Page 50 of All Good People Here

Jodie lifted her hand. “I didn’t notice it, I swear.” But then she burst into another fit of laughter that morphed into a shriek as the elevator doors began to close. “The doors!” She threw out an arm, grabbed Krissy by the hand, and tugged her over the threshold.

They walked to Jodie’s room, then tumbled into it, breathless with laughter, their fingers still intertwined. The heavy door swung shut behind them and they fell against it, shaking. Eventually, the laughter slowed and they caught their breath, smiles lingering on their lips. The moment came when it would have felt natural to let go of each other’s hands, but neither did, and soon the moment passed, and then another and another.

“Um.” Jodie turned toward Krissy, her shoulder still pressed into the door, her eyes downcast. “Would you mind if I just tried—” Her voice cut out and suddenly she was leaning forward, pressing her lips against the spot between Krissy’s jaw and ear.

Krissy’s breath came out of her in a fast rush. Her body melted; her mind swirled. “Have you, uh…” Her voice was hoarse and breathless. “Have you done this before? With a woman, I mean?”

Jodie pulled her head back to look her in the eyes. She nodded. “Have you?”

Krissy swallowed, shook her head.

“Are you…Do you want to?” Jodie’s eyes flicked over Krissy’s face, lingering on her lips.

But Krissy couldn’t speak. She just nodded, and suddenly Jodie’s mouth was on hers and Krissy no longer cared that she wasn’t gay or that she didn’t have a label for what she felt for this woman. That spark between them had ignited a flame, and now she simply surrendered.

The next time they saw each other, at lunch in South Bend a few days later, Jodie invited Krissy over afterward and they were kissing the moment the front door shut behind them. To Krissy, their connection felt both magnetic and safe, and when Jodie told her that she loved her a month later, Krissy didn’t hesitate before saying that she loved her back.

Although she initially worried Billy would discover her secret, it turned out to be relatively easy to hide an affair from him, as long as it was a gay one. She simply told him the truth—that she’d reconnected with Jodie Palmer from school and they’d struck up a friendship. As long as she was home when he woke in the morning, and as long as there was food in the fridge, he didn’t seem to suspect a thing. Meanwhile, Jace had grown into a volatile teenager, sometimes sullen, sometimes angry, always in trouble. Krissy, who often wondered if she’d done the right thing all those years ago by protecting him, had long since learned that the best way to deal with him was the path of least resistance. It seemed if she didn’t ask questions about his life, he didn’t ask about hers. She and Jodie knew, however, that not everyone would be so blind, so they made sure to enter and exit hotel rooms separately. They only touched each other behind closed doors.

The years passed and their affair soon grew into something solid. Although they didn’t live together, it was Jodie, not Billy, with whom Krissy now shared her life. The only thing she didn’t share was her secrets.

But then, in 2009, something happened that changed everything.

It was a Saturday morning and Billy was working the farm while Krissy did laundry and cleaned. She’d just retrieved the mail, tossed the little stack onto the kitchen table, and was turning to the stairs to switch the sheets from the washer to the dryer, when an envelope caught her eye. The return address was a PO box. In the center, her name was scrawled in neat, slanted letters. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. She hadn’t seen Jace’s handwriting in years.

Four years earlier, when Jace was seventeen, he walked down the stairs and told her he was dropping out of school and moving out. To where, he didn’t say. He was packed by lunchtime, and as Krissy watched his old hatchback retreat down the driveway, her knees almost buckled with relief. She didn’t know how to be a mother to this strange ghost-like creature, the boy who killed his sister. Unexpectedly, though, another emotion that felt oddly like regret bloomed in her chest. She didn’t know how she could’ve done better, but she felt she’d somehow done something wrong.

Now, Krissy stood in the kitchen, staring at her son’s handwriting on the envelope for a long moment. Then, with a trembling hand, she reached down and plucked it from its spot in the stack. The letter inside was handwritten in blue ink.

Mom,

When I left a few years ago, I didn’t think I’d ever want to talk to you or Dad again. But I’m going through a program now and I’m supposed to make amends. Though if I’m being honest, I don’t really think I need your forgiveness. There’s no way everything I did to you could even begin to balance our scales. Yeah, I know I messed up, but I was the kid. You were the adult. You should’ve done better.

I know losing January was hard for you—she was your daughter—but it was hard for me too, and I never understood why her death meant I had to lose my mom. And please don’t act like you don’t know what I mean: For eleven years, you never even looked me in the eye. Do I really have to tell you how unfair that is?Iwas alive. But the only thing you ever cared about was January.

I knew you loved her more than me long before she died. All those dance lessons for her, while you stuffed me into a corner. And after she died, it was like I ceased to exist. Dad was just as bad, don’t get me wrong. But he’d never understood me because I wasn’t like him. You were different. We had a chance and you threw it away. And there’s nothing that feels shittier than not being loved by your own mom.

I know I’ve gone and fucked up the “making amends” step with this letter, but I don’t really care. I haven’t been good in my life, but I think you need my forgiveness much more than I need yours.

J

The letter fluttered from Krissy’s hand, landing on the table, open as a wound. She’d thought about this day for years, the day her son might break his silence. Now it had come and she had no idea how to respond. She didn’t know what he was referring to when he said he’d “messed up.” Was he talking about all the times he’d gotten in trouble—the weed, the school bathroom fire, when he’d punched another boy so many times he’d put him in the hospital because the boy said his family were all murderers? Or had his “mess up” been killing his own sister? Maybe he was right, Krissy thought. Maybe she did need his forgiveness, but what she knew without a shadow of a doubt was that he also needed hers.

Slowly, she folded the letter and tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans. All day, as she moved through her chores in a daze, her hand kept touching the fabric of her jeans as if her son’s letter was a living, pulsing thing. Then, late that night, after Billy had gone to bed, Krissy sat at the kitchen table, pen in hand, and began to write.

Dear Jace,

Thank you for the letter. It was hard to read, but I’m glad you sent it. I will always be your mom, and unlike what you seem to believe, I will always love you.

How could you ever believe otherwise when everything I did that night—everything—I did for you? To protect you. I thought you were going to be taken away from me and thrown into some juvenile institution, or if not that, I thought you’d be labeled a murderer for the rest of your life and I couldn’t bear that. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done, and I would do it again. For you.

I admit that afterward I didn’t know how to be your mom anymore. Every time I looked at you, I thought of what you’d done to January and it broke my heart. I did shut down, but not just because I’d lost my daughter. Because I’d lost my son too. And yet, throughout all those years, I never stopped loving you. So please don’t say I didn’t when my life is a testament to the love I have for you. I’ve made many mistakes, and for those I’m sorry, but not loving you was never one of them.

Could I call you sometime, or maybe we could even meet up? I’d love to see you. At the very least, please write back.

Love,

Mom

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