Every morning, Shane prays to the God of Neil. She prays in the kitchen, standing over the sink, before Neil and Sam come down for breakfast. A window above the sink faces east, and Shane waits with eyes closed. She's not praying for anything in particular; or rather she prays for many things, but they are so familiar there's no need to specify them; so mostly she waits, trying to feel God in the sunlight.
But today there's no sun; just clouds looking like rain. She grasps the hard cold faucet, shivers, and abruptly thinks of Pastor Eugene. Even as a child, when her marginally Catholic parents would take her to church on Christmas and Easter, her connection to God would be based on her feelings about God's earthly representative. Neil chides her for this, ostensibly because it's shallow, but really because he can't fathom how she would choose the plain and uncharismatic Eugene, and not his, Neil's, preferred surrogate, Reverend Richard Macon — Rev Richard to his devoted flock. She would never accuse Neil of shallowness, but Rev Richard is just too actor-handsome and tongue-smooth for her taste.
The Eugene of her mind makes an odd noise; and Shane belatedly recognizes the pop of the toaster. She touches the toast. No. Neil likes it hot enough to melt the butter he places on it. She wraps the cold toast in a napkin, pushes it way down into the trash, and puts another two slices into the toaster.
"Good morning." He's right behind her. Neil is no sneak, but somehow he appears in rooms. As she turns he kisses her forehead. She stands on her toes and manages to brush her lips over his before he turns toward the table. Shane loves that Neil is taller than her, but he's also narrow, which makes her feel hippy and slovenly. Even though his office has gone business casual, he wears a white shirt and tie. He sits, the toast pops, and she serves him. "Thank you, Shannon," he says, though reflexively he makes sure all is in place — butter, butter knife, folded napkin, folded newspaper, glass of water — before saying it. "You're welcome," she says. She brings over a powdered doughnut for herself, and a bowl of plain yogurt and six raisins for Sam. Placing translucent slivers of butter on his toast, Neil still manages a look at Shane's doughnut and Sam's chair. "I assume our daughter will be joining us?"
The way he always says our daughter when Sam is, in fact, another man's child, leaves Shane speechless with joy. And here is Sam, saying, "Morning, Daddy"; she's another one who knows how to appear and disappear. Her white blouse is tight but buttoned to her neck; her black skirt short but not short enough to warrant an objection, even from Neil. As she leans over to kiss his forehead, the skirt slips down a little. Shane is relieved that Sam hasn't inherited her hips, but she also thinks her daughter is much too thin and worries about what she does to stay that way.
"Sam, why don't you say Grace?" Shane says.
"Samantha," Neil says. Shane loves nicknames; Neil believes in the formality and dignity of proper names.
"Thanks Daddy. I need all the help I can get convincing people I'm a girl." And with a small grin at Shane: "Sure Mother."
She says Grace in a clear, quiet voice, without rushing it, and Neil regards her with benevolent appreciation (a look Shane knows well, but hasn't received much lately) before pressing eyes shut to pray to his God. Her God too: but ever since Neil saved her and brought her into his church, Shane has never been able to dislodge the feeling that God belongs to him, and if Neil ever left God would walk out the door with him.
They eat. Silence at the table is fine, reading is not: so Neil's newspaper stays folded and Sam's schoolbooks sit unopened on the fourth chair. Shane eats most of her doughnut too fast; she resolves to stare at the last piece for the rest of the meal.
She says to Neil: "How's the project coming?"
"Well. We're regrouping." He works for NASA. "Our leader has decided we need to take a new approach. Something that works with our budget without compromising safety." His voice is even, but he can't suppress a shrug.
Shane loves hearing about his work, and there was a time when Neil would talk about structural challenges on liftoff with the fervor he brings to his God. Somehow he reconciles the scientific rigor of his occupation with his faith in the unseen and the miraculous. Six months ago, he was passed over for promotion to department head in favor of an Asian from the outside. Rev Richard helped him remember that God's Will is in everything, and that serving is no less righteous than leading since we all serve Him anyway. Neil never complains, works as hard as ever; but he no longer mentions work unless asked.
The next thing he says is: "You did a beautiful job with the baskets. Are they all ready?" Shane has agreed (since Eugene asked her) to produce fifteen baskets with flowers, dyed eggs, chocolate, bread, and cheese for church members too old or unwell to attend this year's Easter service. "Yes," she says. Well, almost: she has to dye more eggs but this can be done once Neil and Sam are out of the house. And she'll still get the baskets to church when she promised. To prevent further inquiry she says to Sam, although she already knows, "What time are you done with practice today?"
"No practice," Sam says, not looking at her.
"Why?"
"I quit."
"But...what do you mean? When?"
"I didn't yet. I just decided. I'm telling them today."
"But you're the star!" Though Neil doesn't look at her, Shane feels his disapproval. Sam is a star runner for her high school track squad; but words like star are prideful. She tries to soften it: "You have a commitment to your team."
"I'm decent, Mom. Have to kill myself to be that. They'll be fine without me."
"Mother," Neil says, gently, almost smiling.
"Sorry. Mother," Sam says, without resentment; she's not a sullen girl — Shane remembers her rudeness as a teenager — but it's obvious she wants to drop the subject.
"Honey Bear. I'm not trying to give you a hard time." Her voice is shaking, though. "I want you to be happy. Just give me a reason."
Sam picks up a raisin from her yogurt, then lets it fall. "There's not one reason. It takes a lot out of me. The other girls — I don't know, they're too much, it's all they think about, I can't be like that. And people make fun of us. They call us the dashing dykes."
"Now, don't use words like that," Neil says. Although their church considers homosexuality a sickness and a sin, it mandates love for all. He places a hand on Sam's arm. He doesn't seem all that upset at her decision, and Shane isn't surprised. Much as he loves Sam and admires her accomplishments, Neil views athletic competition as male territory. He'd rather have a son than a daughter on the school team.
"Samantha. Has anyone...pressured you? These girls."
"Oh no, Daddy. No one's come on to me, you mean. No worries."
Shane is certain that Sam is lying: not about lesbian advances but the real problem — her stamina compromised by not eating enough, and perhaps by purging what she does eat. With that thought Shane pops the last piece of doughnut into her mouth and barely chews before swallowing. Leaving a lump in her gut and a blank plate.
Neil says: "The good news is...you'll have more time to bike with me." Sam cracks a smile; she and Neil are bike nuts, and used to ride together a lot. "I'll race you to the next retreat. Rev Richard is holding it up in the hills this time. Right after Easter."
"OK," Sam says, which Shane recognizes as stage one of a gradual refusal. Neil, no fool, smiles just the same. Silence resumes. Shane would love a second doughnut, but that, too, can wait until they leave. Neil conscientiously makes his toast last 15 minutes; Sam picks, and when her bus honks two raisins and half the yogurt remain in the bowl.
"I hate these shoes," Sam says on her way. She's been saying this for three days now, of the same shoes for which Shane provided a secret loan two months ago. Now they're too square in the front; she wants pointy.
At least she says something. And kisses her. Shane goes into the kitchen to write JP Tod on a pad she keeps on the counter. When she returns, Neil — firmly established at the table a moment ago — is opening the front door.
