Page 67 of Luck of the Devil
I grimaced. I suspected my mother had known that and hadn’t felt an ounce of guilt. I was sure she’d thought it was no less than what she deserved.
“So, we were in her good graces for a while after that,” Grandma said with a sigh. “And then she had you, and she went through a terrible postpartum depression. She could hardly function, so the two of you came and stayed with us for a couple of months. Your grandpa and I took care of you while she recovered.”
My mother had suffered from depression before? If my mother had suffered from depression before, it might be totally possible that she had asked for an anti-depressant from Dr. Duncan. “Was she treated for it?”
Grandma scoffed. “She refused therapy and wouldn’t even consider medication. Said she didn’t believe in it, but I suspect she didn’t want the stigma of going to therapy or takin’ medication.” She gave me a sympathetic look. “There was a bit of shame attached to it back then. Some people, especially around here, thought it meant you were weak, and your mother hated to appear weak.”
That was the mother I’d known, at least until my father left.
Grandpa finished the last of his drink, then said, “She likely would have recovered faster if she had agreed to the medicine, but we didn’t push it.”
My grandmother cringed. “Your grandpa’s right. We didn’t, but we should have.”
“Did she breast feed?” Malcolm asked, catching me by surprise. “Maybe she was worried it would hurt Harper.”
“Heavens no,” Grandma said. “She refused to breast feed because she said formula was better for babies. Scientific research and nutrition and some nonsense.” She shrugged. “We never bought it for a minute. I suspect the real reason was she wanted help gettin’ up in the middle of the night, and if she wasn’t breast feedin’, she could have someone else do it. I know your father got up with you quite a bit when you were in Jackson Creek, and I did it when your mother brought you here.”
If my mother had been depressed, she might not have had the energy to get up in the middle of the night. Or she could have just not wanted to. Either was possible.
Grandma gestured to my grandfather. “He helped with the middle-of-the-night feedin’s too.” Tears filled her eyes. “I think that’s why we felt so much closer to you than any of the other grandkids. Because we took care of you for nearly two months.”
“I didn’t know any of that,” I said. “No one ever told me. Did she suffer a postpartum depression after Andi was born?”
“No, thank goodness, but she knew she didn’t want to have any more kids after her. I think your father would have liked to have tried for a boy, but he seemed thrilled with his two daughters. Doted on you whenever we were around y’all.”
“You got along with Harper’s father?” Malcolm asked, looking at my grandmother and then my grandfather.
“Loved him,” Grandma said fondly. “He seemed like a genuinely good guy, and he mellowed her some. She wasn’t too pleased when he moved to Jackson Creek, but one of his partners was from there and his father gave them the money to start the firm.”
“But you were part of her life until she cut you off after Andi died?” I asked.
Grandma made a face. “Oh, no. When you were about ten or so she started to call less. That would have made Andi about eight.”
“What happened? Did you guys have a fight, or did Mom perceive some kind of slight that made her mad?” The latter was entirely possible.
“Not in that instance. I know she and her sister weren’t getting along at the time, but everything seemed fine at Christmas—well, normal for her—and then we came for Andi’s ninth birthday, and she seemed withdrawn.”
“Was she like that with just you and Gary or with everyone?” Malcolm asked.
Grandma looked lost in thought for a moment. “Well, now that I think about it, I guess she was just quiet in general. She did lose her temper with Hannah, but that was nothing new. Those two were like piss and vinegar. One minute they were sweet to each other, the next they were fighting. They almost always made up, but they never did after that last time. As far as I know, they only saw each other at our house for holidays. Then when you were twelve, your mom said your family wasn’t coming to see us during Christmas break, that it wasn’t fair on you girls to have to travel. We offered to come visit y’all in Jackson Creek and she agreed, but didn’t seem thrilled about it. Then the day before we were supposed to drive to Jackson Creek—the day before Christmas Eve—she called and said Andi had strep throat and the doctor said they couldn’t have anyone in the house.”
I distinctly remembered the Christmas I was twelve, because I’d gotten the bike I’d seen in the window at Milton’s Hardware after talking about it for months. I also distinctly remembered that Andi hadn’t been sick. She’d gotten a bike too, and we’d spent all afternoon on Christmas Day riding our new bikes all over the neighborhood.
My mother had lied.
Turned out she’d lied about quite a few things.
Chapter 18
We were all quiet for a moment. I had no idea what my grandparents were thinking, but my mind was in turmoil. Had my mother up and decided she had no further use for her parents? How could she just write off her family for no reason?
A little voice in the back of my head reminded me I’d pretty much written off my own parents, but then again, my mother had made that decision for me. She’d spent her life cutting people off.
Hadn’t I done the same thing? Sure, I hadn’t ghosted people, but I hadn’t let them get close either.
At least I was in good company.
A hollowness opened deep inside me, revealing a void that had always been there. A typical black hole pulls everything in—planets, stars, even light. But mine did the opposite. It repelled relationships like two magnets forced together at the same pole.
