Matters of Faith Read Online Free Page A

asked, gesturing toward the bunk beds, freshly made with the bright red splashes of the peony sheets. “Or the bottom, because I don’t mind either one, and when I have sleepovers sometimes my friends want the top. So that’s okay.”
    Meghan had never had a sleepover, something that had somehow escaped me before and that broke my heart now.
    â€œI’d love the top,” Ada said with a smile at me, making her eyes crinkle and the silver loop in her eyebrow glitter. The corners of my own mouth tugged up of their own volition. It was hard to resist her smile or the fact that she was making my child happy.
    Meghan deposited the train case on the top bunk, and I noticed that her usual zoo of stuffed animals was nowhere to be seen, likely hidden in her closet to avoid any whiff of immaturity.
    â€œHey, I love Winona Ryder,” Ada said, looking admiringly up at a Beetlejuice poster. Meghan nearly swooned.
    â€œI have almost all her movies,” she said and ran to the little TV with the built-in DVD player we got her for Christmas. She opened her dresser drawer and pulled out a stack of movies to prove her devotion. “We can watch any of them you want. I mean, we can stay up, you know?”
    â€œI’d love that,” Ada said. “If your mom thinks it’s okay.”
    They both looked to me and I nodded. “Sure, of course. It’s not a school night.”
    â€œYes,” Meghan whooped. She ran to the bottom bunk and laid the movies out in a neat row. As Ada bent over to inspect them, her shirt rode up, and above her low-slung cargo pants peeked a black, tribal tattoo. I nearly gasped aloud. I am not necessarily against tattoos, but seeing it, so stark against the perfect white skin of this young girl, this young girl who was my son’s new girlfriend, and who, according to Marshall, was deeply religious, was shocking.
    â€œSo, Ada,” I started, unsure of what I would say next. “Marshall tells us you’re from Nebraska.”
    She turned around and flopped back on the bed, making the DVDs bounce out of their orderly row. Meghan frowned slightly, but then she, too, turned and flopped onto the bed, trying to mimic Ada’s loose-limbed grace.
    â€œThat’s right. Have you ever been there?” Without waiting for an answer, she reached over and with her black-painted fingernails tickled Meghan’s belly. “It’s freezing there right now. I’m so glad we’re here instead. Have you ever seen snow, Meghan? Meggie? Does anyone call you Meggie? That’s cute.”
    Meghan giggled, at the tickling, at the nickname, at the fact that this incredibly cool girl with a wire through her eyebrow was here in her room. I hoped she wouldn’t notice the tattoo.
    â€œMeghan’s never seen snow,” I said. “We’re planning a trip for her thirteenth birthday, though, aren’t we?”
    Meghan inhaled sharply, flashing me a grateful look for the entry. “We’re going to go to New York City. Just me and Mom, when they have the Christmas decorations up. As soon as it snows she said we’d go, I don’t have to wait for my actual birthday. Have you been to New York?”
    â€œNo,” Ada said, somewhat wistfully. “You’re so lucky to have a mom who’s so cool.”
    Meghan grinned at me. I appreciated the sentiment, but I wasn’t the cool mom. I was the mom who had to watch everything, every morsel Meghan placed in her mouth, every bit of dust in the house, every well-meaning adult who tried to tell me about a homespun remedy for Meghan’s allergies. That hadn’t left much time for cool.
    â€œWhat do your parents do?” I asked, as Meghan gathered up the DVDs and Ada rose to inspect Meghan’s desk.
    â€œMy mom runs the commissary and my dad is a foreman for the orchards.”
    â€œThe orchards?”
    â€œApples. Mostly Jonathans, Winesaps, Red and Golden Delicious,”