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you.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” he said. I found his hand and held it. It is still the same size as mine. Delicate, with long thin fingers like his mother’s. He is the catcher on his baseball team, the goalie at soccer. Always the dirtiest, hardest job in any sport. Because he can be depended upon.
    â€œGo to sleep,” I said. “Tomorrow’s Easter. Grandmother dyed eggs for us to hide.”
    In the morning everyone reconvened in my mother’s yard to hide Easter eggs and take photographs of each other. It was about evenly divided, between children who had been to Sunday School and the children of apostates.
    The boyfriend moved among the children being charming. “My father is taller than you are,” I heard the six-year-old girl tell him.
    â€œNo, he’s not,” I said. “Edward is taller than your father.” He raised his eyebrows just an almost imperceptible amount and sighed, and seemed to thank me.
    â€œWhy did you introduce him to the children?” I asked my ex-daughter-in-law. “Why did you even let him meet them?”
    â€œHe asked to. I put it off as long as I could. Well, it’s done now. Let’s get this Easter egg hunt over and I’ll take him home.”
    â€œThis was a stupid idea. I shouldn’t have talked you into coming. It was nuts. Coming up here into your ex-husband’s family. Mother acting like the high priestess of a cult. The shrine of the double standard. My family in Jackson, Mississippi.”
    â€œIt’s okay. I know what I want. I won’t let this stop me.”
    â€œGood. I’m glad to hear it.” I hugged her to my side. This woman six inches taller than me who is the only daughter I have ever had, who has never let me down or disappointed me. This giver of grandchildren, whom I worship.
    An hour later they drove away. The boyfriend driving. My ex-daughter-in-law riding shotgun with the six-year-old beside her. The older children on the backseat with their Walkmans plugged into their ears. “Thank goodness that is over,” my mother said.
    â€œWhat a mean thing to say,” I said. “I’m pulling for her. I want her to be happy.”
    â€œHe’s too young,” my mother said. “It’s embarrassing.”
    Five days later I was in the kitchen of my house, leaning on a counter, hearing the fallout on the phone. “The boyfriend’s gone,” my ex-daughter-in-law is saying. “They scared him off.”
    â€œI’m sorry. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”
    â€œIt had to happen. I’m a group of people. I’m four of us.”
    â€œDo you really believe that?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIs there something I can do?”
    â€œI don’t think so. I guess I have to ride it out.”
    â€œFuck love. Fuck having lovers.”
    â€œCome on, Rhoda. It’s not that bad. I had a good time for a while.”
    â€œNext time keep him to yourself. Don’t even tell him you have kids. Don’t tell me.”
    â€œI’ve had enough to last me for a while.”
    We hung up and I went out into my garden and started to water the hostas and the lilies. I pulled the garden hose around the hickory tree and started to turn it on. Then I changed my mind. To hell with nature. Let it take care of itself I spotted a wasps’ nest under the eaves by the garage. I went into the house and got a can of flying insect spray and sprayed it good. I doused it and then I sprayed some on a spider’s web.
    If I had been one of my grandfathers I would have gone out to the stables and saddled a horse and put a bit in its mouth and gone riding with my dogs at my heels. Instead, I went into the house and put on my running shoes and started out around the mountain. I don’t have any German-Jewish or American Indian or Dutch genes. I’m a Celt. I pile up stones and keep a loaded pistol in my underwear