The next morning, I slid into an empty seat next to my sister-in-law just as the processional was finishing. I was usually late to church, which annoyed Justine to no end. She expressed her irritation this time by pointedly not looking at me, though my brother, Ben, did shoot me a quick smile from the far end of the pew.

Ben was eight years older than me. We actually didn’t have the same father, but Ben still looked a lot like me — we both had Mom’s pale skin, dark brown hair, and gray eyes. Ben and Justine had been married twelve years. They had four daughters, ranging from Tiffany, who was on the verge of teenhood, to Madisyn, a squirmy three-year-old.

Ben and I got together sometimes for lunch, but I was rarely invited to his home because Justine didn’t like me. I came to church largely because that way I saw my brother and nieces at least once a week. I resented having to do it, though. I wasn’t much of a believer, and it rubbed me the wrong way to have to pretend otherwise just to see my own family. In contrast, Justine took her faith seriously. She must have known I was faking it. It probably made her dislike me even more.

It had been different before Mom died. When she was around, her house on Fourth Street had been our gathering place. Justine hadn’t liked me much better then, but she hadn’t been willing to snub her mother-in-law, so the whole family got together for dinner a couple times a week. I still lived in that house, but the family dinners were a thing of the past.

My eyes wandered down the row toward the kids, and Justine finally glanced my way. The anemic sunlight coming through the windows showed the lines around her eyes and mouth. She looked angry. Angry and mean.

I never could see what Ben saw in her. Maybe what he’d seen was that she’d gotten pregnant with Tiffany by accident, and he’d just had to make the best of it ever since.

The nasty thought was satisfying and left only the slightest aftertaste of guilt. When it came to Justine, I’d long since given up on policing my thoughts. Policing what I actually said was enough of an effort.

After the service, everyone trickled down to the community room for coffee. I got hugs from Ben and the girls and an oops-I-just-got-distracted-by-someone-who’s-not-you from Justine.

“Aunt Beth! Guess what?”

Little Madisyn was twisting around and hopping from one foot to the other. Either she was excited to tell me something, or she had to pee. Maybe both.

“What, baby?”

I reached out to tousle her hair, but she ducked away.

“I’m not a baby,” she said crossly.

“’Course not. What’d you want to tell me?”

“I forgot,” she said with a pout.

“Then tell me something else.”