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Zoe
Zoe slept straight through until Saturday morning. When she woke up, both Rachel and her grandmother were sitting at the tiny kitchen table that people rarely sat at. “Good morning.” Zoe rubbed her eyes.
“Good morning, honey.”
The events of the night before came rushing back, and Zoe felt sick. She got up, and wobbly legs carried her to the bathroom. When she got to the door, she turned and looked at her grandmother. “I’m really sorry.” She wanted to say more, but she didn’t have the words.
“I know, honey.”
She went into the bathroom. Her grandmother hadn’t seemed mad. Disappointed, sad, but not mad. She thought maybe her being mad would be easier to bear than the disappointment.
When she came out of the bathroom, both women watched her walk into the kitchen. She took the jug of orange juice out of the fridge and poured herself a quart.
When she’d drunk half of it and set the glass down, Rachel said, “I owe you an apology, Zoe.”
Rachel owed her an apology? How did that make sense?
“I threw a lot of stuff at you last night, and I’m sorry. Not only do I not want to lecture you, but I should have waited till you were sober.”
Zoe pulled a stool over to the table and sat on it. “It’s okay. I wasn’t that drunk.”
Rachel looked skeptical. “Do you remember what we talked about?”
Zoe thought about it. “I think so. Colorful hats, electric cattle prods, and men not being cake.”
Gramma’s eyes widened in bewilderment.
Rachel laughed. “Yes, that was pretty much it.”
Zoe looked down at her glass of orange juice. “I don’t even know if God is real. What if he’s not? Don’t really want to be making life decisions based on a fairy tale.”
Her grandmother jumped as if she’d been the one shocked by a cattle prod, and Zoe felt guilty. She didn’t want to hurt her grandmother.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“I understand,” Rachel said.
Zoe looked up. She did?
“We’re going to go work at the church.” She looked at Gramma. “You ready?”
Gramma nodded and stood up. “Let me know if you need anything, honey.”
“Okay,” she said because she didn’t know what else to say.
And then they were gone, leaving her all alone. Again. Why hadn’t they invited her to go with them? Maybe they didn’t want her. Or maybe they’d just assumed she didn’t want to go. Maybe they’d thought she was too hungover to work. She would have been if Rachel hadn’t force-fed her a giant box of cheese crackers.
Zoe got dressed, wondering what she was going to do with herself. The image of that poor cow getting jabbed in the butt was fresh and vivid in her mind. Was that what this move to Maine had been? God jabbing her in the butt? And then everything since then? More little jabs? And she still wasn’t going in the direction he wanted her to go, apparently. What direction was that, exactly?
She shook her head. Why was she trying to figure all this out when she didn’t even know if God was real? All old people believed in God, right? It was a generational thing. She liked Rachel, and she loved her grandmother, but that didn’t mean they were right about the meaning of life.
She tried not to think about it as she got dressed. But her mind kept coming back to that poor cow. So funny that Rachel had shown her a video of it.
Fully dressed and partially rehydrated, Zoe sat down on the couch. What was she going to do with herself? The very first thought that occurred to her was to find some alcohol. She couldn’t believe this had popped into her head, and she tried to slap it out. What on earth was wrong with her? Her eyes rested on the window. It was super sunny out. She should go outside. And then what? She didn’t know, but she should go outside, and she shouldn’t bring any money with her, or any bag big enough to hide a stolen liquor bottle in.
The sunlight felt like a kiss on her forehead. Yes, this had been a good decision. She wasn’t much of an outdoor girl, but the fresh air felt good this time. She started walking with no destination in mind.
Her stomach churned a little. So she hadn’t entirely escaped without a hangover, but she was closer to healthy than she deserved.
The leaves were falling rapidly, leaving branches almost bare. It was almost winter. What was a winter in Carver Harbor going to be like? Probably unbearably boring. Maybe she should play basketball like Jason kept insisting.
No.
Better not to think about Jason.
She realized she was standing in front of the weird little shack that she, in her drunken stupor, had once thought was a tiny church.
