It\u2019s September 29th and Magdalene White is sitting in the backseat of her own car, dressed in black, both hands holding a bouquet of blue and white flowers on her lap, her purse at her feet. In front of her, in the passenger seat, her husband, quiet in his black suit and tie. Her daughter is in the driver\u2019s seat, sticking out with her hair dyed a bright, yellowy orange, what used to be a nice, tidy pixie cut grown out into something she refuses to have tamed into a more becoming style. She has, at least, dressed more appropriately for the occasion than her go-to of mended jeans and her boyfriend\u2019s shirts, in dark slacks and a button-down shirt.<\/p>\n
There used to be a time when September 29th was the happiest day of Magdalene\u2019s life. Then, almost four years later, it became tied with June 18th. Until, not two years later, the joy associated with that September day had been marred by tragedy. She still has the memories, treasures kept in photo albums and tucked away in her heart, but there would be no new ones made like them. Never again. The first year had been the most difficult, but it has never become easy<\/em>. It\u2019s been sixteen years, now, and this is still a day where she wakes up with a black weight somewhere deep in her chest. A day where the silence emanating from one upstairs bedroom becomes deafening.<\/p>\n It had surprised her, two years ago, when Felicity for the first time offered to drive them. Their daughter had been very clear she had no intention of joining<\/em> them, but it had still been a step up in engagement after years of avoiding any involvement whatsoever. It doesn\u2019t make the loss of their son any less painful, but it has made Magdalene feel like her daughter is acknowledging her grief. It may not be something they share, but at least Felicity accepts \u2014 or so Magdalene thinks \u2014 that it is a burden she will always carry; one that is as much part of her as her love for her children.<\/p>\n There are few cars in the church lot as they pull in. Magdalene thinks she recognizes one of them, but sees it only briefly before Felicity pulls into a parking space and turns off the ignition. Magdalene and Victor exit the vehicle, and she shoulders her purse before taking her husband\u2019s arm, letting him lead her towards the cemetery.<\/p>\n Hearing the car lock engaging surprises them both; she looks up at Victor as he glances back over his shoulder towards the sound.<\/p>\n \u201cI wasn\u2019t expecting you to come.\u201d She can tell by his tone that he\u2019s speaking to their daughter even before she comes into view.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not staying.\u201d Felicity\u2019s lower lip is between her teeth, and she\u2019s slouching her shoulders. Any other place, any other day, Magdalene would scold her; today is not a day she can be that kind of mother. It\u2019s too easy to remember that they only get so much time together in this world. \u201cI\u2019ll just\u2026 walk with you to the grave. If that\u2019s okay?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course, honey.\u201d Magdalene tries not to sound too surprised. Far as she\u2019s aware, Felicity hasn\u2019t visited her brother\u2019s grave since she was too small to fuss about it. Magdalene doesn\u2019t pretend to understand what her daughter\u2019s objection is, where her resistance comes from, but that she\u2019s willing to even walk up to it seems like a step in the right direction.<\/p>\n They don\u2019t speak as they walk. The paved parking lot gives way to gravel paths, cutting through the grassy grounds with their lines of headstones. By the time they reach their destination Magdalene\u2019s throat is already tight. Visiting Justus is always hard on her, though she wouldn\u2019t miss it for the world.<\/p>\n She releases Victor\u2019s arm to approach the headstone, gray and cold with her son\u2019s name, birthdate, and the date he was ripped away from them etched into its surface. Kneels down to place the flowers at the base of it, next to the ones left by an earlier visitor. Most likely her parents or mother-in-law. For a moment, she reaches out and brushes her fingertips across his name, as though she might somehow be able to touch her child through the stone. When she rises and returns to her husband\u2019s side, she is surprised to see her daughter step forward.<\/p>\n Felicity bends down, as well, though she doesn\u2019t linger, simply places something down and straightens up. She looks awkward, uncomfortable, as she looks at her parents. \u201cGive me a call when you\u2019re ready, yeah?\u201d Without waiting for an answer, she starts walking, heading back the way they came.<\/p>\n A small teddy bear, no taller than her hand, sits leaned against the headstone.<\/p>\n Magdalene allows herself a few moments to wonder, standing silent next to Victor. He puts his hand on her waist, his arm behind her back providing support. He doesn\u2019t speak, and doesn\u2019t need to; in his silence he is her rock. It hardly seems right that either of them should have to suffer this grief, that anyone should, but if she has to bear it, she is grateful he is the one by her side through it.<\/p>\n \u201cWe miss you, honey.\u201d It\u2019s the same thing she tells the headstone every time they visit, and like every other time, it\u2019s what draws out her tears. \u201cWe love you so very, very much.\u201d<\/p>\n Those are the only words she speaks out loud. The first few years, they\u2019d exchanged stories, \u2018remember-when\u2019s about the boy who\u2019d left behind a hole in both their hearts. At some point it had gradually started turning into what they have now. Mutual contemplation; two grieving parents silently seeking to remember their son as he was. A warm, happy, loving child, so proud to be a big brother. Now all that remains of him are those memories, filled photo albums, an untouched bedroom, and the cold stone before them.<\/p>\n \u201cHe would have turned twenty-two, wouldn\u2019t he?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d Magdalene turns towards the voice, gives her sister-in-law a sad smile out of pure politeness. Today hasn\u2019t been a day for smiles for the last sixteen years. \u201cHello, Mary-Anne. I didn\u2019t realize you\u2019d be here.\u201d<\/p>\n Seeing the sleeping 10-month-old in the car seat her sister-in-law is carrying doesn\u2019t make anything easier. Without looking Magdalene reaches into her purse, manages to find a napkin and dabs at her damp cheeks with it. Gray stains on the white paper tissue tells her that her mascara has been running.<\/p>\n \u201cIt didn\u2019t seem right to visit Church and not come by here. Not today.\u201d Mary-Anne adds a small bouquet, looking like it might come from her own garden rather than a florist\u2019s, to the collection of flowers. \u201cFelicity doesn\u2019t visit her brother?\u201d<\/p>\n Victor answers in Magdalene\u2019s stead. \u201cFee was here. The bear is from her. She doesn\u2019t like to stay.\u201d It\u2019s possible, the way he says it, he has some insight Magdalene doesn\u2019t; she\u2019ll have to ask later.<\/p>\n Mary-Anne gives the merest hint of a frown. \u201cI have to be honest with you; she worries me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMary-Anne, please. Not today.\u201d Her late son\u2019s birthday is not a day Magdalene wants to deal with her extended family\u2019s concerns over her daughter\u2019s life choices, no matter how well-intentioned. The amount of pressure they\u2019ve been exerting on her and Victor both, trying to make them step between Felicity and her boyfriend, has been tiring enough without also intruding on her grief. \u201cI\u2019m only here to remember my little boy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course. Maggie, dear. I couldn\u2019t imagine the loss; he was so young. God must have loved him very much, to call him back so soon.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s been sixteen years, Mary-Anne. I appreciate the thought, but I don\u2019t need comforting.\u201d It\u2019s a white lie, an empty courtesy; the truth is that she never found such sentiments comforting at all. No divine plan makes up for how little time she got to spend with her son. \u201cI\u2026 would appreciate silence, actually. If you don\u2019t mind.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot at all. Will you at least let me invite the two of you for lunch? To spare you the work? It\u2019s no trouble. Just stop by when you\u2019re ready.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat is kind of you, Mary-Anne, but we couldn\u2019t possibly.\u201d She resists the urge to chew on her lip \u2014 an ugly habit, her mother had called it when she was a little girl \u2014 as her sister-in-law\u2019s continued presence, continued talking<\/em>, starts to get under her skin. \u201cFee will be waiting to take us home.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, silly me; I should maybe have realized when you said she\u2019d been. She\u2019s welcome, too, of course.\u201d Magdalene gets the impression that\u2019s not strictly the case, but there\u2019s no way for Mary-Anne to not<\/em> extend the offer without losing face. \u201cYou don\u2019t need to make up your mind now; I\u2019ll be cooking for leftovers. Just come on over.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe appreciate the offer.\u201d Victor\u2019s voice is calm and far from hostile, but there\u2019s a weight to the end of his sentences that discourages further conversation. \u201cAnd thank you for visiting Justus. Have a pleasant day, Mary-Anne.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBest to you, Victor. Magdalene.\u201d<\/p>\n Magdalene feels a little guilty for the sigh of relief that escapes her when Mary-Anne walks away. The sound of gravel crunching under her sister-in-law\u2019s feet, gradually growing fainter, is more welcome than it probably should be. She doesn\u2019t actually dislike Mary-Anne, has no reason to. She just keeps anticipating her brother to speak through his wife\u2019s lips, and it does nothing good for their relationship.<\/p>\n She stands alongside Victor, silent, until his pocket vibrates to life with the sound of sleepy bees. He pulls out his cell phone, scowls at it. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, honey, I have to take this.\u201d<\/p>\n It\u2019s one of the perils of his position, she knows. It doesn\u2019t happen often; that it happened now is just bad luck. She watches him walk away, down the rows of headstones, speaking in hushed tones with his phone up to his ear. Hopefully whatever situation has arisen at his workplace that requires his attention can be resolved promptly, over the phone. He deserves better than to have to go from the cemetery to the office.<\/p>\n Remembering Justus without Victor by her side isn\u2019t the same. Her thoughts go melancholy, lingering more on the hole their son left behind than on the good memories they made while they had him. On how unfair it is that the sister he loved \u2014 who loved him, too, the way a young toddler loves \u2014 only has second-hand memories of him. On how only an hour before losing him she\u2019d found a crayon drawing on the wall of his closet and cleaned it away not knowing she\u2019d never see him again.<\/p>\n A drawing of four spindly figures, two with yellow hair, two with orange. One with blue eyes \u2014 Victor\u2019s eyes are more gray, but that\u2019s nitpicking \u2014 and three with green. Holding hands, all wearing red, U-shaped crayon smiles. A family about to be broken up and not yet aware.<\/p>\n The napkin in her hand grows more damp, gray stains layering into darker gray, the longer she stands there. She doesn\u2019t really consciously register the sound of Victor\u2019s footfalls on the grass as he returns, only hears them just enough that she\u2019s not startled when he wraps his arms around her from behind and holds her against his chest. A solid rock to lift her out of the despair lapping at her feet.<\/p>\n \u201cWe can stay a few more minutes, but then I need to get to the office. I already called Felicity and let her know; she\u2019ll meet us in the lot. She can drop you off with Mary-Anne on the way. I shouldn\u2019t be very late, I hope; they just need me to be there while a provider\u2019s techs have privileged access. I can come get you once I\u2019m done.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know, Victor.\u201d Mary-Anne had seemed a little pushy, and some part of her doesn\u2019t want to know what that might look like if it\u2019s just the two of them. \u201cMaybe I should just\u2026 go home.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMagdalene, I know better than to leave you on your own to start brooding. I can\u2019t promise I\u2019ll be home before Fee needs to get to whatever it was she had planned for the afternoon. Let Mary-Anne look after you for a bit; it\u2019d be a weight off my mind.\u201d<\/p>\n She lays a hand on his arm, nods slowly. Victor is usually right, and she doesn\u2019t want him worrying about her while trying to resolve a problem at work. \u201cI suppose it\u2019s been some time since I spent time with her and the kids.\u201d She omits her brother on purpose, not only because she doesn\u2019t expect him to be home. Not spending time around Paul isn\u2019t something she\u2019s going to be made to feel bad about. Victor knows.<\/p>\n They stand silent for a little while longer before they start moving, like a sigh. Leaving is in some ways the most difficult part, some part of her wondering if she ought to be giving her son\u2019s memory more time. In that way, Victor needing to leave almost makes it easier; it\u2019s not either of them making the decision to walk away, but the universe continuing to move around them, making demands on their time.<\/p>\n Felicity is waiting by the car, leaning against the driver\u2019s side door. She doesn\u2019t speak, simply raises her arms enough to show there\u2019s a hug there if either of her parents want it. Magdalene does, squeezing her daughter tightly, and feels her husband\u2019s arms around them both. A few moments of being reminded that despite the periodic friction, their daughter loves and cares about her parents. Then they get into the car, back into the seats they occupied on the trip here.<\/p>\n \u201cWould you drop your mother off at Paul and Mary-Anne\u2019s, please?\u201d<\/p>\n Felicity pauses, hand on the ignition. \u201cI can do that, but\u2026 Uncle Paul\u2019s?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPaul won\u2019t be home this time of day. We met Mary-Anne; she invited us for lunch. Your father obviously can\u2019t go, but I could use the company.\u201d Magdalene doesn\u2019t mention the misgivings she, herself, has. They\u2019re vague, nebulous, not even strong enough to call intuition.<\/p>\n \u201cIf that\u2019s what you want.\u201d<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n \u201cTell Aunt Mary-Anne hi from me.\u201d Felicity is looking over her shoulder, watching Magdalene as she picks up her purse from the floor and prepares to exit the car outside her brother\u2019s house. She hasn\u2019t been here in a long time. \u201cAnd if you need me, just give me a call, yeah?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThank you, honey, but I wouldn\u2019t want to get in the way of your plans.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey\u2019re more of a want, really. Nobody will be hurt if I cancel.\u201d Magdalene can tell that her daughter is downplaying the significance of her engagement. It might not be something she has<\/em> to do, but it\u2019s definitely important to her. \u201cIt\u2019s alright, Mom; I took the day off for you and Dad. If you need me, call<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve already helped out, honey. Go enjoy your thing. I love you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI love you, too, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n The car idles by the curb until Magdalene reaches the front gate, kept closed by an auto gate latch on the sidewalk side of the white picket fence to keep it safe from the hands of adventurous small children too young to leave the yard on their own. Only as she opens the latch does she hear her daughter drive away. It\u2019s almost like their roles have been reversed \u2014 normally Magdalene would be the one dropping Felicity off and waiting to make sure she makes it to the door before leaving.<\/p>\n Magdalene has to knock twice before Mary-Anne opens the door, baby Trinity on her arm. \u201cMaggie! Hi! I wasn\u2019t expecting you to come alone.\u201d The greeting hug is the kind of awkward that comes from having one arm occupied with holding something very precious and fragile, yet capable of moving on its own.<\/p>\n \u201cVictor had to go into the office.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, that\u2019s just\u2026 I\u2019m sorry. Today of all days.\u201d Mary-Anne\u2019s face is all sympathy, her mouth almost turning into a little pout. \u201cCome on in. Lunch isn\u2019t ready, but I can get you something while you wait. Tea?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m fine, thank you, Mary-Anne. Is there anything I can do to help?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaggie, dear, I wouldn\u2019t invite you over just to put you to work!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s no bother,\u201d Magdalene insists. \u201cAt least let me take the little one off your hands.\u201d<\/p>\n She doesn\u2019t even quite know whether the faint longing she feels as she takes the baby into her arms is a desire for a baby of her own \u2014 both inadvisable and improbable at her age \u2014 or just a desperate, futile desire to hold on to her own daughter a little longer. Whatever time she can get with her little girl. For the time being, though, her focus goes to keeping her niece laughing, smiling, and out of her mother\u2019s hair. It\u2019s a sort of living in the moment that she hasn\u2019t had much of dealing with an at times troubled teenager.<\/p>\n Maybe she misses that.<\/p>\n Mary-Anne wasn\u2019t exaggerating when she said she\u2019d be cooking for leftovers; she has multiple casserole pans set out, and is alternating between stirring the meat grounds and onions browning on the stove and slicing potatoes with all the efficiency of the homemaking mother of five that she is. How she managed to get that far with Stella to look after before Magdalene arrived is a mystery.<\/p>\n They make inconsequential small talk as Mary-Anne finishes preparations, then sit down at the table, Stella back in her mother\u2019s arms, once the casseroles are in the oven.<\/p>\n \u201cSo how are<\/em> you doing, dear?\u201d<\/p>\n Magdalene shakes her head, just slightly. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t get easier, anymore.\u201d The loss of her son is less of an open wound than it once was, but it\u2019s still a scar on her heart, and like the pain in a once-broken bone during adverse weather, today that scar aches. Just as much as it did last year, and the year before that. Just as much as it did in May, on the anniversary of his death. \u201cBut we get by, Victor and I.\u201d There\u2019s no way she could go through this twice a year without her husband at her side.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd Felicity?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe doesn\u2019t remember him. I\u2019m sure if she did, she\u2019d\u2026 She\u2019s tried to be supportive. I don\u2019t want to pressure her.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow is your relationship, these days?\u201d<\/p>\n She doesn\u2019t like Mary-Anne asking the question, but can\u2019t think of a reason to dismiss it. \u201cImproving. I think. She seems happier, at any rate. That\u2019s all I can ask, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n Mary-Anne looks at her, and she thinks she sees a grain of pity in her sister-in-law\u2019s eyes. It bothers her, makes her feel like she walked into something she doesn\u2019t want anything to do with. Something she doesn\u2019t have the fortitude to deal with today.<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s missing Mass again, isn\u2019t she?\u201d How Mary-Anne knows, Magdalene has no idea.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s between her and God.\u201d It\u2019s none of Mary-Anne\u2019s business that she\u2019s argued with Felicity about just that. That she\u2019s giving Mary-Anne the same response as her daughter gave her when confronted. \u201cShe\u2019s an adult; she can make her own decisions.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI just don\u2019t want to see you lose her, too.\u201d<\/p>\n Magdalene\u2019s stomach drops, her insides turning ice cold. In that cold, a seed of anger sprouts, hard and sharp. She dutifully rips it out like a weed, leaving only the freezing fear. The very prospect of something happening to her girl is petrifying, makes her want to collect her baby and hold her close and never let her go. But she can\u2019t do that. Somewhere in her heart she knows that trying would drive her daughter away again. Make her leave like she did when she was younger, and now that she\u2019s an adult, she doesn\u2019t have<\/em> to come back. \u201cWhat do you mean by that? She\u2019s growing up; she\u2019s not dying!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet me show you something.\u201d Mary-Anne stands, hoisting her baby daughter a little higher. She walks across the kitchen, through the door to the adjoining room that serves as both family room and \u2014 in one small corner \u2014 her husband Paul\u2019s home office. When she returns, she\u2019s holding a printed sheet of paper, that she holds out for Magdalene to take. A URL string at the bottom of the page makes very clear it\u2019s a printout of a webpage. \u201cI think you should see this.\u201d<\/p>\n Hesitantly, she accepts the printout. It appears to be someone\u2019s personal account, from a forum or support group of some sort. It\u2019s not the kind of place Magdalene frequents, and her short time as a teacher is still enough for her to approach it with skepticism, well aware that there\u2019s no one fact checking letters to the editor or posts on online forums. Still, she reads it.<\/p>\n It claims to be written by a parent, and she thinks that much rings true. The writer speaks of a son, describes him of a good kid, maybe a little withdrawn at times, as teenagers are. How he stopped enjoying father-son activities with his father, how he made friends who spoke of gay rights \u2014 as though they hadn\u2019t already seized more than their fair share of those, down to undermining the very concept of marriage as God created it \u2014 and gender identities and acronyms that keep growing. How, one day, the writer\u2019s son had come to his parents to tell them he wanted to be called by a different name, a woman\u2019s name.<\/p>\n And then he\u2019d been gone. Had rejected the parents who raised him, in favor of the friends who\u2019d enabled him in his delusion. Almost against her will, Magdalene finds herself feeling sympathy for the writer, finds herself a little less critical of the story than she\u2019d accept from a student. She knows what it\u2019s like to lose a child, and she knows what it\u2019s like to have one walk away, to not know their whereabouts or what kind of dangers they might be in. Neither is pleasant, and she would wish them on no one.<\/p>\n She puts the paper down on the table in front of her. \u201cThose poor people.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t think that sounds a lot like Felicity?\u201d<\/p>\n Magdalene shakes her head, refusing to acknowledge the similarities that she knows are there. To acknowledge them is to accept that she could lose her daughter. \u201cFee wouldn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not saying she\u2019s planning on it right now, but look at where that boy is leading her!\u201d There\u2019s no doubt who Mary-Anne is referring to; the boy in question is definitely Felicity\u2019s boyfriend. \u201cYou\u2019ve seen them together, Maggie, dear. She hangs by his word.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t want to talk about Nate, Mary-Anne. Not today. Please.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not about<\/em> Nate,\u201d her sister-in-law insists. \u201cIt\u2019s what he\u2019s doing to Felicity. How he\u2019s grooming her. You know how they are. The gays<\/em>.\u201d The way she says it, it might as well be a slur; Magdalene might largely agree with the underlying sentiment, but the venom still makes her inwardly cringe. \u201cWasn\u2019t he the one who brought up that nonsense about her not being a young woman? Isn\u2019t it he who insists<\/em> on it? Right now she\u2019s just confused, and he\u2019s taking advantage.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI really don\u2019t think he wants to hurt her. It\u2026 doesn\u2019t seem like him.\u201d As though she knows her daughter\u2019s boyfriend. All she has to go by is a few months of less-than-weekly interactions. Mary-Anne could<\/em> be right. Her daughter could<\/em> be confused, and that would explain why she\u2019s started refusing to wear dresses for Sunday Mass. It makes more sense than what Nate has tried to explain to Victor and her. Felicity has maybe been a bit of a handful at times, has maybe grown up playing more with the boys than Magdalene would prefer, but that doesn\u2019t mean she is<\/em> one. \u201cHe\u2026 is who he is, but he does care about her.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd if he manages to convince her that God made a mistake? That she\u2019s meant to be a man? That anyone saying otherwise is out to do her harm? He\u2019s said<\/em> he\u2019s gay already, so why is he even pursuing her? It\u2019s not about hurting<\/em> her, or about caring<\/em>, he\u2019s trying to turn<\/em> her. Misleading children is what they do<\/em>, Maggie. I don\u2019t want you to wake up one day and realize it\u2019s too late.\u201d<\/p>\n If Mary-Anne hadn\u2019t been her eldest brother\u2019s wife, or if she didn\u2019t already know how Paul feels about Nate and about Felicity\u2019s behavior since he came into her life, maybe Magdalene would take it all at face value. It\u2019s still enough to rattle her; the story printed for her a little too plausible, the arguments fitting a little too well, for her to just dismiss it all as a cruelly timed attempt at manipulation. She still doesn\u2019t doubt that her daughter adores her boyfriend \u2014 that much has been more than obvious from the first time she brought him home. Nor does she doubt that he cares for her, however poorly that fits with his declared sexuality.<\/p>\n Maybe Mary-Anne has it backwards, and Felicity will fix Nate.<\/p>\n \u201cFee won\u2019t walk out on us. She\u2019s always<\/em> come home.\u201d She says it with confidence she doesn\u2019t really feel, wills herself to believe it at least in the moment. Mary-Anne\u2019s arguments are lodged in her brain like hair-fine thorns, near-invisible but ready to snag passing thoughts.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m just concerned. There are so many more stories like that one. I don\u2019t want you to have one to tell of your own. You\u2019ve lost too much already.\u201d<\/p>\n Magdalene feels something on her cheek. At first she assumes it\u2019s an insect, reaches up to brush it away, but her fingers come away wet. Moments later, Mary-Anne is on her feet, fetching a box of tissues and placing it down in front of her, the image of the caring, compassionate host.<\/p>\n \u201cI am so sorry, Maggie, dear. I didn\u2019t mean to make you cry. Maybe I\u2019m wrong. I just\u2026 I worry. I know she\u2019s all the two of you have, now.\u201d The words sound so genuine, it lodges the thorns of suspicion a little more firmly.<\/p>\n Makes her feel like maybe she and Victor have let themselves stay \u201cnot ready yet\u201d for too long after their son\u2019s passing. Like they ought to have reevaluated that status a few more times. Like, maybe, it would have changed things if their daughter hadn\u2019t grown up an only child, living beside the specter of a brother she doesn\u2019t remember.<\/p>\n Because Mary-Anne does have at least that much right: Felicity is all they have.<\/p>\n That thought lingers with her as Mary-Anne takes her casseroles out of the oven. As they eat and as Mary-Anne feeds the baby. As her niblings, one by one, arrive home from school. Magdalene stays with Trinity as her sister-in-law goes to meet Raphael, her second youngest, at the school bus stop, and then again with both children as she goes out to meet Gabriel. Michael and Eve-Marie, Mary-Anne and Paul\u2019s two oldest, arrive together, bickering as siblings do.<\/p>\n The thought is still with her when, maybe an hour after the high school children\u2019s arrival home, her husband rings the doorbell. Once he\u2019s in the door, Mary-Anne won\u2019t let either of them back out until they accept an aluminum foil pan of leftovers, more than enough for a meal for the two of them. So they accept, thank her for her hospitality, say goodbye to her and the children, and leave.<\/p>\n Magdalene is secretly glad Victor made it before the end of her brother\u2019s workday. Mary-Anne\u2019s concerns about their daughter were wearying enough; anything Paul would have had to say would doubtlessly have been worse. The last thing she needs today is her big brother questioning her piety over Felicity\u2019s church attendance, or trying to browbeat her into getting between her daughter and her boyfriend.<\/p>\n She sits in the front passenger seat of her husband\u2019s car, leaning back with her eyes closed as he pulls out, when she realizes where the thought Mary-Anne planted leads. Felicity is all they have, because they got stuck in \u201cnot ready yet\u201d for sixteen years. Maybe, just maybe, it\u2019s not quite too late.<\/p>\n \u201cVictor? I think we\u2019re ready, now. I want to have another baby.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" It\u2019s September 29th and Magdalene White is sitting in the backseat of her own car, dressed in black, both hands holding a bouquet of blue and white flowers on her lap, her purse at her feet. In front of her, in the passenger seat, her husband, quiet in his black suit and tie. Her daughter more \u00bb<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[73],"tags":[74,76,78],"class_list":["post-219","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-the-life-of-ferret","tag-ferret-white","tag-magdalene-white","tag-victor-white"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/furry-tales.net\/vixenscratch\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/219","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/furry-tales.net\/vixenscratch\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/furry-tales.net\/vixenscratch\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/furry-tales.net\/vixenscratch\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/furry-tales.net\/vixenscratch\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=219"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/furry-tales.net\/vixenscratch\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/219\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":228,"href":"https:\/\/furry-tales.net\/vixenscratch\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/219\/revisions\/228"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/furry-tales.net\/vixenscratch\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=219"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/furry-tales.net\/vixenscratch\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=219"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/furry-tales.net\/vixenscratch\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=219"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}