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“Maybe all of you turned your back on him.”

She glared over her shoulder. “Why are you defending him?”

“He was my friend. Before I met and married you, he was my friend.”

“Some friend. When was the last time you heard from him?”

“Doesn’t matter. He was good to me when I knew him.”

“You are such a bleeding heart.” She headed for the stairs. “I’m going to feed Sean. I left you some dinner in the fridge.”

Joyce marched up to the second floor, and when she hit the top landing, she glared at the crucifix that hung on the wall. Turning away from the cross, she went into Sean’s room and sat down in the rocker by his crib. Baring her breast, she brought her son up and he latched on, his hand squeezing the flesh that was next to his face. As he fed, his little body was warm and pudgy with health, his lashes down on his rosy cheeks.

Joyce took a number of deep breaths.

Crap. Now she felt bad for yelling. And for forsaking the Savior’s cross. She said a Hail Mary and then tried to calm herself by counting Sean’s perfect toes.

God…if anything happened to him, she would die, her heart would literally never beat the same way again. How had her mother done it? How had she lived through the loss of a child?

And Odell had lost two, hadn’t she. First Janie. Then Butch. Thank God the woman’s mind was going soft. The relief from bad memories must be a blessing.

Joyce stroked Sean’s fine dark hair and realized that her mother had never even gotten to say good-bye to Janie. The body had been too ruined to fix up for an open casket, and Eddie O’Neal, as the father, had done the ID at the morgue.

God, on that horrible fall afternoon, if only Butch had followed through and run into the house and told a grown-up that Janie had just left…maybe they could have saved her. Janie hadn’t been allowed to get in cars with boys and everyone knew the rules. Butch knew the rules. If only…

Ah, hell. Her husband was right. The whole family hated Butch. No wonder he’d taken off and all but disappeared.

With a whiffle, Sean’s mouth went slack and his little hand eased up. But then he jerked awake again and got back with the program.

Talk about disappearing…Good Lord, her mother wasn’t going to get a good-bye with Butch, either, was she? Her lucid moments were so few and far between. Even if Butch showed up at the church this Sunday, she might well not even recognize him.

Joyce heard her husband coming up the stairs, his footfalls slow.

“Mike?” she called out.

The man she loved and had married appeared in the doorway. He was developing a middle-aged belly, and he was losing the hair at the crown of his head even though he was only thirty-seven. But as she stared at him now, she saw his younger self: The high school jock. The friend of her older brother Butch. The hotshot football player that she’d had a crush on for years.

“Yeah?” he said.

“I’m sorry. For getting so pissed off.”

He smiled a little. “It’s some tough stuff. I understand.”

“And you’re right. Butch probably should have been invited. I just—I want the day of the baptism to be pure, you know? Just—pure. It’s Sean’s beginning and I don’t want any shadows. Butch…he carries that shadow around and everyone would get tense, and with Mother being so sick, I don’t want to deal.”

“Did he say he was coming?”

“No. He…” She thought about the conversation. Funny, he’d sounded the same. Her brother had always had the strangest voice, so husky and hoarse. Like either his throat was deformed or there was too much that he wasn’t saying. “He said he was happy for us. Thanked you for the call. Said he hoped Mom and Dad were okay.”

Her husband glanced down at Sean, who had melted into sleep again. “Butch doesn’t know your mother’s ill, does he?”

“No.” In the beginning, when Odell had just been forgetful, Joyce and her sister had decided to wait until they knew what was wrong to tell Butch. But that had been two years ago, hadn’t it. And they knew what was wrong, didn’t they. Alzheimer’s.

God only knew how much longer Mother was going