Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Who taught you to do that?”
“My mom.” She smiled, watching her hands.
“That’s cool.”
“I know Esther has a lot of feelings,” she said quietly. “About all of them. So do I. But I have good memories, too. Probably because I was the baby so I got more attention.”
“You miss your mom?” I asked, leaning back against the chair behind me.
“I do,” she replied. “Me and my sister have talked about my mom a lot since I came back. I think—” she paused. “I think Esther sees my mom as weak. And don’t get me wrong, I see it. I understand. But, Esther got out. I know it wasn’t by choice, and the circumstances were horrible, but she got out pretty early.”
“It was a fuckin’ nightmare.”
“I remember,” she replied. “But looking past that—Esther never had a husband. She never had children, not while she was still in the church. There’s no way for her to ever understand my mom, or the choices she’s made, because Esther hasn’t ever had to live that life.”
“But you have,” I said, understanding making my stomach clench.
“Let’s just say,” she paused, her eyes staring into nothing. “I think I have a lot more compassion for my mom than Esther ever will. And that’s okay. It’s just how it is.”
“You wanna tell me about it?” I asked cautiously.
“There’s not much to tell,” she replied, smiling tightly. “I got married with special permission from a judge—”
“No fuckin’ way.”
“Yes, way,” she replied. “I’m not sure how they pulled it off, but they did. I was sixteen and scared as all heck. I had nowhere to go, because I knew that if I tried to leave Ephraim would just drag me back—which he could’ve—because I wasn’t legally an adult. Ironic, right? Less than a year after we got married, I had Ariel, two years after that, I had Diana, and two years after that my husband died and I called Esther to come get me.”
“That was concisely done,” I replied cautiously. “But I think you’re leavin’ out quite a bit.”
“What would you like to know?”
What would I like to know? Everything. I wanted to know what her days had been like. What her husband had been like. If she’d thought of me. If she’d been depressed or scared or happy when she got pregnant. What it had been like having a baby when she was just a baby herself. If she’d known that it didn’t matter that she’d had Ariel, I still would’ve come to get her the moment she’d turned eighteen. Sooner, if she just would’ve fucking called.
I didn’t say any of that.
“Tell me about your husband.”
“What about him?” Her words were calm, but her hands moved faster on the yarn.
“What did he look like?”
“He had light brown hair,” she said. “Blue eyes. Diana’s nose, but more masculine. Big like Otto… but not, you know, muscular. Just big.”
“Was he good to you?” Even saying the words made my mouth taste fucking foul.
“He was… not bad. Comparatively.”
“Compared to what?”
“Compared to the other husbands in the church. Compared to his brother. Compared to my brother.”
“That’s not exactly a ringin’ endorsement,” I replied quietly.
“He didn’t beat me,” she said, looking up to meet my eyes. “And when I found him dead, I didn’t—my first thought was I need to call Esther to come get me. Does that answer your question?”
It didn’t… but it did. She hadn’t hated him, but she hadn’t loved him either.
“He was old,” I murmured.
“I think I’m done talking about it,” she replied tightly.
“Alright.”
The house was quiet as she worked on the baby blanket and I digested everything she’d said. Asking Noel about her life before, about her husband, was like poking at a wound. I couldn’t stop wondering and wanted to hear more, even though it hurt. I needed to know everything, but I was pretty sure I never would. Because even if Noel and I developed a relationship like we’d had before, there were some parts of her life that I was pretty sure she’d never discuss with anyone.
I watched her as she worked, little wisps of hair falling out of her bun. She rested her wrists on her belly as her hands flew over the yarn and her lips were pressed tightly together, like I’d opened a can of worms that she wasn’t sure how to close again. I’d known a lot of women as they grew from teenagers to full grown adults—I had about a million girl cousins—and most of them changed quite a bit, but Noel hadn’t. Maybe my memory was playing tricks on me, but besides the fullness of her cheeks that I assumed was from her pregnancy, she looked the same to me. I’d imagined her in my mind a thousand times over the years, and always, she’d looked just like she did sitting on the couch with her legs curled up and her little round belly making itself known.