He steps back so each man in the room can repeat his gesture: cheek, cheek, mouth. Some of them grip my stomach before they step away, a furtive rub, as if I’m a stone to massage for luck. Stanley—my true father, after all—doesn’t seem to recognize me. He’s chewing on something he should have swallowed long ago, I think, when I lean down so he can kiss me. He sniffs my neck, or simply twitches, and when he leans back into his wheelchair, I spot a flash of something alert in his eyes. But then they cloud over, and he’s gone.

I intend to pay him back, too. For Frances.

When all the Fathers have kissed me, the Mothers are guided to deliver three kisses of their own: cheek, cheek, forehead. Their closeness and breaths and the intimate way they’re handling me is starting to take a toll. I fight off waves of dizziness.

When I have been blessed by everyone, Ronald turns me, clasping one of my hands with his and raising them both in the air. “Let’s welcome our newest Mother!”

My eyes are dry as everyone cheers.

CHAPTER 61

I’m sprawled on the sofa of Dorothy and Stan’s house. Slow Henry is crashed out on his back, feet curled in the air, purring in his sleep. A quilt beneath me soaks up the worst of my perspiration. My engorged belly hides the lower half of my body from my eyes, but I know from the now-constant ache in my swollen calves that they’re still down there.

The sky rumbles, and I pray for relief in the form of rain. The heat has been oppressive, unrelenting. The radio tells me people are dying from it all across the Midwest.

It will not be much longer.

Dorothy is helping Stanley into bed. They were pleased with the initiation ceremony. Dorothy was, anyhow. Stanley is too far gone in his senility to know much. I wonder whether his state is reward or punishment for the life he’s lived.

The Mothers and Fathers and I celebrated after I was pinned. Initiation is the rare day of the month when the men and women rejoice together. I’m part of something bigger now. I belong to the people who make the rules.

The only way to be safe here is to pretend to be one of them, but it’s no life.

My baby is always moving now. Diving and turning and squirming. I can see it ripple my flesh, like a great sea creature roiling just below the surface. I want somebody to share it with, someone who’s not a Lily.

A branch scratches my window. There’s no breeze, despite the clouds rumbling. So many people have remarked what a good omen it was that the weather was still and cloudless for my initiation.

Heaven can see clearly.

Mildred had said that. Kind, passive, handmaid-of-evil Mildred.

I roll to my side, drop my feet to the floor, and sit up. I am now so big that it’s the only way I can stand from a prostrate position.

I lumber to the window.

Kris stands outside.

I shrink back. Dorothy could return to the living room any moment. Before I can decide how to react, I hear the kitchen door open. I hurry to it.

Kris has entered. He has a hard time looking at me, which I think is funny. He’s the one who sought me out.

“I’m leaving,” he says. His voice is low. He must realize Stan and Dorothy are near.

“Back to Siesta Key?”

He looks at me, surprised. We haven’t seen each other in weeks. “That’s right. I forgot I told you about that. That was the truth, how pretty it is.”

“The rest wasn’t.”

All his liquid confidence is gone. He seems smaller. His denim jacket is ill fitting and his fingernails dirty.

“No,” he says. “The rest wasn’t. Except for the part about hearing about Paulie from some army guy who passed through Lilydale in 1944. The story got stuck in the back of my head. When I wanted to check out a new place, I hitched here, and I said I was Paulie. Figured it wouldn’t hurt anyone, and it might be fun.”

I watch him. The Fathers and Mothers would not approve of him being here.

I am a Mother, technically. And I do not approve.

“They knew I wasn’t Paulie, all the old guys here, the ones who were at your house when Regina and I stopped by for dinner. I don’t know how, but they knew the second I stepped foot in Lilydale. Showed up at my motel room. I thought they were gonna beat the shit out of me, but instead, they told me to spend time with you. Said they’d kill me if I told you the truth, though.”

The baby is twisting in my belly. Furious.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have done that. These guys, man, they’re dangerous. They run everything here, you know that? Everything in the whole damn county, I think. You’re not safe here, Joan.”

Has he come to ask me to leave with him?

I’ll never know, because I open my mouth and scream as loud as I can.

CHAPTER 62

I am up early so I can apply makeup to walk to the grocery store with Rue.

They were so happy, the Mothers and Fathers, when I screamed. Deck appeared first, Clan on his heels, and they subdued Kris, led him out of the house.

“Dear,” Catherine said, coming to me. “It’s time for your baby shower. Tomorrow.”

I swallowed my smile. I’d passed another test.

I took advantage of it to get permission to shop for all the groceries for the party they’ll throw when my baby is born. The Mothers hesitated at first—I’ll likely be too tired to even attend the celebration, and the person who shops should always be the person who cooks so they have the right ingredients—but in the end, barely, I got them to agree to me purchasing steak and grilling supplies as well as staples for dessert. All of it will keep in the cupboard or the freezer, and the men can grill.

I’m overjoyed, but I hide it.

Being in charge of groceries was the first hurdle in my plan, and I’ve overcome it.

I was surprised when Rue volunteered to chaperone me to the grocery store. She’s always been so quiet, but I find that I prefer that to Mildred’s chattering and Dorothy’s doting and Catherine’s gloating and Barbara’s sighing as we make the slow, ponderous stroll to Wally’s. The weather hasn’t broken yet, for all last night’s rumbling. It’s going to, soon. The clouds are black and portentous, the heat so ominous, even at this hour, that it feels like being stalked.

My due date is in four weeks and three days. Soon, I’m going to hold my baby.

“Joan.”

I turn toward the quiet voice and see Regina leaning in the Little John’s alley, smoking. When did she start smoking?

“Hello, Regina.” I should feel guilty for how I treated her. Guilt is so familiar. “How are you?”

Her hair is lank and greasy, her chin a constellation of pimples. She keeps tugging at the hem of her too-short skirt, flashing glances at Rue. “Kris said he was going to spring you. I guess he didn’t.”

I smile broadly. “I guess not. You’re up early.”

She looks around as if surprised. “Yeah, got a lot on my mind. Joan—” She steps close to me, hesitates, turns as if to go, then spins back to face me. “I know why you did that, back at the café. Why you turned on me like that. It’s because I told Albert, the other bartender, about you seeing your mugger in town. I didn’t mean to. He was talking shit about you, is all, saying you were a crazy bitch who should be committed, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I told him that if it’s crazy to be jumpy when you run into the man who mugged you, then we’d all be insane.”