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Mom?” Junie asked, bypassing her father’s chair and lowering herself onto the couch. Her insides quivered. She had to talk to someone about Ellen, and it obviously wasn’t going to be Brian.
    Ruth lifted her hazel eyes toward her daughter, and there was no mistaking the emotion behind them—lost, as if her father’s death had left her mother in a foreign state with no map to find her way. Ruth was strong, capable, someone who took troubled times and whipped them into learning experiences. Junie was not adept at how to handle this side of her mother, which she’d never experienced before. She tucked away her need to talk about Ellen and tried to figure out how to help her mother.
    “Mary Margaret and Selma are coming over in a bit. I’m all right. How’s Sarah?” Ruth asked.
    “Fine. Watching television.” Junie looked down, silently scolding herself for not intuitively knowing what to say to help her mother. It was moments like these that made Junie wonder if what Sarah was experiencing was somehow caused by her lack of mothering skills. She’d always felt like she lacked a certain strength that seemed to be present in all mothers, something that allowed them to keep their chin up even in difficult times. Lately Junie had felt her chin leaning on her chest as she floundered to keep afloat. There was only one thing she could do, and that was to ask for help about how to help . I am so lame . 
    “Mom, what can I do? How can I help? I mean…I know that nothing I say will bring Daddy back and nothing I do will make it okay, but I want to help.” A lump grew in her throat. She swallowed it down, hoping the tears it incited would remain at bay.
    Ruth sat up straighter, placing her hands on the arms of her chair. She looked at Junie for a minute longer than was comfortable.
    “Junie”—she placed her hand over Junie’s—“we’ll get through this.” She took a deep breath, then continued. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same, but we will get through this. Right now I feel like my left arm was cut off and my right one doesn’t work quite right, but Mary Margaret assures me that each day will get a little easier.”
    Junie wiped a warm tear from her cheek.
    “It’s been seventeen years since she lost Hal, and she’s doing okay, right?”
    Junie nodded, not knowing the answer. Seventeen years . She couldn’t think that far down the road. She was just trying to get her arms around a few days without her father. Junie was still dealing with his death as if he were on a mini vacation and would return home at any minute.
    “Now.” Ruth patted Junie’s hand. “We need to focus on that little girl of yours and get her back to her healthy, normal little self.”
    Junie wanted to ask her mother how the hell she could go from a place of devastation to a place of wanting to help her granddaughter get better within the space of a breath. She wanted to ask her why she was seeing Ellen’s face and wanted to crawl into her lap and curl up so the issues with Brian and Sarah didn’t seem so overwhelming. She wanted to be completely and utterly selfish, kick her feet and throw herself down on the couch crying because she knew she’d never see her father’s face again; she’d never hear him spout out bits of unsought advice that were always just what she needed to hear. Instead, she whispered, “Okay.”

Chapter Six
    They stood in the bathroom, just two feet from each other, and yet Junie felt miles apart from Brian. The bathroom seemed to be the place they spent most of their time together lately, stolen moments to catch up on their daily plans. Who knew a marriage could be maintained in ten-minute intervals of personal hygiene and sharing of one’s day? Maintained ? Junie wondered. She wasn’t sure she was capable of maintaining anything at the moment. Junie watched Brian digest what she’d told him. The image of Ellen had been like a noose, tightening as the day progressed. She needed to tell someone