Jory on the arm.

Jory’s mother stood in the dimness, the whites of her eyes glowing bright. “I just don’t see how everything we’ve done for you girls has resulted in
this.
”

No one said anything in response, although Jory knew that she or Grace was meant to. That this was the characteristic gambit to which they were expected to provide a soothing and chastened response.

“I think it’s the selfishness that hurts me the worst. All your father and I have ever asked is that you not shame us. Or yourselves. And look—” She waved her hand wildly at Jory and Grace. “Just look.”

Jory could feel her own sense of guilt weighing heavily in her body, although Grace seemed to be standing up straighter than ever, her abdomen standing out proudly in relief.

Their mother shook her head and walked around to the passenger side of the car and got in. She pulled the door shut after her and sat there staring straight ahead.

Their father took a few deliberate steps away from the car. He leaned forward and gave Grace and then Jory a kiss on the forehead. “Happy birthday, birthday girl,” he whispered as he held Jory tight with one of his arms.

Jory hugged him back, and she stroked Frances’s dangling foot. “Tell Frances she can come and play with the kitten anytime she wants.”

Her father let go of Jory. He ran his free hand through his hair. “You know, I’m not sure that would be such a good idea right now. Maybe she can come see the kitten sometime later, when everything has calmed down some.”

“Calmed down?” Jory’s voice rose perceptibly. “Why do you always say that, Dad? Seriously—do you think things are ever really going to
calm down
?”

“Frances can’t come see us again?” Grace said. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said their father. “But let’s not get upset, all right? I think we’ve all had enough excitement here for one evening.” Their father walked over to the car, opened the back door, and laid Frances gently in the backseat. He said something to their mother and then shut the door and walked back toward them.

“That just isn’t right,” said Jory. “It’s not.”

Grace stepped closer to their father. “Do you really think it’s fair to punish Frances too?”

Their father gazed up at the sky. “This has been a very confusing time for everyone,” he said. “Maybe especially for Frances. She’s too young to understand what’s going on, and we’d like to try to shield her from any real . . .” Here their father’s voice trailed off. “Your mother and I don’t want to see her permanently hurt or damaged by any of this.”

Grace seemed stunned. An idea bloomed across her face and settled. “So you
are
ashamed of us. Of
me
.”

Their father sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Jory peered at her father. “Why did you let her come today, then?”

“It was your birthday,” he said, sounding horribly sad.

“So that means we get to see her again when? Only on holidays? At Thanksgiving? Christmas?”

“Jory, I just don’t know.”

“Christmas?”

Grace leaned forward and tried to touch her father’s shirt cuff.
Whether he didn’t realize this in the dark or whether he deliberately pulled back, Jory couldn’t tell. “Have you prayed about this, Dad?”

“Grace.”

“Have you?”

“Okay. Look, it’s late now and I need to get your mother and Frances home, and, Jory, you have school tomorrow. So we will consider this discussion closed for the evening, all right?”

Jory and Grace said nothing.

“And, Jory, if you need any supplies or . . . anything from town, you should call me first and I’ll be happy to get whatever you want. So you don’t need to bother Mrs. Kleinfelter anymore with that kind of thing, okay?” Their father pulled his car keys out of his pocket. “Okay?”

Grace took a step or two in the direction of the house and suddenly stopped and turned her gaze toward their father.
“The way of a fool is right in his own eyes,”
she said. “Proverbs 12:15.” Grace turned around again and then walked all the way across the grass, up the steps onto the porch, and into the house. The front door slammed shut.

Jory and her father stood alone in the yard. He sighed once. Heavily. “You know that I love you two girls,” her father said. Something about the dampness of the night air, or the fact that she couldn’t see his mouth moving in the dark, made his words seem to be coming from a distance away. For some reason, Jory couldn’t think of a response to his statement. She merely watched as he lowered himself into the driver’s seat of the Buick and then stared backward the entire time he put the car into reverse and backed the car out of the long dirt driveway.