opened that, as well.
“Together with their parents, Naomi Norman and Kevin Bates joyfully request the honor of your company at their marriage ceremony.”
Sarge put his paws against her knee, and she scooped him onto her lap. “So,” she said to her dog, her mouth dry. “Looks like my fiancé is getting married.”
ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Jack Holland drove from the hospital in Corning back to Blue Heron, the vineyard owned and run by his family. The radio was tuned to a talk show, though what the topic was, Jack didn’t quite know. Still, the voices were comforting.
It occurred to him that he was probably alone too much these days. That a battered cat was insufficient company. That he should be with people. But last night at O’Rourke’s had been a circle of hell, all those people clapping him on the back and offering to buy him beers. Asking how he was doing. How Josh was doing. Thanking him. Telling him he was one brave son of a bitch and the town wouldn’t stop talking about this for years, which made Jack’s hands sweaty.
Still, he’d smiled and thanked people for whatever it was they were saying, because he knew in one corner of his mind that they were saying nice things, or what they thought were nice things, and he knew that the longer he stayed away from regular things, the harder it would be. He was fine. It was all fine. It was okay.
He’d stayed as long as he could take it. Colleen O’Rourke, who was like yet another sister in addition to the three Jack already had, gave him a hug, and so far as he could tell, he’d returned it. But once he’d gotten home, he just sat on the couch, Lazarus next to him, not touching but still there.
So being with his family, doing normal things, that was a good thing. He loved his family. They weren’t a circle of hell. Well, not completely.
He put on his turn signal even though he was alone on the country road. Ever the cautious driver.
If only he could see Josh. Go when the parents weren’t around. Just to see him.
Shit. He might have to pull over.
Once, when Jack was building his house, a bobcat had wandered in, lured by the smell of Jack’s meatball sub there on the sawhorse. Jack came into the great room, and the animal panicked, ran straight for the closed slider and hurled itself against it again and again.
That’s what Jack’s heart was doing right now. Smacking and thudding against his ribs. His hands were slick on the steering wheel, but it was okay; it was fine—he didn’t have to pull over. He was fine.
There looked to be a thousand cars at Honor’s house. Jack and his sisters, Prudence, Honor and Faith, had grown up here in the New House, built in the 1800s. His middle sister, Honor, now lived with her husband, Tom, and Charlie, the teenager they’d sort of adopted. Jack’s father and stepmother, Mrs. Johnson (technically Mrs. Holland, though no one called her that), lived in a spacious apartment over the garage.
Today was Faith’s baby shower.
“Hey, Uncle Jack.” Pru’s son, Ned, approached Jack as he got out of the truck. “Why are we here again?”
“I have no idea,” Jack said. “Solidarity for Levi, I guess.”
Sure enough, the men of the family—Jack, his father and grandfather, his three brothers-in-law, and unofficial nephew, Charlie—were manfully hiding in the kitchen as a wave of feminine laughter came from the living room.
“Jack!” said his father. “Wine?”
“Thanks, Dad. Hey, Levi. How you doing?”
Levi looked pained. “They were just talking about nipple infections,” he said, nodding toward the living room, which was hung with blue streamers.
“I call them the Coven for a reason,” Jack said.
“Levi!” called Faith. “Come see this, honey. It’s a Diaper Genie!”
“Ooh. A Diaper Genie,” said Ned. “Grandpa, can I have some wine, too? Please? Quickly?”
“Are you old enough?”
“I am. Hurry.”
“Levi!”
“They’re calling for you, mate,” said Tom, slapping Levi on the shoulder. “Best not keep the pregnant wife waiting.”
“Your turn will come,” Levi muttered darkly. “The baby, I’m all for. It’s the...stuff...that’s making me nervous.” He sighed and went into the living room to admire the diaper thing.
“A new baby,” Dad said contentedly. “About time. Right, Jack? Another nephew for you.”
“We can only hope he’ll be as cool as Charlie and I are,” Ned said.
Jack smiled. His wine was gone, he noticed. Funny. He didn’t remember tasting it.
Mrs. Johnson bustled in, a towering plate of food in her hands. “I thought I heard your voice, Jackie, my darling boy! Would you like something to eat? You look thin.”
“Mrs. J.,” Jack said to his stepmother, “you look beautiful today. And every day, now that I think of it.” His voice was pretty normal, he thought.
“Oh, you terrible liar!” She cuffed his head and beamed. “Come. See your sister. Make haste, and then you can eat.”
Jack allowed himself to be led into the living room, where Faith sat, a plate of cake balanced on her baby bump, pastel-colored wrapping paper and tiny outfits strewn around her.
A dozen or so women talked at once, sounding like a slew of metal trash cans bouncing down a brick staircase. “Jack, how are you? Jack, you were amazing! Jack, thank God you were there! Jack, Jack, Jack!”
“Ladies,” he said. The bobcat started ramming the door again, over and over and over. “Hey, sis.” He bent down and dropped an obligatory kiss on his sister’s head.
“Jack!” Faith said, reaching up to pat his arm. “Thanks for coming, buddy.”
“Sure. Which sister are you again?”
“The pregnant one. The queen.”
He smiled. See? Perfectly normal. Faith was funny, and he reacted appropriately. Honor flashed him a smile, telling him he was doing okay.
“Well, I hope your labor will be better than mine, Faith,” their grandmother said grandly. “Three days. No painkillers back then, either. It was the ether, or you toughed it out. Sometimes you died. John! Where are you, son?” Dad appeared in the kitchen doorway, already looking guilty. “Three days of labor with you.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said. “Still.” He sent Jack a pained look.
“I loved giving birth,” Prudence said. “Ned slid out like a little otter, and with Abby, I didn’t even have time to get to the car. She was born on the kitchen floor. Ass-first,
