“Mams—” Heathcliff began.
“Oh, hush up, boy! I didn’t reach eighty-eight by keeping my mouth shut, and I ain’t startin’ now when I know I’m one foot in the grave.” She nodded at me. “Just about raised your uncle Gregor, I did. Good boy, too. He’s got a good heart and a bright mind. It saddens me that he’s going to be taken so soon.”
“Mom,” Dusty warned.
She glared at him. “I ain’t sayin’ nothing she ain’t heard. Lawd, y’all act like I’m skinnin’ her cat right in front of her face. Getting down to it, then. I’m right glad to be seeing you among us, girl. You’ve been awful sheltered up in that big ol’ house.”
She grew quiet, and I stared. “Um … thank you,” I said, my eyes narrowing. “My uncle has told me a lot about you. Said you were the hand of God. A mean spirited witch with a heart of gold.”
Faint gasps emanated around the table, but I held Mams’ gaze.
She grinned. “I’ll be,” she cackled. “The hand of God. Did ya’ll hear that? You might have got your mama’s face, but you sure didn’t get her tongue. Right silver that mouth of yours is, and you know when to use it. I like that. I think your uncle got it right calling you Hawthorne.” She nodded at me. “Fine then, girl, you’ve earned the name. Now let’s crack open this meal!”
“She thinks dying means she can be meaner,” Chris hissed from across the table.
Heathcliff nudged me. “I’ll be damned. I’ve never heard her say so much and mean so many nice things all at one time.”
“My table, your tongue,” Heathcliff’s mom warned.
“You’ve done sullied the meal,” Chris joked.
Heathcliff snorted. “Mams cusses worse than that.”
My gaze scanned the table, half listening to the chatter, my mind wandering to the things in life I’d missed. Family mostly. Uncle Gregor had always been enough because he had to be, because his parents, my grandparents, were gone. My other grandparents had never wanted anything to do with me. I’d been a taint by birth, a child born out of wedlock to their wild daughter. It seemed I represented too much and lived too little.
“So, how’s the training going, Chris?” one of the cousins asked.
Heathcliff’s brother smiled. “Terrific! Not really a whole lot to learn considering I came out of the crib having to know it.”
The table filled with laughter, but Heathcliff tensed next to me.
“I got lucky,” Dusty declared. “Not one, but two sons to pass on the business to.”
Heathcliff shifted, his fork lying next to his plate, his jaw tense.
“Max’ll be good at the hardware stuff. He has a knack for putting things together,” another cousin added.
Heathcliff cleared his throat and glanced at me, his hand fisting on the table. “I don’t really think I want to work in the stores. Chris is much more qualified to run all of it. Better yet, he wants to.”
Chris threw his brother a look, but Heathcliff didn’t take the hint.
Silence descended.
“Well,” Mams said, “if that ain’t some bald faced honesty.”
Dusty’s fork met the table. “What are you saying, Son?”
Heathcliff’s gaze slid to his dad’s. “I’m not sure what I want to do honestly, but I kind of want to leave here to find out.”
If the silence was loud before, it was deafening now.
“Leave,” his mother whispered.
“Not forever,” Heathcliff amended. “Just to do some soul searching, I guess you could call it.”
“That’s madness!” Dusty roared.
“Is it?” I asked. My voice was low but firm because I knew what was coming next; the blame. It would all land on me, on the daughter of people with running in their blood. “There’s nothing wrong with leaving. I know more than anyone that this town is growing smaller and smaller each year, but it’s not going anywhere. There’s too much pride, tradition, and strength in this town. There’s a difference between running and seeking. There’s a difference between running and quitting. If you’re running toward something, you’re not running away. It’s only when you’re trying to hide from your failures that you don’t come back.”
It was said. The words I’d always been afraid to admit hadn’t just been spoken, they’d been told to a room full of people. My parents had left, and they would never return because returning meant admitting the biggest failure they’d ever made; their failure as parents.
Discomfort made me push away from the table, my feet carrying me to the door.