The Chicken Sisters(105)

“Let me just make Mae sweat a little, okay? Probably. You’ll have to settle for that,” Jay said.

“Then me, too, probably,” Nancy said. “But, Mae, you’ve got a job ahead convincing your mother.” She got up. “I hate to leave you all with that kitchen,” she said, “but I need to get to Frannie’s. Amanda?”

Amanda was still looking at Mae. Her sister was really upset, she could tell. Her frozen expression wasn’t her thinking; it was her holding everything back. She eyed Jay. Did he know it? She couldn’t tell, but she didn’t want to just leave them like that. “Uh, Mae?”

“Yeah?” Mae didn’t turn her head.

“Should I come with you to talk to Mom?”

At that, Mae did turn to her, but her face was still and even pale. “No,” she said slowly, and took a tiny breath in, as if she was scared to do more. “I think probably not,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

“Call me, then, after? After you all talk?”

Mae smiled a little, and Amanda felt lighter. It was just Jay quitting, but that had to be a good thing. Mae just wasn’t seeing it, for whatever reason. “Everything else is fitting right into your plans, right?” She looked hard toward Jay, willing her sister to see how great this was, and saw him looking at her, and blushed. Okay, she was not subtle.

“Yeah. I guess. I’ll call you.” Mae stared down at the ground again, and after a minute, Amanda followed Nancy off the porch. Mae would be okay. And Barbara had to see that this would work. She just had to.

What Amanda needed now was a little time to take all this in, but Gus was standing at the edge of the yard, holding his phone, and one look at him told Amanda that he was waiting for her—and that something was wrong. When they reached him, Nancy patted him on the shoulder. “It’s all going to be okay,” she said. “Really. We’re just figuring some stuff out.”

Gus looked up at the group still sitting around outside of Barbara’s house and nodded. “Yeah, okay—I mean, that’s not what—Mom, can I talk to you?”

Amanda gave Nancy a worried look but nodded, and Nancy kept going, on to the car, probably, but that was fine; Amanda’s car was here from this morning, which seemed like a lifetime ago. Right now, Gus’s expression had her a little panicked. “What? Is it Mom? Are you guys okay?”

“It’s not Grandma, Mom, she’s fine, she knows where I went. It’s just—I did something. And I think you’re going to be mad at me.”

Amanda looked at her son more closely. He looked guilty, yes, but also maybe pleased. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be that bad. And compared to the last few days—

“Spill it, Gus. If it’s worse than saying I stole a recipe or that we serve frozen biscuits, I’m disowning you.”

Gus smiled a little. Then he eyed the phone in his hand, started to speak, and instead, handed it to her, open to an e-mail from [email protected].

Gus, thanks for sending me the Carleen drawings. Most people are wrong when they think I’d want to see something, but you were right. Can you tell your mom to get in touch? Best, Bill

Bill—bhen72. Amanda stared at Gus, her mouth open.

“Bill Henderson,” Gus said. “You know, the guy with the kid and the penguin, the comic strip? You used to read it to me, and we have all the books?”

Why, yes, she knew. She gaped at her son, disbelieving. Bill Henderson? E-mailing him?

“The new art teacher graduated with him, and I asked him if he would— They were just in the drawer, Mom. And I was afraid you might throw them away.”

Amanda could barely find words for this. “You took—my sketchbook—and someone—”

“Showed it to him. Yeah. And he wants you to get in touch. Don’t be mad, Mom. It’s good that he wants to talk to you, right? Really good?” He looked at her, mostly smiling, still looking a little worried. “Plus, I think he still has it. You have to at least e-mail him to get it back.”

Slowly, Amanda handed Gus’s phone back to him. Then she hugged him, hard.





MAE





Mae took another tiny breath, and then another. Jay had just declared that he’d quit, and now he was picking up her plan and tossing it around so casually—I could do that, yeah. If I wanted to.

He was enjoying himself, damn him, and very at home here, in her mother’s trash-filled yard. Somewhere in the depths of the fridge he had found a can of light beer he didn’t seem to consider too old to drink, and he popped its top now, grinning at her.

Mae didn’t have one word to express how she felt, and it was probably a good thing. Because no matter what he had thought he was doing, he was here now.

She found, after another moment, that she could just about smile back. She nodded at the beer can. “Slumming?” Jay’s usual taste ran to the craft varieties, twelve bucks a bottle at a bar and six at the corner bodega. Tough to afford with no job.

“Beer is beer when it’s this hot,” he said. “Another advantage of your home state, maybe. Makes all beer taste good.”

Patrick came out of the kitchen and handed Kenneth another can. “No treasures,” he said. “And Frankie was born to throw things away, but I think she’s keeping that pink tinsel Christmas tree. I arm-wrestled her for it, and I lost.” He grabbed a chair and all three men made a big production of drinking, although Mae could feel Kenneth watching her. He knew, better than anyone, how desperately she craved control, and how hard it would be for her to have it suddenly taken away.