Amma Treadeau has been declared legally dead, following her disappearance from Wate’s Landing,
the home of Mitchell and Ethan Wate, on Cotton Bend, in Central Gatlin’—” I stopped reading out
loud.
I was sitting at her kitchen table, where her One-Eyed Menace waited sadly in the mason jar on
her counter, and it didn’t seem possible that I was reading Amma’s obituary. Not when I could still
smell the Red Hots and the pencil lead.
“Keep readin’.” Aunt Grace was leaning over my shoulder, trying to read the print that her
bifocals were ten strengths too weak to read.
Aunt Mercy was sitting in her wheelchair, on the other side of the table, next to my dad. “They
best say somethin’ about Amma’s pie. Or the Good Lord as my witness, I’ll go down there ta The
Stars ’n’ Bars and give them a piece a my mind.” Aunt Mercy still thought our town newspaper
was named after the Confederate flag.
“It’s The Stars and Stripes,” my father corrected gently. “And I’m sure they worked hard to
assure Amma is remembered for all her talents.”
“Hmm.” Aunt Grace sniffed. “Folks ’round here don’t know a lick about talent. Prudence
Jane’s singin’ was looked over by the choir for years.”
Aunt Mercy crossed her arms. “She had the voice of an angel if I ever heard one.”
I was surprised Aunt Mercy could hear anything without her hearing aid. She was still carrying
on when Lena began to Kelt with me.
Ethan? Are you okay?
I’m okay, L.
You don’t sound okay.
I’m dealing.
Hold on. I’m coming.
Amma’s face stared out at me from the newspaper, printed in black and white. Wearing her
best Sunday dress, the one with the white collar. I wondered if someone had taken that photo at my
mom’s funeral or Aunt Prue’s. It could’ve been Macon’s.
There had been so many.
I laid the paper down on the scarred wood. I hated that obituary. Someone from the paper
must have written it, not someone who knew Amma. They’d gotten everything wrong. I guess I
had a new reason to hate The Stars and Stripes as much as Aunt Grace did.
I closed my eyes, listening to the Sisters fuss about everything from Amma’s obituary to the
fact that Thelma couldn’t make grits the right way. I knew it was their way of paying their respects
to the woman who had raised my dad and me. The woman who had made them pitcher after
pitcher of sweet tea and made sure they didn’t leave the house with their skirts hitched up in their
pantyhose when they left for church.
After a while, I couldn’t hear them at all. Just the quiet sound of Wate’s Landing mourning,
too. The floorboards creaked, but this time I knew it wasn’t Amma in the next room. None of her
pots were banging. No cleavers were attacking the cutting board. No warm food would be coming
my way.
Not unless my dad and I taught ourselves how to cook.
There were no casseroles piled up on our porch either. Not this time. There wasn’t a soul in
Gatlin who would have dared bring their sorry excuse for a pot roast to mark Miss Amma
Treadeau’s passing. And if they did, we wouldn’t have eaten it.
Not that anyone around here really believed she was gone. At least that’s what they said.
“She’ll come back, Ethan. ’Member the way she just showed up without sayin’ a word, the day
you were born?” It was true. Amma had raised my father and moved out to Wader’s Creek with
her family. But as the story goes, the day my parents brought me home from the hospital, she
showed up with her quilting bag and moved back in.
Now Amma was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. More than anyone, I knew how that
worked. I looked at the worn spot on the floorboards over by the stove, in front of the oven door.
I miss her, L.
I miss her, too.
I miss both of them.
I know.
I heard Thelma walk into the room, a hunk of tobacco tucked under her lip. “All right, girls. I
think y’all have had enough excitement for one mornin’. Let’s go on in the other room and see what
we can win on The Price Is Right.”
Thelma winked at me and wheeled Aunt Mercy out of the room. Aunt Grace was right behind
them, with Harlon James at her feet. “I hope they’re givin’ away one a those iceboxes that makes
water all on its own.”
My dad reached for the newspaper and started reading where I left off. “ ‘Memorial services
will be held at the Chapel at Wader’s Creek.’ ” My mind flashed on Amma and Macon, standing
face to face in the middle of the foggy swamp on the wrong side of midnight.
“Aw, hell, I tried to tell anyone who would listen. Amma doesn’t want a service.” He sighed.
“Nope.”
“She’s fussing around somewhere right now, saying, ‘I don’t see why you’re wastin’ good
time mournin’ me. Sure as my Sweet Redeemer, I’m not wastin’ my time mournin’ you.’ ”
I smiled. He cocked his head to the left, just like Amma did when she was on the rampage. “T.
O. M. F. O. O. L. E. R. Y. Ten down. As in, this whole thing’s nothin’ but hodgepodge and
nonsense, Mitchell Wate.”
This time I laughed, because my dad was right. I could hear her saying it. She hated being the
center of attention, especially when it involved the infamous Gatlin Funerary Pity Parade.
My dad read the next paragraph. “ ‘Miss Amma Treadeau was born in Unincorporated Gatlin
County, South Carolina, the sixth of seven children born to the late Treadeau family.’ ” The sixth of
seven children? Had Amma ever mentioned her sisters and brothers? I only remembered her talking
about the Greats.
He skimmed the length of the obituary. “ ‘By some count, her career as a baker of local
renown spanned at least five decades and as many county fairs.’ ” He shook his head again. “But no
mention of her Carolina Gold? Good Lord, I hope Amma’s not reading this from some cloud up on
high. She’ll be sending lightning bolts down, left and right.”
She’s not, I thought. Amma doesn’t care what they say about her now. Not the folks in Gatlin.
She’s sitting on a porch somewhere with the Greats.
He kept going. “ ‘Miss Amma leaves behind her extended family, a host of cousins, and a circle
of close family friends.’ ” He folded up the paper and tossed it back onto the table. “Where’s the
part where Miss Amma leaves behind two of the sorriest, hungriest, saddest boys ever to inhabit
Wate’s Landing?” He tapped his fingers restlessly on the wood tabletop between us.
I didn’t know what to say at first. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re going to be okay, you know?”
It was true. That’s what she’d been doing all this time, if you thought about it. Getting us ready
for a time when she wouldn’t be there to get us ready for all the times after that.
For now.
My dad must have understood, because he let his hand fall heavily on my shoulder. “Yes, sir.
Don’t I know it.”
I didn’t say anything else.
We sat there together, staring out the kitchen window. “Anything else would be downright
disrespectful.” His voice sounded wobbly, and I knew he was crying. “She raised us pretty well,
Ethan.”
“She sure did.” I fought back the tears myself. Out of respect, I guess, like my dad said. This
was how it had to be now.
This was real.
It hurt—it almost killed me—but it was real, the same way losing my mom was real. I had to
accept it. Maybe this was the way the universe was meant to unravel, at least this part of it.
The right thing and the easy thing are never the same.
Amma had taught me that, better than anyone.
“Maybe she and Lila Jane are taking care of each other now. Maybe they’re sitting together,
talking over fried tomatoes and sweet tea.” My dad laughed, even though he was crying.
He had no idea how close to the truth he was, and I didn’t tell him.
“Cherries.” That was all I said.
“What?” My dad looked at me funny.
“Mom likes cherries. Straight out of the colander, remember?” I turned my head his way. “But
I’m not sure Aunt Prue is letting either one of them get a word in edgewise.”
He nodded and stretched out his hand until it brushed against my arm. “Your mom doesn’t
care. She just wants to be left in peace with her books for a while, don’t you think? At least until
we get there?”
“At least,” I said, though I couldn’t look at him now. My heart was pulled so many different
ways at once, I didn’t know what I was feeling. Part of me wished I could tell him that I’d seen my
mom. That she was okay.
We sat like that, not moving or talking, until I felt my heart start to pound.
L? Is that you?
Come out, Ethan. I’m waiting.
I heard the music before I saw the Beater roll into view through the windowpanes. I stood up
and nodded at my dad. “I’m going up to Lena’s for a while.”
“You take all the time you need.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
As I turned to leave the kitchen, I caught one last sight of my dad, sitting alone at the table with
the newspaper. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave him like that.
I reached back for the paper.
I don’t know why I took it. Maybe I just wanted to keep her with me a little while longer.
Maybe I didn’t want my dad to sit alone with all those feelings, wrapped in a stupid paper with a
bad crossword puzzle and a worse obituary.
Then it came to me.
I pulled open Amma’s drawer and grabbed a #2 pencil. I held it up to show my dad.
He grinned. “Started out sharp, and then she sharpened it.”
“It’s what she would have wanted. One last time.”
He leaned back in his chair until he could reach the drawer and tossed me a box of Red Hots.
“One last time.”
I gave him a hug. “I love you, Dad.”
Then I swept my hand across the length of the kitchen windows, sending salt spraying all over
the kitchen floor.
“It’s time to let the ghosts in.”
I only made it halfway down the porch steps before Lena found me. She jumped up into my arms,
circling her skinny legs around mine. She clung to me and I held on to her, like neither one of us
was ever letting go.
There was electricity, plenty of electricity. But as her lips found mine, there was nothing but
sweetness and peace. Kind of like coming home, when a home’s still a shelter and not the storm
itself. Everything was different between us. There was nothing keeping us apart anymore. I didn’t
know if it was because of the New Order, or because I’d journeyed to the end of the Otherworld
and back. Either way, I could hold Lena’s hand without burning a hole in my palm.
Her touch was warm. Her fingers were soft. Her kiss was just a kiss now. A kiss that was
every bit as big and every bit as small as a kiss can be.
It wasn’t an electrical storm or a fire. Nothing exploded or burned or even short-circuited.
Lena belonged to me, the same way I belonged to her. And now we could be together.
The Beater honked, and we broke off kissing.
“Any day now.” Link stuck his head out the window. “I’m gettin’ gray hairs sittin’ here
watchin’ you kids.”
I grinned at him, but I couldn’t pull myself away from her. “I love you, Lena Duchannes. I
always have, and I always will.” The words were as true today as the first time I’d said them, on
her Sixteenth Moon.
“And I love you, Ethan Wate. I’ve loved you since the first day we met. Or before.” Lena
looked straight in my eyes, smiling.
“Way before.” I smiled back, deep into hers.
“But I have something to tell you.” She leaned closer. “Something you should probably know
about the girl you love.”
My stomach flipped a little. “What is it?”
“My name.”
“You’re not serious?” I knew Casters learned their real names after they were Claimed, but
Lena was never willing to tell me hers, no matter how many times I asked. I figured it was hers to
tell when she felt like the time was right. Which, I guess, was now.
“Do you still want to know?” She grinned because she already knew the answer.
I nodded.
“It’s Josephine Duchannes. Josephine, daughter of Sarafine.” The last word was a whisper,
but I heard it, as if she had shouted it from the rooftops.
I squeezed her hand.
Her name. The last missing piece of her family puzzle, and the one thing you couldn’t find on
any family tree.
I hadn’t told Lena about her mother yet. Part of me wanted to believe that Sarafine had given
up her soul so I could be with Lena again—that her sacrifice was about more than just revenge.
Someday I would tell Lena what her mother did for me. Lena deserved to know Sarafine wasn’t all
bad.
The Beater honked again.
“Come on, lovebirds. We gotta get to the Dar-ee Keen. Everyone’s waitin’.”
I grabbed Lena’s other hand and pulled her down the front lawn to the Beater. “We have to
make a quick stop on the way.”
“Is this gonna involve any Dark Casters? Do I need the shears?”
“We’re just going to the library.”
Link leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. “I haven’t renewed my library card since I
was ten. I think I’d have better odds with Dark Casters.”
I stood in front of the car door and looked at Lena. The back door opened by itself, and we
both climbed in.
“Aw, man. Now I’m your cabdriver? You Casters and Mortals have a really screwed-up way a
showin’ your appreciation to a guy.” Link turned up the music, as if he didn’t want to hear
whatever I had to say.
“I appreciate you.” I smacked his head from behind, good and hard. He didn’t even seem to
feel it. I was talking to Link, but I was looking at Lena. I couldn’t stop looking at her. She was
more beautiful than I remembered, more beautiful and more real.
I curled a strand of her hair through my fingers, and she leaned her cheek against my hand. We
were together. It was hard to think or see or even talk about anything else. Then I felt bad for
feeling so good when I was still carrying The Stars and Stripes in my back pocket.
“Wait. Check it out.” Link paused. “That’s exactly what I needed to finish my new lyrics.
‘Candy girl. Hurts so sweet she’ll make you want to hurl—’ ”
Lena put her head on my shoulder. “Did I mention that my cousin’s back in town?”
“Of course she is.” I smiled.
Link winked at me in the rearview mirror. I smacked him in the head again as the car pulled
down the street.
“I think you’re gonna be a rock star,” I said.
“I gotta get back to workin’ on my demo track, you know? ’Cause as soon as we graduate,
I’m headin’ straight to New York, the big time….”
Link was so full of crap, he could pass for a toilet. Just like the old days. Just like it was
supposed to be.
It was all the proof I needed.
I was really home.
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