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Mother continued. “And no matter how hard your grandmother tried to train her, to cultivate
     her inner beauty, Leah was too selfish. Thinking only of what she wanted, and that was boys. Not a family. Or a good husband.
     Just lots and lots of boys and good times. Did I ever tell you about when I first met your father?”
    “You met him at church.”
    “He wasn’t raised in the faith like me. But he started coming with his grandparents. After he joined the church, he could
     have had his pick of any girl he wanted. And I prayed for him to make me his wife the way some people pray for money or fame.
     But it wasn’t me that caught his eye. It was Leah. The man in him saw the way she unbuttoned her blouse just enough to make
     her modesty questionable. He heard her giggle, her teasing ‘Hey there,’ every time he walked past her. He asked my father
     if he could court her. And I’ve never cried like I did that night. It was so awful to have him there in our family home, eating
     meals with us, taking walks with us, only so he could see
her.
And she did not appreciate him. Only I saw the way she made eyes at common, dangerous boys on the street. Only I saw the way she would pin her skirt,
above her knees
, and hang out by the bus stop waiting for the neighborhood boys. Did you know your father proposed to her? I overheard it
     all. How lightly she took it. None of us knew it then, but she was already sneaking around seeing that pizza delivery boy.
     ‘I can’t,’ she said simply. He asked her why. All she said was, ‘I want something different.’ She left the room and I went
     to him. He looked so tired sitting on the couch. I sat on the floor, almost kneeling before him. ‘She’s a fool,’ I whispered.
     We were married six months later. The night he proposed, he told me about his plans for mission work after he finished his
     doctorate in engineering. ‘It’s the reason your sister said no,’ he said cautiously. I laid my hand on his and promised him,
     ‘I’ll hold your hand while you build bridges through cannibal jungles.’
    “It was
wanting
that was Leah’s undoing. No matter what the doctors said. They only wanted to discuss her childhood, every time I went there.
     They didn’t mention all the chemicals that she had poisoned her body with over the years. They didn’t mention the bad choice
     after bad choice that left her mind in so much pain. Once a doctor stopped me in the hall. ‘She doesn’t seem to want to get
     better,’ he said. ‘We need to find a way. Perhaps if you talked to her.’ I didn’t. I’ve never admitted that to anyone until
     now. But I didn’t ask her to get better, and I didn’t ask her to try. When I went to get her paperwork, after she did what
     she did, the doctor was there, a clipboard in his hand. He told me he was sorry. That he had hoped for better. And I told
     him the truth. Told him more than all his years in college could ever teach him. Some people only do what they want. Never
     what they should. Never what you hope them to do. They spend their days crying
I want
and
I want
and
I want.
They spend their lives consuming and grasping and swallowing whole whatever is in their reach. Even if it’s boys. Even if
     it’s other women’s husbands. Even if it’s…” Mother stopped and caught her breath. “Even if it’s death.”
    Hannah turned toward the ocean to give Mother time to hide the pain that swept over her face. It had been fifteen years since
     Leah’s suicide. Sometimes Hannah believed she remembered the day of the call. She didn’t; she was only one when it happened.
     But she imagined the ringing of the phone. The way Mother answered, probably knowing what the news would be. How Mother nodded
     as she listened, her face turning to stone like Bethie’s. What Hannah never imagined, what she’d never remember, was what
     happened behind that stone. All the new fears that were born after the phone rang that day. All the new promises that