Kirstin Valdez Quade - Night at the Fiestas - Stories

Patsy rolled onto her side and smiled at Claire. “Morgan’s very close to her dad. He’s a really good man. He converted for me, you know.” The skin on her chest was even redder than usual and the tops of her small breasts squeezed together.

“Really?” asked Claire. She paused. “Who’s watching Morgan’s sisters?”

“They’re with our neighbor.” Patsy’s voice was suddenly sharp. “Do you think I’d just leave them alone?”

Claire opened her mouth to apologize, but to her relief Patsy smiled again.

“I met Mr. Swanson in college. I was a sophomore and he was a senior. I had lots of boyfriends back then, but he fell in love with me immediately. By the end of the year we were married. Now he’s even more devout than me!”

“Wow,” said Claire. Patsy was talking to her as if she were an equal, a friend. She looked at Morgan, who was glowering on the steps. Morgan swiped at her face, smearing her makeup still more.

“So Will’s your stepdad?” Patsy asked.

Claire inhaled. “Uh-huh.”

“Your mom got a divorce from your real dad?”

Claire nodded. Pieces of grass were stuck to her ankles, but when she tried to pick them off, they clung to her wet fingers. “But it was because he could be really mean.”

“Mr. Swanson’s not mean.” Patsy rolled onto her back, eyes closed to the sun. “So… did your mom have boyfriends before Will?”

Claire looked at her thighs. The water was beginning to dry. She felt sticky. “A couple.”

“Did they ever spend the night? Did Will spend the night at your house before they got married? Did they sleep in the same bed?”

Claire didn’t say anything. Her eyes felt hot and she couldn’t have raised her head if she’d wanted to.

Patsy patted her leg, left her hand there, and Claire felt a warm rush in her thighs. “It’s okay, honey. I’m not judging.”

Her voice was so kind. Somehow Patsy understood the shame and was forgiving her.

Morgan stomped over and grabbed Claire’s wrist. “Come on. We need to go for a walk.”

Patsy squinted up. “I’ll come with you.”

Claire didn’t want to leave Patsy’s side.

“No,” said Morgan and yanked. “Why can’t you leave us alone?”

Patsy blinked, her face naked and hurt.

“Ugh!” shouted Morgan, throwing a towel over her mother. “Get dressed. ”

They walked around the block, but they were barefoot and the pavement was hot. In some places the sidewalk gave way entirely and they had to pick their way through burning dirt. Morgan walked three steps ahead and never said a word and never turned around.

Claire tried to pretend to be interested in the neighborhood: small houses, a boarded-up garage, some little kids in a yard who eyed them suspiciously as they passed. At the next corner, Morgan waited for Claire. She seemed to have softened.

“So when’s the family reunion starting?” asked Claire conversationally.

“Stupid. There is no family reunion.”

“What?” asked Claire. “Your mom lied?”

Morgan turned away. Her pale shoulders were hunched and the straps of her bathing suit cut into her soft skin. “She didn’t lie. There must be some mistake.”

Claire hesitated before asking, “Morgan, is your mom Mormon?”

Morgan whirled around. “Of course she is,” she snapped. “Her father is a bishop .”

“Oh,” said Claire, suddenly aware that she liked Morgan less. “Why are you so mad?”

THAT EVENING AS PATSY was laying out the fried-chicken dinner from the restaurant near the highway, the phone rang again. “We’ll let it go,” Patsy said. She put a hand on Morgan’s shoulder a moment, then continued setting the plastic sporks on thin paper napkins. The phone stopped.

“I want to call Dad,” said Morgan. They’d washed their faces, but Morgan’s eyes were still shadowed.

Patsy shook her head. “Let’s not bother him. He’s very stressed out with work.”

After a moment she turned to Claire and said, “Maybe you should give your parents a call, let them know you’re okay.”

“It’s fine,” Claire said, feeling Morgan’s glare. “I can do it after dinner.”

“Now’s good,” said Patsy. “Just to check in.”

Claire dialed carefully. Her mother picked up. “Did you call me, Mom? Just now?” Claire could hear Emma and Will laughing in the background.

“No, honey, but it’s great to hear your voice. Are you having fun?”

Claire said she was, then waited for her mother to ask if everything was okay, but she didn’t. “Morgan’s dad couldn’t make it.”

“Oh? That’s too bad. But you’re having a good time?”

There was so much she wanted to tell her mother — about the wine coolers, about how sad Patsy seemed, and how Morgan was angry with her and she didn’t know why — but Patsy and Morgan were both watching. “We did makeovers today. We ran in the sprinklers.”

“That sounds terrific, sweetie.”

“Yeah.” Claire allowed a silence, into which her mother ought to have read that everything had gone wrong.

Instead, her mother said, “I better go, honey. I’ve got to put Emma to bed, or she’ll be a grouch.”

When Claire dropped the phone into its cradle, Patsy said, “Bon appétit!”

The fluorescent ceiling panel seemed very far from the table and the flickering dim light made Claire sad. Morgan was silent as they ate. Claire kept glancing at her, but she didn’t lift her gaze from her mashed potatoes.

Morgan was a brat. She was spoiled and didn’t know how good she had it, having Patsy as her mother. At least Patsy wanted to spend time with Morgan. At least Patsy tried .

“This is delicious,” Claire told Patsy. She paused. “I think you’re a really good mom.”

“Thank you, Claire.” Patsy smiled gratefully and looked more beautiful than ever. They both considered Morgan, who appeared not to have heard.

But when Patsy took the dirty paper plates to the kitchen, Morgan looked right at Claire. “Just so you know, you’re going to be cast into Outer Darkness.”

“Outer Darkness?”

“That’s where the bad people go, the people who deny Jesus. There’s nothing there. Just dark.” Morgan’s gaze was very still and certain. “ We’ll be in the Celestial Kingdom. My mom and dad and my sisters and me.”

“That’s not true,” said Claire. Surely she’d have heard of this before.

Morgan pressed her lips and nodded, as if to say it was a shame, but it wasn’t up to her. “It’s definitely true.”

Claire thought of her conversations with Will about galaxies beyond the Milky Way, how when he explained infinity she felt so queasy and anxious she had to push the idea from her mind. The notion that she could end up in that emptiness was terrifying. Panic tightened around her chest.

She imagined them all, Morgan and the girls from school with their pretty haircuts and orthodontia and ironed floral dresses, all of them being lifted above her, led through the Celestial Curtain, which glowed white with warmth and life, while she, with her tangles and off-brand Keds and too-short jeans, was sucked into the cold darkness of space. Floating around like an astronaut who had come untethered, without even stars to orient herself.

“Ice cream!” sang Patsy, sweeping in and placing a paper bowl in front of each of them.

Claire felt close to tears. “Maybe it’s just a story.”

“It isn’t a story,” Morgan said. “It’s revelation. God told Joseph Smith personally.”

“Morgan,” warned Patsy. “What are you talking about? We don’t need to talk about that.”

“Yes,” Morgan insisted, “we do need to talk about it.”

Patsy bit her lip. “This isn’t really dinnertime conversation.”