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Pete’s shoulder; Pops cackled vengefully. What could she do? She said, “Whatever your father thinks is best,” hoping he would say, “Go along with your ma,” or maybe even, “Let’s all go to Mass together this year,” which, of course, he didn’t. Robert John sat back down and announced he wasn’t a kid either, but she had him by the ear so fast he yipped like the pup he still was. “We leave in five minutes,” she told him, anger masking her hurt. “March.” She turned to follow, saw Gabriel clumsily working his arms into his coat. He said, “May I go to church too?”
    â€œNow, son,” Shawn said, “we don’t want to impose.” He was looking at Bethany when he spoke, but the easy, oily smile was gone. Maybe she’d been too hard on him. Clearly, he cared aboutthe boy. And she knew firsthand how difficult it was to raise a child alone.
    â€œBeth?” Fred said. “Honey?”
    But the truth was that she didn’t want to take Gabriel to church, to have him sit beside her with his uncombed hair and unwashed smell, that jacket sleeve stiff from wiping at his nose. She wanted her own sons sitting right beside her, where everyone in that congregation could see what big, fine boys they were, how she was raising them right, how she was keeping herself up, how Fred Carpenter was one lucky man. “You sure you can be good for one whole hour?” Bethany said. “Because if you fidget, I’ll send you out to the car.”
    â€œGabriel’s always good,” Shawn said, and the boy smiled at him gratefully. Robert John sulked back into the room, his feet crammed into unlaced boots. His coat was unzipped. His clip-on tie was crooked. He shot Pete a clean, cold look of hate.
    Pete said, “Hey, this’ll cheer you up! Gabriel’s coming with you.”
    Robert John mumbled, “Will he fit in a pew?”
    Fred said sharply, “That’s enough of that.”
    â€œTake your cousin out to the car,” Bethany told Robert John, and as soon as the younger boys had left the room, she plucked the cigar from Pete’s shirt pocket. “If you’re going to be treated like a man,” she said curtly, “you’d better start learning to act like one. I expect you to set an example for both your brother and your cousin.” She flipped the cigar at Fred and walked out to the foyer. To her surprise, he followed; he even helped her on with her coat. “Aw, don’t be mad,” he said. “He’d just sleep through the service anyway.” He was cuddling up behind her, his beard tickly against her neck. “ Dad ,” he said, and he leaned his chin on her shoulder. “Did you hear him say it, Bethie?” His hands locked over her stomach like the buckle of a belt. And Bethany forgave him, leaned back against him—just for a moment—before unbuckling his hands, kissing each rough palm, and hurrying after the boys.
    Robert John had claimed the front seat; Gabriel sat in back. The angel in the big bay window winked and blinked as they drove away, dwindling down to the small, still light of a distant star. Bethany thought of Pete, alone with the men, their whiskey, their ways. The fact was that both her boys were growing up. She hoped Fred’s example would keep them from being like their fathers and her own, the walk-away types, the sort of men she didn’t even pretend to understand. As she turned north, following County C along the river, she wondered how it could be that Pa wasn’t even the least bit curious to see how she and Rose turned out. Ma, for all her dislike of them, wouldn’t have left them any more than she would have left behind an arm or a leg. Maybe, Bethany thought, that was why she’d treated them so mean. Because she couldn’t leave. Because they’d been a part of her once and her body still remembered them, claimed them, the