seniors in high school or dropouts who worked at the lumberyard or the trout farm, dangerous barn-burner boys in tight jeans, Lorraine thought she would have to wear disguises in town to hide her shame and swollen eyes. It was with a rueful, shameful comfort that Lorraine realized, after high school began, that Dale Larsen’s own Stephanie was even worse, the international poster child for bad influences.
As he made his way up the walk after the accident, Dale must have thought of those long-ago days. Lorraine climbed up onto the bed, propping herself against the adjustable headboard where Georgia’s religious medal, with its swords and dragons, hung from a tack on a shred of red ribbon. Lorraine’s tears were so great in volume she felt she must be dissolving from within. If she stepped onto a scale, she would find herself pounds lighter, the way she and her sister Daphne would be when they were girls, after hours of running around the school’s track in rubber suits.
Gordon had been easier. Lorraine sometimes thought she had taken Gordon for granted. Like many second children, he’d chosen the role of compliant child, if only to ensure his share of the attention. Georgia Theory[001-112] 6/5/01 11:58 AM Page 40
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ruled. Vixen, Lorraine’s father called her. Critical of Gordie, doting, bul-lying, forgiving, impressionable, sarcastic. He’d worshiped her. Had Lorraine ever wished she’d had two Gordies, two hardworking, calm children, who let her sleep nights—both as babies and as young adults?
Lorraine and Mark had never worried about him, even when he’d dived and climbed under and over the earth with EnviroTreks. Gordie knew himself. He knew his measure, how genial he was, how good-looking, how graceful. He didn’t rock the boat. Georgia was ever bemoaning something—her weight, her hair, hiding her brains one day, bragging about them the next. Lorraine had despaired of her daughter ever finding equilibrium.
Had she ever regretted Georgia? Had a stray ribbon of that regret found its way on high, like a banner drawn by a small plane? Lorraine had done her own reading, when Georgia entered her hellcat phase, and no matter what Lorraine said, Georgia had a comeback: “I don’t hate you just because adopted kids are supposed to have identity problems, Mom,” Georgia had once told her—her expression had been so blank that Lorraine’s first impulse, to laugh, curdled in her mouth—“I hate you personally.” Lorraine couldn’t count the nights she’d shaken Mark awake, Mark—who could have slept through the demolition of the roof—and insisted on being cradled, begging for reassurance about their daughter.
She’s a smart girl, Mark murmured, over and over . She’s too smart to go too far.
Georgia graduated with honors. Then, despite all those high test scores, Georgia stayed home, working at The Soap Bubble, dating boys who would be farmers or salesmen, taking marketing classes at Woodruff Tech. A change had taken place. Georgia had forgiven her parents. Only when she was older, almost too old to fit in, when she was sure she could shelter under the wing of the little brother she’d bossed, had she followed Gordie to Florida State and met Ray. The grown Georgia was just like the baby Georgia reborn, a wistful young woman who liked baking smells and presents wrapped with cloth ribbon, who collected fairy-tale books, who made Lorraine laugh by holding her mother on her lap, who helped Nora with canning.
It seemed, when she’d moved back home as a married woman, that Theory[001-112] 6/5/01 11:58 AM Page 41
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she’d almost never been away. Georgia and Lorraine had fallen in silly, sticky, cards-for-no-reason, mother-and-daughter love. Taller by three inches than her mother, Georgia had again been her baby dinosaur . . .
the frothy wedding, the textbook birth, Georgia clinging to Ray’s forearm on one side and her mother’s sleeve on the other,
As he made his way up the walk after the accident, Dale must have thought of those long-ago days. Lorraine climbed up onto the bed, propping herself against the adjustable headboard where Georgia’s religious medal, with its swords and dragons, hung from a tack on a shred of red ribbon. Lorraine’s tears were so great in volume she felt she must be dissolving from within. If she stepped onto a scale, she would find herself pounds lighter, the way she and her sister Daphne would be when they were girls, after hours of running around the school’s track in rubber suits.
Gordon had been easier. Lorraine sometimes thought she had taken Gordon for granted. Like many second children, he’d chosen the role of compliant child, if only to ensure his share of the attention. Georgia Theory[001-112] 6/5/01 11:58 AM Page 40
40
JACQUELYN MITCHARD
ruled. Vixen, Lorraine’s father called her. Critical of Gordie, doting, bul-lying, forgiving, impressionable, sarcastic. He’d worshiped her. Had Lorraine ever wished she’d had two Gordies, two hardworking, calm children, who let her sleep nights—both as babies and as young adults?
Lorraine and Mark had never worried about him, even when he’d dived and climbed under and over the earth with EnviroTreks. Gordie knew himself. He knew his measure, how genial he was, how good-looking, how graceful. He didn’t rock the boat. Georgia was ever bemoaning something—her weight, her hair, hiding her brains one day, bragging about them the next. Lorraine had despaired of her daughter ever finding equilibrium.
Had she ever regretted Georgia? Had a stray ribbon of that regret found its way on high, like a banner drawn by a small plane? Lorraine had done her own reading, when Georgia entered her hellcat phase, and no matter what Lorraine said, Georgia had a comeback: “I don’t hate you just because adopted kids are supposed to have identity problems, Mom,” Georgia had once told her—her expression had been so blank that Lorraine’s first impulse, to laugh, curdled in her mouth—“I hate you personally.” Lorraine couldn’t count the nights she’d shaken Mark awake, Mark—who could have slept through the demolition of the roof—and insisted on being cradled, begging for reassurance about their daughter.
She’s a smart girl, Mark murmured, over and over . She’s too smart to go too far.
Georgia graduated with honors. Then, despite all those high test scores, Georgia stayed home, working at The Soap Bubble, dating boys who would be farmers or salesmen, taking marketing classes at Woodruff Tech. A change had taken place. Georgia had forgiven her parents. Only when she was older, almost too old to fit in, when she was sure she could shelter under the wing of the little brother she’d bossed, had she followed Gordie to Florida State and met Ray. The grown Georgia was just like the baby Georgia reborn, a wistful young woman who liked baking smells and presents wrapped with cloth ribbon, who collected fairy-tale books, who made Lorraine laugh by holding her mother on her lap, who helped Nora with canning.
It seemed, when she’d moved back home as a married woman, that Theory[001-112] 6/5/01 11:58 AM Page 41
A Theory of Relativity
41
she’d almost never been away. Georgia and Lorraine had fallen in silly, sticky, cards-for-no-reason, mother-and-daughter love. Taller by three inches than her mother, Georgia had again been her baby dinosaur . . .
the frothy wedding, the textbook birth, Georgia clinging to Ray’s forearm on one side and her mother’s sleeve on the other,
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