Chapter 22: What Marjorie Said

Joanna drove us to the farm at six in the morning with the window down and the radio off.

Marjorie was in the kitchen already, in her blue apron, rolling out pie dough on the long wooden table.

She looked up when we came in, and the rolling pin stopped.

"I'll wait outside," I said.

"No," said Joanna. "Stay. I don't want to say it twice."

She walked to the table and stood across from her mother with both hands flat on the wood.

Marjorie wiped her fingers on her apron.

"Joanna Marie," she said, and her voice was small. "Before you start, I want to say..."

"I know what you did."

"Honey..."

"You let me think I was running it," said Joanna.

"I did."

"You didn't tell me."

"No."

"Why?"

Marjorie set the pin down.

"Because you'd have sent the money back," she said, "and sent Callie home.

You do that, baby. You send good things home because you're afraid you can't keep them."

Joanna's jaw worked.

The kitchen clock ticked on the wall.

"I was so angry yesterday," she said at last. "I wanted to tear down the whole family office with my hands."

"I'd have helped you."

"I know you would. That's the part that makes me crazy."

Marjorie came around the table, slowly, and stood in front of her daughter with flour on her cheek.

"I'm not going to say I'm sorry for hoping," she said. "I'll say I'm sorry I didn't trust you to find your own way.

I did the wrong thing for the right reason.

I'd do it again, God forgive me, and I'll never do it again."

Joanna laughed, and her eyes spilled over.

"That is the least consistent apology I've ever heard," she said.

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