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The easiest and most widely accepted explanation for my mother’s strange disappearance was madness—the same affliction to befall every woman in my family for as far back as anyone could remember. We were cursed—the Farrow women.
suspected that the ache of missing her would mostly come from those little things. The holes that were left behind, empty places I’d stumble upon now that she was gone.
In those last years, Gran had all but lived inside of her own broken mind, shut away from our world for weeks at a time. It was one thing to miss her when she was gone. It was another to miss her when she was still here, in this house with me. For the last few months, I’d found myself longing for the end as much as I’d dreaded it.
My world was a very small one, made up of only a few people and places, and it felt like it was shrinking by the second.
June Rutherford died on October 2, the exact same day of the year that Clarence Taylor discovered me in that alley.
“Maybe I’m still waiting for you to suddenly realize you’re in love with me.”
“You may have ruined my life, June. But first, you gave me one.” My fingers found the damp fabric of his shirt and I pulled him into me, pressing my lips to his.
And I didn’t think there was any way to ever come back from that explosion of light that had birthed a universe inside of me when she said that word. Mama.
