Hannah Gersen - Home Field

NICOLE’S YOUNGER SISTER, Joelle, lived in the turn-of-the-century farmhouse where she and Nicole had grown up. It was made from fieldstone. The roof, recently replaced with expensive copper, had been purchased with Joelle’s inheritance after her father’s death. The copper was beautiful, especially in the late afternoon, when it turned a peachy-gold color. Inside, the house was dingier, with wall-to-wall carpeting and a mishmash of furniture: the very old, very simple chairs and crates, faded with use; the heavy-looking inherited pieces, made of dark lacquered woods; and the newest purchases, puffy chairs and sofas, chosen for comfort and upholstered in faux leather. There were knickknacks, framed craft projects, and family photos everywhere, arranged in no particular way. It was chaotic but also cozy.

Joelle got to live in the house because she was the one who married a farmer. Dean liked her husband, Ed, a big-gutted, easygoing man whose tendency to bullshit about subjects he knew nothing about had earned him the nickname of Cowpie. Over the years he had amassed a number of novelty T-shirts that featured turds in one form or another. He was wearing one today as he grilled burgers and hot dogs.

“Why on earth would you wear a shirt like that if you’re going to be serving people food?” asked Geneva, Dean’s mother-in-law.

“Never mind Uncle Ed,” Stephanie said. “What is Aunt Joelle wearing?”

Joelle’s outfit was perplexing: an oversized white tunic with plastic gems sewn on the collar and down the front, like buttons, and beneath it, purple leggings. It seemed better suited to an elementary-school-aged girl than a short, chesty woman with skinny legs.

“Maybe that’s how people dress at her new church,” Geneva said. “Bejeweled for Jesus.”

“Grandma!” Stephanie chided. But she was smiling.

“I finally caved and went with her to a service. I knew it was going to be bad as soon as I saw the church. Have you seen it? It’s prefab. Real shoddy construction. I said, ‘Joelle, Jesus was a carpenter!’”

“I bet she loved that,” Dean said.

“You can’t joke with her anymore — that’s the worst thing.”

Dean had no idea what he’d done to get his mother-in-law on his side, but it felt good to have at least one person in the family rooting for him. She had an independent streak that he admired, one that he felt the rest of the family failed to recognize. They were all shocked when, after her husband, Paul, died, she decided to renovate one of the old outbuildings at the edge of the pasture and live there. Joelle and Ed insisted she continue to live with them in the farmhouse, and even offered to build out an addition, but Geneva said she could smell Paul’s death in the rooms.

“Who’s ready for a burger?” Ed called from the grill.

“I’m going to go help Aunt Joelle with the salads,” Stephanie said, glaring at Dean before heading into the house.

“What was that about?” Geneva asked.

“She wants me to ask Joelle to help out with her brothers this fall, but I’m not crazy about that idea.”

“I don’t blame you,” Geneva said. “Did you know she’s going to homeschool Megan and Jenny this year? She doesn’t want Megan going to the high school.”

“That’s crazy; she won’t be able to play sports,” Dean said. Megan was the older of Joelle’s two daughters. She was a petite girl, and Dean still thought of her as a little kid around Robbie’s age. But now she was moving into Stephanie’s world.

“Of course sports are the first thing that comes into your head!” Geneva laughed.

“They give you confidence. I always told Stephanie that. She got her confidence from her grades, but that’s not available to everyone.”

“Most people would see it the other way. They think sports take away confidence.”

“Those people are overly competitive. They can’t enjoy something they aren’t winning.”

“Aren’t you that way?”

“I’m a coach,” Dean said. “I’m supposed to want to win. But I don’t say you can’t enjoy yourself if you don’t. Maybe it’s harder to. But you still get the physical benefits.”

“I’ve touched a nerve.”

“I’m just tired of my PE classes getting cut. Or I see a girl who looks athletic and it turns out she’s a cheerleader. I told Stephanie I’d break both her legs if she became a cheerleader.”

“Maybe it’s good Megan’s not going to high school. She won’t risk getting her legs broken by her fanatical uncle.”

Dean smiled. “I shouldn’t be so hard on cheerleaders. They raise their own money. They can do what they want.”

“I shouldn’t be so hard on Jo,” Geneva said. “All this Holy Roller stuff started after Paul passed on.”

Dean took his mother-in-law’s hand. It was cool, despite the mugginess of the afternoon — like Nicole’s used to be.

“There goes one of my buzzards.” Geneva watched a bulky-looking bird take flight from the pasture adjacent to her little house.

“Are you still encouraging them?” Dean asked.

“I left scraps out this morning.”

Geneva’s vulture fixation had started when she noticed the birds were eating the dry mix that she put out for the barn cats. She began leaving meat scraps for them — gristle and poultry gizzards. After a few months, the vultures got accustomed to her treats and would hang out in her yard, waiting. No one could understand why she fed them, and Joelle thought she was just plain losing it. But Dean trusted she had her reasons.

More guests had begun to arrive, mostly Ed’s family and people from Joelle’s church. Stephanie emerged from the farmhouse to greet an older couple that Dean didn’t immediately recognize from a distance. Their white-gray hair was cut in similarly short styles and they were dressed somewhat formally in khaki and white, as if they were on safari.

“Is that the Shanks?” Dean said. Even though Stephanie had been spending a lot of time with her grandparents, Dean rarely socialized with them. They usually didn’t come to Willowboro. Instead, Stephanie drove to Frederick or Baltimore to meet them. They had stores in both cities and lived outside Baltimore.

“I told Joelle not to invite them but she insisted,” Geneva said. “I’ve never understood those people. The way they left Nic high and dry after Sam passed on. I think they blamed her. Like he wouldn’t have gotten sick if he’d married someone else.”

“That was a long time ago,” Dean said. “They probably just needed someone to blame.”

“Aren’t you forgiving.”

“They got Stephanie into a good college.” Dean wasn’t in the mood to hate the Shanks. He got up out of his chair. “I’m going to see if the boys are in the barn.”

“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.