Chapter 5
THE FIRST SUMMER, FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
Sammie didn’t seem to hold a single ounce of resentment for their mother, but Didion was having trouble acting like everything was normal.
Because it wasn’t. Their mother had checked out of their home like it was a hotel, and now they were supposed to live with her during the summer? It felt more like staying with a cool aunt than with an actual mother.
Gone was Babe’s enormous purse, replaced by nothing more than a credit card slipped into a jean-short pocket when they went out.
Usually she dressed in normal mom clothes, cotton V-necks that had lost their shape over the course of a few washes in the laundry.
Now she wore stringy sundresses and tank tops with no bra.
She was tan and her wavy blond hair was cut short.
She was thinner. She wore an anklet and a toe ring.
She stayed up late and woke up late. There was no guarantee of a healthy breakfast prepared in the morning, and the fridge wasn’t stocked with applesauce and juice boxes, Hidden Valley ranch and bags of baby carrots.
No, instead there were austere containers of god-knew-what and pickled somethings.
“No wonder she’s so skinny,” Sammie said once. “All she has to eat are ingredients.”
Didion was glad, on the one hand. Her mother was unquestionably happier. There was a light in her eyes and a pink tinge in her cheeks and she talked about friends she had and things she’d done. She never used to socialize at home; she had always been tired.
Didion was starting to worry about all kinds of adult things, seeing in herself the weariness she used to see in her mother. She was starting to recognize things like stress and obligation. Two things that were altogether missing from Babe now that she lived on Mercy.
She wasn’t as quick to hug as she used to be, and she didn’t care much how the girls spent their days. And when Didion mentioned that she missed their neighbor and friend Matt, Babe had shocked them once again by suggesting he come to stay.
“Long as he wants to!” she’d said.
The girls had shrilled in stereo at the suggestion.
Matt was their one and only mutual best friend.
He lived a few houses down from them and had since Didion was four years old.
He was cute and charmed the grown-ups without being a suck-up.
He had just gotten a bigger role than any other freshman had in the Spring musical.
He had mean parents and a wit that made the dumb jocks and the teachers laugh alike.
On the surface, he was a relaxed kid with an easy smile.
But at home, his parents yelled so loud that sometimes Didion and Sammie could hear them from their own backyard.
His parents hated each other. Not like Wyatt and Babe had, which had been quiet and irritable.
No, these two were hateful, despite being deeply Christian and preaching as they did at every block party.
So now, Babe and her daughters were crossing the bridge to retrieve Matt from the airport.
When he came out onto the pickup curb, Sammie flew from the car and jumped onto him, kissing both his cheeks about ten times. Didion hugged him and felt a knot in her stomach untangle.
“Thanks for having me,” Matt said graciously, climbing into the back seat.
“Of course! Of course.” Babe waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s gonna be great, you’ll get your own room and—oh, I got you kids some MoonPies! They’re in the freezer.”
MoonPies were a beloved treat of Babe’s from her own childhood.
They were a southern staple, and the chocolate-flavored ones could be found in most grocery stores and gas stations south of Virginia.
Less common, though, were the key lime–flavored ones—Babe’s favorite.
It was an affection Sammie and Didion had definitely inherited, and they both shuffled excitedly at the mention of them.
“In the freezer?” Matt asked. Most people ate them at room temperature. Not Babe.
“It’s far superior, trust me.” She grinned.
“Huh.” Matt sounded skeptical. “Hey, want to see the present my parents gave me?” he said to the girls, changing topics in that breakneck way that only a teenager could. “It’s pretty cool.”
Didion got the feeling it was not, in fact, going to be cool, while Sammie gleefully nodded.
From his backpack he pulled a big, huge, heavy Bible.
Matt started to laugh as both girls reacted. Sammie went, “Oh,” with surprise, Didion said, “Ah,” with understanding.
“That’s not all,” he said, letting it fall open to the only bookmarked page. A passage was circled. The girls leaned in to read it.
Leviticus 20:13. “If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them.”
Matt had not come out to either of the girls, or to anyone, as far as they knew. Certainly not his parents. The fact that he was gay remained something of an open secret.
Sammie rolled down the back window, heavy rain pouring in as they slowed at the end of the bridge. She took the Bible from his hands and with more strength than any of them knew she had, she hurled it Frisbee-like out of the car, over the guardrail, and into the water below.
Throwing things into the bay was not their style. They weren’t litterbugs. But on this one occasion, there was silent agreement—or, rather, raucous laughter—that indicated that Sammie’s actions were completely, one-hundred-percent justified.
“Sorry for littering,” Sammie said to Babe.
Babe’s gaze flitted up to meet theirs in the rearview mirror. A small smile played in her eyes as she looked back to the road ahead, saying, “I’m sure God forgives you.”