Page 98 of Hushed

She waits for the rest of it with her chin up, ready to take it. I pull myself back. This will go nowhere. I know that look on her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because she was high. She was trying to play it off for me, but she wasn’t in a good way. I told her some things about you, and that you did good, and were in the Army. Showed her some pictures. I told her if she got off that stuff and stayed that way, I would ask you what you wanted to do. I knowed you’d say you wanted to see her, but I needed her to know that she can’t waltz into your life all hopped up and expect to see you.”

I blink at her. “Why did you do that?”

She scowls at me. “Because I’m your goddamned momma, that’s why.”

“She was my mother.”

Momma nods. “When I got that envelope in the mail, I knew it was her death certificate. That’s why I opened it.” She purses her lips and for a moment I think she’ll cry, but she straightens her shoulders. “I’m right sorry about it. She was a good soul. Never hurt a fly, probably. But I was afraid that she would take you away from me and you’d go down her path too. And I might not’ve said it like some people do, but don’t think I didn’t love you, boy.” She takes a deep breath and I can hear the faintest sniffle. “Anyway, she sent some things for you before she passed. I was waiting to give them to you. Now’s as good a time as any.”

She pulls out a small box from her purse and hands it to me before lighting her second cigarette.

The screen door opens. “There you are,” Bastien says, and then he sees my face and my mother’s and stops where he is with his hand still on the door. “I beg your pardon. I did not see you, Mrs. Nichols.”

She grunts and peers up at him. “Just as well you’re here,” she says. “I think he’d rather be with you than with me for this.” She stands. I reach out for her hand and she lets me hold it for exactly three seconds before she shakes herself. “I’d better get back in there.” She marches back and we are left alone.

“Bring my sister,” I call after her.

“What’s that?” Bastien asks. He puts his hands on my shoulders. I reach up with one hand and touch him.

“I don’t know.” I open the cardboard and discover a pencil case. The breath catches in my chest. “This is mine,” I say. I pull it out of the cardboard and open it. Inside, there are letters. To Levi on his eighteenth birthday. To Levi on his wedding. I pull them out and then pull out a little wallet-sized photo mounted inside a refrigerator magnet.

“Oh, Levi,” Bastien says.

I look down at the photo. I must have been six. Mom’s arms are around me. We’re at a park, and I’m feeding ducks. We are both smiling at the camera. I stare at the picture and can’t stop myself from crying. Bastien wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my neck. I cling to him, trying to catch my breath, and when I can finally pull in air without needing to sob it out, I touch the plastic covering on the picture. “I want you to meet my mother,” I say.

Chapter thirty-three

Bastien

It’s Thursday, which means I’m getting married.

There are a lot of things that could be going through my head right now. I could be thinking about all the problems with my job, or with my visa. I could be thinking about the ninety-odd complications that this will bring into my life. I could be thinking that I am marrying somebody I’ve only known for about eight weeks. Because Jesus Holy Christ, eight weeks.

Instead, I’m standing in front of a full-length mirror in a side room of a church I’ve never set foot in before yesterday, tugging on my waistcoat. It looks stupid. It’s a sky-blue herringbone and my tie is an understated matching blue, both of which had to be overnighted. It’s when I put on the gray morning coat that it looks silly. The pop of color looks wrong. I should have done a bow tie and a simple white shirt. I can still change into that. Or I could, but now the guests have started to arrive, pouring into the church. I have aunts and uncles who caught the red-eye from Canada, Levi has people who drove over the mountains to get here from Tennessee, three of his Army buddies caught military transport and have, apparently, arrived in town with dust still on their boots. The rest of our scattered friends and family, who are scattered across Canada and several military bases overseas, are watching online and will give their congratulations after the vows.

The vows. Oh, my God, there are going to be vows. What if I forget them? What if I can’t make myself say them? Why did I agree to this?

I stare at myself in the mirror again. What am I thinking? I’m an imposter. I can still get out of this. I can go back to Canada in the back of my parents’ minivan.

“Bastien, stop fidgeting.” Papa turns me around and looks me up and down. His mouth is framed into a critical frown, the same one that I remember him getting at Michel’s wedding, and I recognize that I’m not the only one in the room only barely keeping it together. He straightens my jacket one last time and pins the white carnation boutonniere to my lapel, and puts his hands on my biceps and finally looks me in the eye.

“Will I pass muster, Papa?” I venture.

He nods, but doesn’t stop studying me. It’s making me nervous. I glance around for Maman, who’s been hovering around throughout the morning, but for once, the room is empty, and I realize that he must have signaled her in his silent, polite way that he wanted a moment with me. He compresses his lips. “When my mother told me that you were a homosexual, you were five.”

“Grand-mère said that?” I think about her first meeting with Levi. “Actually, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Oh, she thought it was marvelous. You were always her favorite. I was picking you up from the evening at her house and she told me, and I went home and prayed to the Good Lord.”

“Papa!” My throat closes. I’ve never felt so betrayed.

He purses his lips and struggles. “I did not pray to make you normal. I am a simple man, but not a stupid one. I prayed that you would find someone who would always protect you from the world.”

I don’t know what to say.