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Show Moon - 89 Anne stood up, folded the afghan on the chair, and found that she was steady. One by one, she hugged them and wished that they were a family that cried at such moments. She walked carefully around the braided rug to the kitchen, kissed her mother's cheek, and then told her to come away from the sink. Joy would manage the potatoes just fine. Esther rescued Joy from the potatoes. She hugged her quickly from behind and then pulled her outside, saying, "Show me the lake. I can't stand all this." She held onto Joy's hand as they walked toward the lake, swinging her arm a little so that their hands together made a kind of cradle. Her pink blouse made her seem like an exotic flower against the green wall of summer. Joy was sorry she hadn't dressed up, too, so she could be more like her. Her aunt was beautiful, not in her bones, but in the color of her, a darting brilliance none of the rest of them dared. They sat on the edge of the old pier. Esther took off her shoes and let her feet dangle off the edge. The sun was on the water in flecks like leaves floating, flashy side up. Joy remembered riding the horses across the leaves that were the yellow of her aunt's eyes. She wished Esther could have known her better then. But probably Esther wouldn't have liked her. Now she was more like her aunt: wicked, but without her style. Joy hardly ever thought about God now. And she could not abide her mother's slowness, her clumsy way of walking, the way she kept on trying to make them listen to her talk about her weak feet, her tired hands. The guilt from not listening was a gray screen between them. Joy had |