When the Morning Glory Blooms Read Online Free

couldn’t go.”
    “If she were an adult single parent, we’d have no say on choices like that.”
    “If she were an adult, she wouldn’t be playing in the band for homecoming. What do you call this netherland?”
    Almost a mile ticked by. “My fault. I call it my fault.”
    Becky took her eyes from the road long enough to glance at his shadowed face. “ Your fault? What are you talking about?”
    “I read a lot on the plane. And on the layover. One article, New York Times if I remember right, gave stats on the number of women who are reproducing without the ‘nuisance of a spouse.’ ”
    “You’re not a nuisance, Gil.” You’re not home enough to be a nuisance .
    He shrugged out of his suit coat and tossed it into the backseat, barely missing his grandson, and then rebuckled his seat belt. “And I read an editorial about teen mom reality shows.”
    “Did either of us encourage her to watch those? No.”
    “And I got partway through an essay about the importance of a dad’s relationship with his daughter. It’s my fault.”
    “You’ve always had a great relationship with Lauren.”
    “It didn’t stop her from  . . .  from this.” He gestured again to the backseat. “It didn’t stop Mark from going to Iraq.”
    No. We’re not talking about Mark today. Not today . Becky flicked the turn signal and changed lanes. She pointed over the seat with her thumb. “ That is our amazing grandson. Ten years from now, we won’t remember this part.”
    “Yes, we will.”
    “You’re right. We will.”
    Silence drove them the rest of the way home.

    “I wonder how much money the church spends on cleaning up the debris from other people’s mistakes.” Gil’s low voice rumbled, even in whisper mode. He pointed to the overhead digital screen’s preservice messages with announcementsabout a variety of addiction recovery programs, divorce care, get-out-of-debt classes, and Teen Mothers of Preschoolers.
    Becky leaned toward his ear. “I signed her up for that.”
    “Your tithes at work,” he whispered back.
    “Lauren won’t go. Too stressful to fit that into her homework schedule. And her social life.”
    “Which is why teens shouldn’t get preg—Hi, Lauren. Is he all settled in the nursery?”
    Lauren slumped into the padded chair beside Becky. Talking without unclenching her teeth, she said, “Why does everyone else think they know what’s best for my kid?” She crossed her feet at the ankles, legs extended far under the row in front of her, flip-flops flapping, and folded her arms over her chest. “That Cramer lady said, ‘Just go. He’ll be fine.’ She insisted.”
    “Sophie. Sophie Cramer. Nice lady.”
    “Whatever. ‘Just go,’ she said. ‘He’ll stop crying as soon as you’re out of sight.’ Like that’s supposed to make me feel better.”
    Becky reached an arm around Lauren’s shoulders. She would have said something comforting except she’d been told the same thing and felt the same way the first time she took Lauren to the nursery seventeen years earlier.
    Becky glanced around the sanctuary. How many other people in the room had to work up the courage to walk through those doors today? Different problems. Different consequences. Different reasons for sleepless nights.
    Oh, joy . Brianne was on the worship team this morning. Brianne with the flat stomach and no stretch marks. Brianne with the angelic face and no residual diaper odor clinging to her skinny little sweater. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned and hath coveted my best friend’s daughter’s regret-free life .
    “What’s she doing up there?” Lauren’s tone dripped with the jealousy Becky felt. Like mother, like daughter.
    “Monica said she sings on the youth worship team now,” which you would know if you went to youth group . “I imagine they needed another backup singer and she was the logical choice. Lauren, we’re standing. At least lip-synch the words to the songs, okay?”
    Becky turned her