even now with me five o'clock sun at the windows. The room was thick with Southern Appalachian history, outsider sculptures in seven native woods, stacks of tapes from old evangelical radio stations, dozens of family Bibles arrayed in rows across the shelves. Gordon's work was his life, had apparently al ways been. She wondered if he would ever be able to change. She'd married him on the off chance that he'd be one of the very few men to pull it off.
No, that wasn't entirely true. She'd married him for a number of reasons that were as shallow and tangled as the roots of a black lo cust tree.
A rustling arose from inside the closet on Gordon's side of the room.
Had Jett hidden in there, playing hide-and-seek like a four-year-old? The closet was barely big enough for a person to stand inside, and was filled with the regalia of an academic's profession: black and blue suits, white shirts, polished shoes, and a tuxedo. The closet was open, the ancient door handle missing its knob.
Jett wasn't in there.
Nobody home.
She'd heard no footsteps.
Stress.
From slapping the old S on the chest.
The noise came again from the hollow of the closet. Mice. A house developed holes over the years, especially in a rural setting. Generations of mice had the opportunity to search for crevices, to explore the corner boards and probe the openings where utility lines entered the walls. Supermom would have to learn to set traps. Smith mice for the Smith house.
She'd mention it to Gordon. Maybe he was the type who would insist on taking care of the problem. He'd never been much of a tra ditionalist in other gender areas, though. He'd let her keep her maiden name of Logan. Katy had said she wanted to remain a Logan for sentimental reasons, because her grandmother had died a few years before. In truth, changing her name back after her divorce had been so troublesome she never wanted to endure it again. Not that she was planning to get divorced again. Of course, she'd also said she'd never get married again, and here she was, in Gordon's house, her Supermom cape already in need of a good dry- cleaning.
The front door swung open and banged closed. 'Mom, I'm home.'
Katy frowned at the closet, wondering if she should peek inside and scare the mice away. No, might as well let them get comfortable. Made them easier to snare. She hurried from the room and called from the top of the stairs, 'Honey, what's going on?'
'Nothing. I just got out of school. I caught a ride from Mrs. Stansberry up the road. You know, the math teacher.'
Katy was halfway down the stairs when Jett came into view. Freckles like Mom, but black hair instead of red, cut short in bangs and the back spiked with mousse. The darker hair was one of Mark's genetic contributions, along with a gangly frame, though Jett had dyed it a shoe-polish black for dramatic effect. Jett had taken to slumping so she wouldn't tower over the sixth grade boys. Jett smacked her gum, a habit she'd picked up in Charlotte and clung to with all the defiance and resentment of a quarantined goat.
'I haven't met Mrs. Stansberry,' Katy said. 'I'd rather you not ride with strangers.'
Jett let her book bag drop to the floor. 'She's not a stranger. She lives up the road. She knows Gordon.'
Gordon. It was odd to hear Jett call him by his first name, as if he were an acquaintance instead of her stepfather. But 'Dad' wouldn't do. Mark, for all his faults, deserved the sole right to that title. Even if he'd done little more than squirt a seed invisible to the naked eye, then roll over and snore.
'You could ride the bus.'
Jett was already headed to the kitchen, heels clopping on the floor. Just like the footsteps Katy had heard minutes before. 'The bus is lame,' Jett said. 'That's for third graders. Bethany's getting rides from a high school boy.'
Katy descended the rest of the stairs, following into the kitchen. 'This Bethany, she's in your class?'
Jett pulled her head from the refrigerator. 'Mom, she's in, like, seventh grade already. And he's only a sophomore. He flunked a grade, plus he's on the football team.'
'I hope you have better judgment than that.'
Jett kneed the refrigerator closed, hands full with a yogurt, Diet Sprite, celery, and a microwave burrito. 'Jeez, Mom. I'm not a kid anymore, okay? Remember last month?'
The period. Even after all the mother-to-daughter talks about what it meant to be a woman, how puberty came earlier to females than males, how blood was all part of being a woman, Jett had still panicked when she'd awoken to find a red splotch on her sheets. Gordon had been in the bathroom, suiting up for the commute to Westridge University, so they'd both been spared an awkward moment. Katy had helped her daughter clean up and choose an appro priate feminine hygiene product.
'Okay,' Katy said. 'Just because you can have a baby doesn't mean you're ready to date high school boys.'
'Mom, don't get in my face about it. I haven't done anything wrong.' Jett leaned against the counter, set down her snacks, and peeled back the lid on the yogurt.
'Sorry, honey.' Katy went back to the sink and the never-ending demand of dirty dishes. 'I know the move has been hard on you.'
Jett shrugged. 'One place is as good as another.'
'Do you smell lilacs?'
'All I smell is stinky fish. That swordfish was
Katy plunged her hands into the dishwater. 'I'm sorry you had to give up Charlotte. I know you had a lot of friends there and—'
'We talked about it, okay? Jeez, you wouldn't even get married until I gave my permission.'
'Please stop saying 'Jeez.' You know Gordon finds it disrespect ful.'
Jett looked up, gave a theatrical lift of her arms, and said, 'Do you see Gordon? I don't see Gordon. In fact, you never see Gordon. He's practically a ghost in his own life.'
'He works hard, honey. He has a lot of responsibilities at the university.'
'Assistant vice dean of continuing something-or-other? Sounds like a job he could do over the Internet.'
'He also teaches.'
'Like, what? One class this semester? A seminar on obscure hillbilly cults?'
'He's well known in his field.'
'What field is that, exactly?'
'I don't know. Appalachian religion, I guess.'
Jett dug into her yogurt. The Yoplait painted her lips a milky green. 'So how are you handling giving up your career?'
'I have a career. I'm your mother and Gordon's wife.'
'I meant one where you make money and get to dress up and do stuff. Get out of the house.'
'I'm very happy, honey.' Katy glanced at the orange rings of greasy suds floating on top of the dishwater. She forced her focus through the window, to the barns outside and the barbed-wire stretch of meadow. Gordon had seven head of cattle, two of them the black Angus variety. Gordon said that was where the breeding money was. Breeding money. Sounded a little obscene to Katy, like a prostitute's tip. But the goats were his real pride. She could see a few of them, young bucks separated from the rest because they would try to mount anything that moved, including their mothers.
'Maybe you can be happy enough for both of us.' Jett had bottomed out on the Yoplait and popped the tab on the Sprite.
'It will get easier for you.'
'Sure. In two years, when I start high school. By then, nobody will know I'm the new kid and I'll lose these Frankenstein wires.' Jett grimaced, flashing her braces.
'They go fine with your studded bracelet.'
'Cute, Mom.'
'Solom isn't so bad. I kind of like the peace and quiet.'
