Free Odd Mom Out by Jane Porter Page B

pretty, Mom, and you could be so beautiful.”
    “And I feel beautiful when I’m me.”
    “In guys’ jackets and army boots?”
    “Especially then.”
    Eva’s quiet a moment, then looks up at me. “I don’t like it when the other moms talk about you. It made me really upset. I was so mad.”
    “I don’t mean to embarrass you, Eva. And I’m sorry that I didn’t change before the meeting. I was underdressed, and you’re right—this isn’t New York. I can’t do the things here I could do there.”
    “People like things nice here, don’t they?”
    I nod. Thank God we’re going to see Shey. Thank God we’re getting out of Bellevue, even if it’s just for the night. “Eva, I promise I’ll try harder to be more like the other moms, if you try not to listen to everything people say. And that includes Jemma Young.”
    “But what did I ever do to Jemma?”
    “Nothing.”
    “So what am I doing wrong?”
    Just being yourself, I think.
    Outside, the sun gleams like liquid gold on the water of the sound. Tall pine trees jostle between rocky island coves.
    “I’ve always been nice to her,” Eva adds softly. “I’ve always tried hard.”
    “Maybe that’s the problem. Trying too hard is sometimes worse than not trying at all.”
    “Why?” she demands even as the plane’s hum changes. We’ve begun our descent.
    Do I tell her people can be animals? Do I tell her this is why I don’t trust women more? That I keep most women, except for my closest friends, at arm’s reach?
    I glance out the window and watch us sail low, lower, down toward the sapphire water. Ten to twelve thousand years ago, Orcas Island and the surrounding Puget Trough lay beneath a glacier said to be a mile thick. The glacier eventually receded and new life formed, with humans appearing six thousand years ago. Six thousand years later, the affluent humans in the Pacific Northwest liked these islands very much.
    “Why, Mom?” Eva repeats.
    I look back at my daughter, who is still waiting for a response, who still thinks I have all the answers. Bless her. How wrong she is.
    “I think trying too hard makes people uncomfortable, it changes the dynamics,” I say as we touch down, the seaplane’s rails bumping and then sliding across the water’s surface, “giving others too much power.”
    Eva just looks at me. She doesn’t understand. I don’t blame her. I didn’t get it until I was an adult.

    Shey’s at the small terminal to pick us up. She has a rental car, a small Toyota four-by-four, and I spot her as soon as we emerge into the light.
    But it’d be hard not to see Shey. She’s a Texas girl and gorgeous, the kind Rod Stewart would have wanted for himself had he met her. Nearly six feet, very slim, and strawberry blond, Shey stands out in a crowd, but when she smiles, she stops traffic dead. Her smile is huge, wide, as generous as her Texas drawl and big old Texas heart.
    Shey is the sister I’ve always needed.
    Grinning, I hug her and pull back, check to see if she’s aged—she hasn’t—and then hug her again. How she juggles motherhood, work, and being a wife to a sexy photographer is beyond me, but she does it, and she never complains. She’s just freaking positive. And maybe that is how she does it.
    With faith, good humor, and a dose of Norman Vincent Peale.
    Shey’s now scooped Eva into a bear hug, and she’s showering my daughter with ridiculous kisses. Eva’s squealing and giggling, and her skinny arms are clinging as tightly to Shey as they do to me.
    If I had a sister, it’d be Shey.
    If Eva had another mother, it’d be Shey.
    People look at Shey and see the external beauty and assume the worst, that she’s vain or narrow or shallow. But Shey’s secret weapon is that she’s far more lovely on the inside than she is on the outside, and I think that’s why God made her so beautiful. Because He knew she’d never take advantage of her gifts. He knew she’d use her beauty and love for others.
    We toss our