Frankly, I didn’t think any of us had any idea what Junie might have wanted. Maybe her fury at being wrenched from the world would have been even greater than mine. Maybe she’d crave blood and revenge. Or maybe she’d want mercy and the mother she remembered. But Junie was gone, and what she would have wanted didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was what I could live with in the aftermath.

I closed the container, the sickly sweet smell of banana threatening to make me gag. “If you’re asking me to forgive, I can’t do that,” I said. “I don’t have it in me.” Forgiveness was a virtue I’d never been taught and one I didn’t have much interest in learning now.

Louise shook her head. “I never said a single word about forgiving. But there’s a world of space between forgiveness and vengeance, Eve. A lot of places you can land.” She sighed, reached out, and took the container of pie. “I guess two bites is better than nothing.”

We sat in silence for a minute, watching the shadows lengthen across the parking lot and listening to the distant sound of a coyote’s howl. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

“I knew your mama’s folks,” Louise said into the quiet. “Not well, but your grandma was the same age as my oldest sister. They were friendly, hung around some before your grandma got married.”

I opened my eyes and turned my head to look at her. “You’ve never told me that.” My mama never spoke much about her family. All Cal and I really knew was that she’d grown up around here, had a father who’d died when she was young, and had a couple of siblings she hadn’t seen or heard from in decades. She didn’t like talking about the past, hers or ours. Always said what was done was done, rehashing was a waste of breath.

Louise looked at me with sad eyes. “I was hoping I’d never have to. It’s not a happy story, which I guess you could’ve probably figured out on your own.”

“Tell me,” I said. I’d learned early not to ask my mama, and eventually I thought I’d stopped caring. But I was suddenly hungry for this history I’d never heard. A background that might help bring my mama’s sharp edges into focus.

“Like I said, I didn’t know them well. Your grandma was only a teenager when they got married, and after that I didn’t have occasion to see her much. Your grandpa had some kind of cabin out in the woods, no running water, outhouse out back. Rough place, even for these parts.” Louise shook her head. “He was a mean son of a bitch. Kept to himself, mostly, but he had a reputation. People steered clear.”

“Sounds familiar,” I said, thinking of how people always gave my mama a wide berth, hoping to be well out of range when she blew.

“But your grandma was a sweet little thing. I think she probably had some romantic idea when she married him. Thought she might civilize him.” Louise paused. “But he ground her down into nothing. I’d see her in town from time to time over the years, and she was like a shadow, eyes down, skittish, thin as a rail. Dragging your mama and her other two behind her.”