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“You are avoiding the Shanks,” Geneva said, pointing a finger. “The Shanks and Joelle.”

He was avoiding everyone. He didn’t know what to say about his life anymore. He patted his front pocket, where he’d placed the napkin Laura had given him. She’d written down her number and handed it to him at the end of their conversation about physical therapy (for her boyfriend, who seemed perfectly healthy). She said to call her if he ever needed someone to talk to. And then she said she was sorry she hadn’t gotten in touch after Nicole died, that she didn’t know right away, and then when she did know, she didn’t know if she should contact him, because what could she say, she hadn’t even known Nicole, and anyway it wasn’t as if they’d ever had that kind of friendship, the kind that entailed phone calls, and then she had blushed and said again that she was sorry, really so sorry, and Dean had finally interrupted and said it was okay, because it was; in fact, it was a relief to know that she still thought about him, and even more of a relief to know that she wanted to talk to him.

The gravel driveway that led from the farmhouse to the barn and down to the fields was flecked with sharp bits of hay. Dean picked one up and stuck it behind his ear, knowing it would make the boys laugh. But when he got to the barn, there was no sign of them. He stood in the darkened, cool space, savoring the dusklike feeling. Sunlight filtered in where the door was ajar, sending a stripe of gold across the beams. He became aware of the sadness inside him, an ancient, placeless feeling, and at the same time he felt marvelously alive. It had something to do with the smell of the barn, of the hay and the animals that slept there at night. It reminded him of his childhood and of his father, of the sweet through line connecting him to his past and extending to some unknown point in the future.

Dean heard someone behind him and turned to see Joelle standing in the doorway. Her jeweled tunic was even more out of place in the barn’s soft light.

“I’m just trying to find my girls.” She began to head back outside.

“Wait, Joelle, I wanted to ask you something.”

“If you’re wondering about the Shanks, Stephanie’s the one who wanted to invite them, not me.”

“I don’t mind the Shanks.” He wanted to say something conciliatory, something to bridge — or at least start to bridge — the divide that separated them. But now that he was face-to-face with his wife’s younger sister, he could only think of how old and set in her ways she seemed. There was a hardness to her, a toughness. Maybe that was why Nicole had tried so hard to please her. It was as if Joelle were the older sister and Nicole the vulnerable young one. Their dynamic was such that when they had gone out together, people often assumed that Nicole was the baby of the family. “It’s because I have such big boobs,” Joelle once said, to Dean’s amusement. But over the years, she had wielded an influence that Dean often resented. Nicole always sought her advice first, weighing it against everyone else’s as if it were the sensible standard. She’d even tried to believe in Joelle’s version of God.

“Steffy says you’re looking for a babysitter,” Joelle said. “I can watch them if need be.”

“Thanks, but we’ll be okay.”

“You can’t ask my mother, you can’t put that on her.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“What’s your plan?”

“For now, the boys can come with me to practices. When school starts, I’ll have Monica come over on weeknights when I have to work late.”

“Monica graduated.”

“I’ll find a new Monica.”

“That’s not going to work.”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe it will, maybe it won’t.”

Dean. I know what your schedule is like in the fall. You’re never home. You can’t get a babysitter every night. Kids need consistency, they need routine — especially now, with their mother gone.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I’m trying to help. Tell me honestly, do you really think it’s the best thing to drag them around with you?”

“Do you think it’s the best thing to take Megan and Jenny out of school?”

“My decision to homeschool is between me and my pastor. I don’t need to defend it to you.”

“And I don’t need to defend my life to you.”

“Why don’t you take a season off? You know you could. People would understand.”

“I don’t want to take a season off,” Dean said.

“You know, I used to stand up for you. I used to say to Nicole, ‘He loves his job, nothing wrong with that.’ But now I see that she was right, you’re obsessed.”

“I do love my job,” Dean said. He wasn’t about to explain that he needed to coach right now, that football was all he had left, it was the only place he felt at home. The players were like his sons, except they were better than sons because they listened to him, and he understood them — unlike his own sons, who were becoming more mysterious to him with each passing day.

“I’m not going to let you do this to my nephews,” Joelle said. “Nicole wouldn’t approve. She’d be up in arms.”

“Nicole doesn’t have a say anymore!” Dean was angry now.

Joelle crossed her arms. “I can take them after school. Megan’s old enough to babysit.”

“You don’t get it,” Dean said. “I don’t want you to take them.”

“That’s funny, because Nic dropped them off all the time last year.”

“Leave Nic out of it,” Dean said. “This isn’t about her.”

“I think it is. I think you’re still angry with me. But that’s no reason to punish Robbie and Bry.”

“This has nothing to do with you, Joelle.”

“You blame me. I know you do. I never told her not to see a psychiatrist. All I ever said was that she should be careful about taking medications.”

“Look, I told you I didn’t want to go down this road, and I meant it.”

“This is where every conversation is going to end up until you forgive her — and me. Not that I did anything wrong.”

“You told her she was depressed because she didn’t have faith. You didn’t support her.”

“You want to talk about support? You know what she told me? She said, ‘Jo, I never knew marriage could be so lonesome.’ She must have called me practically every night last fall. I don’t think you even knew how bad off she was. She’s always been sensitive. After Sam died, she was a wreck. She couldn’t even dress herself. Who do you think took care of her? Of Stephanie? I was the one. Not the Shanks, not Mom and Dad, and certainly not you.”

“I didn’t even know Nic then.”

“That’s right, you waltzed in after the dust cleared. You think you saved her but you have no clue. I’ve always told her to put her trust in God because that’s what I believe in. You’re the one who told her she would feel better if she exercised more.”

“Exercise does make people feel better. It’s scientifically proven. If you take care of your body, your mind will follow.”

“Is that what you told Nicky?”

“I told her lots of things. I told her to see a doctor, I told her to get a new job, I told her to make new friends. Maybe they weren’t the best ideas. Maybe you’re right, maybe I didn’t understand how unhappy she was. But I don’t think you did, either. Tell me honestly, Joelle, did you have any idea she would do this?”

“Of course not! But I’m not married to her.” Joelle turned to leave. She was tearing up. “I can’t talk about this anymore. I came in here to find my kids.”

Dean stayed in the barn after she left. Whenever he talked to Joelle, he had the feeling she was trying to give Nicole’s suicide back to him, like it was a mess that only he could clean up. Like it could be cleaned up. He hated the way she made everything seem so straightforward, the way she took words like marriage and forgiveness and acted as if they were transparent and uncomplicated. He couldn’t believe she was actually that smug and simpleminded. She had to be pissed off to be left alone with her widowed, buzzard-loving mother. She had to be in pain, big pain. And she had to be angry about it. She just wasn’t that good a person.