I laugh. “I don’t know if you ought to go around telling people that. No offense.”

“I’m just saying that I’m strong. Nothing wrong with that. You’re strong, too, Delsie. All us McHill girls are.”

“I don’t know if I’m all that strong,” I mumble.

She whips around. “Now, none of that talk. What do I tell you?”

I stand straighter. “That I better straighten my crown and remember who my grammy is.”

“That’s right, baby. Don’t you worry. It’s in our blood. We’re like Esme’s jars—with our strong shoulders.”

I know Grammy likes her metaphors, and I think back to her saying “Joseph is my rock.” I’d always thought it was a weird thing to say about a person. I didn’t really know what it meant until now. Papa’s strong shoulders weren’t just about him being able to pull wet ropes into his boat. It had to do with him being rock-solid for the rest of us. Always there. Keeping his promises. Protecting us.

And I can’t help but wonder if my momma was weak.

I just have to ask.

“Grammy?”

“Yes, baby?” Her voice sounds like she’s singing.

“Was my momma weak?”

Grammy stares out the window for a while before turning around. Her eyes are shiny, and I feel bad that I asked her. But, truly, I just have to know.

“Your momma was plenty strong.”

“I mean . . . I don’t mean weak arms. I mean like when you talk about Papa being strong. Loving us. Protecting us. I don’t know. I guess . . .” I swallow hard. “I know she wasn’t here long, but while she was . . . did she . . . you know . . .” I want to say love, but I’m afraid. “Protect me at all?”

“Your mother loved you,” she says. Of course. Grammy always knows what I don’t say.

“But, Grammy, you’ve always said that strong people can will themselves to do anything. Why did she leave me, then?”

“Strength comes in all kinds of forms, you know. I think your momma’s strength came in leaving—not in staying.”

I don’t understand.

“Your momma . . .” She speaks slowly, as if the words make her hurt. “She lived in the bottle, but the day”—she points at the end of my nose and leans toward me—“the very day she found out you were coming, she stopped. She sweated with the fits and heaves. She curled herself up on the floor and moaned and called for God and the devil, but she swore that while you were growing, she’d die before taking a drop. That was the strongest I’ve ever seen anyone be.”

I take a step back.

And Grammy takes a step forward.

“The day you came into this world, she looked at me with a sparkle in her eyes that I hadn’t seen in too long of a time. ‘Who could look at this baby girl and not believe in angels?’ she asked me.”

I look out our window at the abandoned house across from ours. “But she . . .” Then I turn to Grammy. “Then how come she didn’t want me?”