Typical Vince. Generous to a fault. “I don’t need maintenance, thank you.”

“Ruth, according to the prenup—”

“Fuck the prenup. I’ve never wanted nor needed your money, Daddy Warbucks. Now, if there’s nothing else, I need to go.”

“I was wondering if you’ve given any further thought to the treatment facility we spoke about?”

In response, I hang up the phone in his ear and get back to clearing the cupboards. When I find Ma’s old knitting basket on the top shelf of the storage cupboard, I yank the needles out, not prepared for the unfinished baby’s bootie they still cling to. I’m not prepared for the hot flood of tears either.

What little foot with its dimpled, tiny toes my mother was knitting it for, I have no idea. Probably one of our many fertile cousins. All I know is that if I were thirty years younger, I’d take the discovery of the blue bootie as a sign. Since it can’t be a sign, it has to be the universe mocking me. It seems to be doing that a lot lately. Still, the air crackles like it knows something. I wish it would share its secret.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Delilah

7 May 1994

Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

In my past three attempts to go back to the hospital, I’d only gotten as far as town before turning around and heading back to the house in defeat. I told myself it was because Daniel was still in a coma and wouldn’t know I was there anyway, but really it was the image of the priest at his bedside; how he’d looked so assured in his right to be there; how he’d claimed Daniel in a way I never could.

It was late afternoon and Ruth still hadn’t risen. Based on the noise from the radio, which had served as accompaniment for her drunken singing until well after midnight, she’d clearly been on a bender. I’d tried to get her to shut up and go to sleep, but the bedroom door was locked and my banging on it had only made her sing louder.

Half-filled cardboard boxes were scattered all over the place though she didn’t seem to be making any progress with them. Ruth clearly still had the attention span of a goldfish. I was tempted to unpack the boxes, mostly to annoy her but also to give myself some distraction, but with her power of attorney revoked after my visit to the lawyer the day before, Ruth couldn’t sell the farm without my permission. And since I wasn’t going to give it, I looked forward to watching her unpack everything herself. Especially after she found the notarized document I’d propped against her gin bottle where she couldn’t possibly miss it.