Bloodline(3)

Slow Henry stretches in my lap, gunning his motor. I pet him absentmindedly, struggling to read the message. It takes several moments of tires thrumming on pavement before we’re close enough.

LILYDALE

COME HOME FOREVER

The promise is surrounded by white flowers.

Lilies, of course.

Before I can process the words, we’ve zoomed past the sign and pierced the dark watchman woods, a pop as we push through the skin of my past life, past the trees jutting like swords, and emerge into a new world, bright and solid.

I’m holding my breath, have been since the sign, a child’s game to survive a tunnel.

Hold it ’til the end and make a wish!

I release the breath through my nose, craning to stare behind us. The trees look different on this side. Tire-swing ready. I face front. We’re at Lilydale’s edge. I’m relieved to see it’s significantly larger than the villages we’ve passed through. Houses, clean and tight, immaculate squares of lawn, shops including a real estate office, a barber, a filling station selling unleaded for thirty-two cents a gallon, a clot of kids biking down side streets, lobbing jokes, women in pretty spring frocks strolling in twos, laughing.

It’s everything Deck promised and more.

The rocky knot between my shoulder blades relaxes, finally. I crank down my window and inhale the scent of fresh lilacs.

Slow Henry swats at a lock of my hair stirred by the breeze, and I smile.

It’s a fairy tale, a storybook land. Even the sun seems to be shining brighter.

The prickling worry I’ve nurtured on the drive, the paranoia as the towns grew smaller and the prairie hungrier, it all flows away. Nowhere to hide, my ass. I squeeze Deck’s hand, the other resting on my belly. The baby is barely showing, the tiny swelling easily hidden beneath a loose blouse.

Deck squeezes back. “What is it, darling?”

“I believe I may be the luckiest girl in the world,” I say.

The sun chooses that moment to slide behind the clouds, a gloomy wink, almost as if it hears me.





CHAPTER 2

It’s unsettling how much Deck and his father look alike.

That’s what wallops me when I lay eyes on his parents for the first time.

Deck resembles a crew-cut Jerry Lewis from Three on a Couch enough to get stopped by girls on the street. His dad is nearly a twin other than the gray stippling his hair and the pooching at his belly. A senior Jerry Lewis standing next to his wife. Her brown-silver hair is enormous, a tortoiseshell comb holding the towering haystack in place, two well-chosen tendrils loose, one on each side, curling in front of her ears. She’s wearing a crisp summer dress, one she’s clearly ironed and starched. Her perfection makes me feel filthy in comparison, even from a distance, even from inside a car.

They’re waiting—Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Schmidt—outside a pretty little white craftsman with blue shutters when we pull up. Ronald’s arm is tossed around Barbara’s shoulder. She’s holding a covered Corning Ware dish, a flick of desperation in her wide-set eyes. Our new house is on Mill Street, a short residential lane just off Lilydale’s downtown. The entire avenue is lined with oak and maple trees, a slice of apple pie straight out of the ’50s.

I lick dry lips and smooth my dress, rumpled and covered in cat hair from the drive. Deck I love. Same with the town; I’m going to make myself feel it. Meeting parents, though? Never been my game. I’m having a hard time drawing a full breath.

“You ready, baby?” Deck asks, cranking the car into park.

He’s being thoughtful. He’s so eager to go to his parents that he’s trembling. I’m struck anew by how handsome he is, how uncomplicated his love. I like that about him, that he isn’t slick and quick. It’s a breath of fresh air after the fast-talking guys I’ve been with. Plus, he’s the best damn kisser.

“Ready as rice,” I say, my voice hitching.

He lands a peck on my cheek. “This is your home now, Joanie. And my parents are your family. You can relax and settle down for the first time in your life.”

“Deck, I’m fine,” I say. “Go on. I’m just gonna grab Slow Henry.”

Deck’s out of the car before the sentence leaves my mouth. I pretend to reach down, into the footwell where Slow Henry hopped when the car jerked to a stop, but I’m watching Barbara openly sob as she sets the hot dish on the sidewalk and clamps her arms around her son. Minneapolis is only two and a half hours away. Why haven’t they visited in the nearly year Deck and I have been together?

My cheeks flame as I realize Ronald is watching me watch Barbara, expressionless.

Is the jealousy spelled out on my face? He gets a mother and a father. I duck all the way down, out of sight, making the situation impossibly worse. I should have just waved. All’s fine here! Just a normal person thinking normal thoughts.

I learned that trick in my fifth high school. Always smile. Agree. Be invisible when you can, friendly when they spot you. But then a spike of self-anger surprises me. I’m not that girl anymore. I’m a grown woman. A reporter. I have a fiancé and a baby on the way.

I take a breath. Lift Slow Henry, who doesn’t let anyone but me hold him. Wish I had a drink, just a nip to grind down the edges. It’s not only parents. Meeting new people period has always been difficult. I’m afraid they’ll see right through me, recognize that hiding beneath the prim clothes and proper makeup is a feral girl wearing hand-me-downs, never staying put long enough to make friends, certain everyone knows some trick of getting along that she doesn’t. Rooming with Libby and Ursula in college was the first time in my life I had girlfriends.