“Who is this boy she’s out with?” Norma said.
They sat together on the porch as a fine spring evening unfolded.
“Matt Leavesham,” Saint said, watching the street though she knew Charlotte would not return from the movie theater for another few hours.
“I know the Leaveshams. His mother is diabetic. Self-inflicted,” Norma said.
As the air cooled a little Norma fetched a box and dropped it beside Saint.
“It’s from Himes,” Saint said, checking the label. “The Eli Aaron case file.”
“Oh, I know that.”
“When did it come?”
“You have your hands full enough.”
Saint glared. Norma glared back.
“It’s important, Grandma.”
“Important is looking after that girl.”
“I’m doing the best I can.”
In Norma’s hands was a novel, the pages dog-eared. She wore a cardigan Saint had once knitted for her.
“Is there something you want to say to me?” Saint stood, paced to the edge, and leaned to touch a baluster, the rot setting in at the bottom rail.
Norma shook her head, but Saint saw it in her eyes.
“Don’t spare my feelings now. Not after you’ve spent years being cold.”
“Nonsense,” Norma said.
Saint glared.
“It’s just, you might have been better equipped for this had you…with Jimmy.”
Saint turned her back for a moment.
“Did he not deserve more time?” Norma said, quiet.
“I—”
“You aborted his baby, Saint. And then you divorced him. For what?”
Saint turned. “He wasn’t a good husband. He wasn’t—”
“He wasn’t Joseph.”
Saint stemmed her tears and took a breath. “That’s not—”
“Men don’t start out as good husbands. You didn’t give him time. Jimmy is a good man. I know it. I was the one that pushed the two of you together. I made you give him a chance because I saw him at church, and I knew…I knew he was what you needed. And you tried for the baby, and when it happened you—”
“Please,” Saint said, her voice barely holding.
Norma swallowed. “You made a pact with God. You promised that if he brought Joseph back then you would live a good life. You would—”
“You don’t understand. Jimmy, he—” Saint cut in, and then stopped. And for a moment she saw her grandmother, the woman who had raised her. And Norma stood, and walked toward her and opened her arms.
Saint stepped into the embrace. Right then it was all she had. It was all that kept her standing.
“What about Jimmy?” Norma said.
Saint closed her eyes and leaned her head on her grandmother’s shoulder. “He’s not Patch.”