Corinne stirred the gravy. She wasn’t good at it. But it helped to have a job—when everyone was packed into her mom’s kitchen, and the rest of them were so easy there. So at ease. Corinne’s mom finishing the mashed potatoes, and Holly fussing with her lemon bars, and Holly’s kids chasing the dog in and out, and her husband, Isaac, yelling at them from the living room. Noah at the kitchen table, eating black olives. His wife, Mercy, rubbing her pregnant belly. All of the wives, all of the husbands. Corinne’s stepdad and his kids. All of their kids. They all belonged here, were allowed here, in a way that Corinne wasn’t.
Corinne was here conditionally—and even that was a recent development. She’d been back in Kansas for almost a year now, but she still wasn’t a regular at these Sunday dinners. She was easing back in, letting them get used to her.
The first time her mom had invited Corinne back for Christmas, Holly had been so offended by the idea, she and her family had refused to attend. But Corinne had come home anyway—she’d flown in from Boston—and it had been fine. Nobody’s crosses had started burning. She hadn’t tricked anyone into drinking alcohol or watching R-rated movies. She hadn’t talked about anything that might upset them. Nothing from her worldly life. It wasn’t hard. Corinne’s life wasn’t that sinful. It wasn’t hard to act like one of them, because she’d been one of them for so long. She could pin up her hair and put on a dress—it was worth it, all of these small things, to be near them. She missed them. She wanted to know them. And it was okay if they didn’t really want to know her. This was progress. This: Corinne in the kitchen, standing next to her mom. Corinne’s nephews opening gifts she’d brought for them. “Thank you, Aunt Corinne.”
“Aunt Corinne” was progress. She was grateful for it, she’d take it.
Her mom was telling a story about Holly’s son giving his first presentation at church, and Corinne was smiling and stirring the gravy with a fork. Her sister kept interrupting with corrections. Holly was fully transformed now: She was exactly who she’d wanted to be at fourteen. Corinne was impressed. In awe, really. Corinne hadn’t known at fourteen who she wanted to be, but it surely wasn’t this, who Corinne was now, at thirty-one. Holly was a Christian wife and a Christian mother. She’d won the prize, and Corinne was happy for her. That was weird, but it was also true—Corinne was happy for her.
Holly was not happy for Corinne. She still couldn’t quite look at Corinne, and she wouldn’t speak to her directly. Corinne was still cast out of the church. Officially. It wasn’t the sort of thing that expired. Their mom had chosen to speak to Corinne—she said it was a conscience matter—but Holly had a conscience like a steel trap.
That was okay. Corinne understood. It was Corinne’s job to understand. To accept it all. If she wanted to be here. Holly wasn’t talking to Corinne now, but their mom was telling Corinne a story, and Holly was correcting it, and that was so close to talking. That was progress.
The front door opened.
Corinne didn’t hear it, but she felt the draft roll in from the living room. Then she heard her brother Shawn’s voice. And all the men in the living room greeting him. A second later, Shawn’s wife, Alicia, was gliding into the kitchen, still wearing her church clothes and holding a cake pan. Corinne loved Alicia—she loved her. Alicia grew up three hours away, she hadn’t known Corinne before. She just treated Corinne like another person. Alicia grinned when she saw Corinne standing at the stove. “Hey, you! We didn’t know you were coming! This is the best surprise!” She was already hugging Corinne, and Corinne was hugging her back. With one hand. Stirring the gravy with the other.
“That looks good,” Corinne said. “What’d you make?”
“It’s Snickers cake,” Alicia said. “Have you had it?”
Corinne shook her head.
“It’s so good. And so easy—you could make it. It’s just boxed cake and Snickers bars and chopped apples and whipped topping, not whipped cream. Shawn and I are doing Atkins, but we’re cheating. We cheat on weekends”—she giggled—“which is probably why I haven’t lost any weight.”
Corinne could hear Shawn laughing in the living room. Shawn had welcomed her back into the family right away. At worst, he seemed to feel really sorry for Corinne, like he pitied her—but he was never judgmental or cold. She appreciated it. Shawn was out there talking about the football game. With Corinne’s stepdad. And someone else. Someone whose voice was too deep to make out.
Time stopped a little bit. It slowed down.
That happened sometimes, still. False alarms. Flashbacks. It was worse when she was around her family. Too many memories. Too much context. Too much of her own context. It would be all right. It would pass.
The man in the living room rumbled.
Corinne’s stomach hurt; she wanted this to pass. “Did someone else come in with you?” she asked Alicia.
“Oh, Enoch Miller,” Alicia said. “Do you remember him from the congregation?” She leaned in close to Corinne and dropped her voice: “Shawn’s taken him under his wing. He’s had such a hard time since his divorce.”
Corinne’s mom had stopped mashing the potatoes.
Holly was staring at Corinne, not saying anything.
Shawn came into the kitchen, and his eyes lit up when he saw Corinne—but then his face fell.
Enoch Miller was right behind him. In Corinne’s mother’s kitchen. Ducking a little bit to get through the doorway. Enoch Miller, looking just like himself, but more so. Had anyone ever been so thick and so square, anyone ever? Enoch Miller. With his big nose and his Cherry Coke hair. In her mother’s kitchen. Corinne drank it in for a second. Stashed it in her throat and her stomach. Enoch wore eyeglasses now. And clothes that fit. Jeans that were just the right shade of blue. He was smiling a little, still looking serious, but smiling like he was happy to be there, like he was allowed, he was welcome.
He stopped when he saw Corinne.
His smile stopped. Time stopped.
He didn’t say anything. And she didn’t say anything. And then she didn’t say anything.
She’d never practiced for this scenario.
“Corinne!” her mom said, grabbing the fork. The gravy was bubbling—it was smoking, it would taste scorched.
“I—” She looked at her mom, who was frantically trying to save the gravy. “I’m sorry. I was just, um—”
Corinne smiled at Alicia and stepped away from the stove, toward the door, toward Enoch, who was standing in front of it. He staggered back, and she passed him. She didn’t look at him. Her purse was by the front door. Her jacket was in the bedroom, she didn’t need it.
“Aunt Corinne, are you leaving?”
“I’m just—I forgot something.” She opened the door. She was careful not to let the dog out. She’d just—
She hurried down the steps, down the sidewalk. There were so many cars parked in the driveway. Hers was on the street. She’d just—
“Corinne!”
It was Enoch’s voice, and it hit her in the back like a gunshot. She imagined her body staggering with the blow.
“Wait!” He was closer now.
Corinne was at her car. Enoch Miller was walking toward her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
She shook her head. She unlocked her car.
“You don’t have to go,” he said. “I’m leaving.”
“You don’t have to leave, Enoch.”
“It’s your family, I’ll go. I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”
Corinne just nodded, looking at herself in her car window. She was making a face like a cartoon dog. With her bottom lip pushed up and her mouth turned down, and her chin trembling.
“I’m going,” Enoch Miller said.
“Okay,” she said.
“I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
She heard him walking away then, and turned to watch. Because she’d never been strong. Never once. Enoch was parked on the street, too. He had a big pickup truck, they all did. He was walking away from her. He was walking away—
He stopped in the middle of the street and turned around. “Corinne?”
He took a step back toward her.
Corinne tried to close her car door. Even though she was standing inside of it. She closed it over herself like a shield.
“Could we talk?” Enoch asked.
“Now?”
“No, I mean…” He shook his head. “No. Just, sometime?”
“Why?”
Enoch shook his head again, like he didn’t know. Like it hurt him to think about. “I guess I … I’d just like to talk to you.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Enoch.” Enoch, Enoch, Enoch.
He was standing in the middle of the street. Like a wall. An even bigger wall than before. Like someone had built a wall right there, right in the street. “I don’t think that’s true,” he said.
“I say it’s true.”
“Corinne … please? Could we talk sometime?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t think so.”
He started walking again. Toward her. She crushed her hips in the door. He was reaching into his pocket, taking out a leather wallet. He held a card out to her. A business card. Enoch Miller was handing her a business card. “You can throw this away.” He swallowed. “But maybe…”
She didn’t take it.
He set the card on the roof of her car.
Corinne didn’t look up again until he was walking away. She watched him get into his truck. Watched him leave.
She could leave, too. It would be easier than going back in and facing them all. All of them looking at her and thinking about what she’d done. (Not tonight. Before.) But Corinne had come so far … She’d worked so hard, just to be here.
“Corinne?” Her mother was standing on the porch. “Dinner’s ready!”
Corinne took the card from the roof of her car and went back into her mother’s house.