Giant Men and Violent Women

She Knows

ASHLEY

The sky is black. The stars are white. The moon is yellow. The lawn is green. The air is cold. But it's still.

We're all standing outside, on the central staircase of The Governor's mansion. Louisiana looks at me but doesn't say a word.

She almost looks confused. Am I supposed to be angry?

I look back at her. I'm not sure. I guess we'll find out.

We're all about to take the official bell-ringing portrait of the House of New Hampshire, and she's been told she has to attend. Whatever happened before will be discussed later and resolved quietly. Now, we must be the House of New Hampshire. She moves into position, next to her brother and sister. She breaks eye contact with me and looks at the cameraman on The Governor's lawn.

I can assume to know how she's feeling, but the truth is that I have no idea what's going on in her head. I don't know what she's been through. I'm sure there was no violence. Dainty's family might be mischiefs, as Gram calls them, but they'd never abuse Louisiana. But there's no telling how afraid she was. I know I'll hear about the entire ordeal tonight when the guests go back to their people's homes, too drunk to drive back to Boston or Concord. But, most importantly, I don't know what to expect from Louisiana after tonight.

I don't know how she feels about me marrying Presley Ann.

Is she slightly relieved that she can now live a normal working-class life with a husband and kids and sloppy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches she'll have to make on the run? Is she happy that she doesn't have to stand around and greet hundreds of people who smile at her like she was created by Madame Tussauds? Is she happy that she can walk around in jeans and a T-shirt, dirty from her children's sticky fingers and her baby's spit-up? Is she happy that she can throw her hair in a ponytail every morning and forgo putting on makeup altogether? Is she happy that she can be regular? Normal? Her? Is she happy that she can now have Presley Ann's past life, as Presley Ann has now claimed hers? Would Louisiana be happy with someone like Jewels, a lawmaker who fights for his people during the day and then comes home while God is sleeping to roasted duck, a bottle of honey-wine, and stories of long days? Is she happy that she didn't get me, a man who won't be home at night but will meet his wife for duck liver, Black Honey, and talk of New England's scandals each morning? Which life sounds better to Louisiana?

I wonder this as I stand here.

"Ashley, move," Gram says to me.

I'm covering a portion of her gown, and this bell-ringing picture of Presley Ann's and mine must include all of Gram's gown. She shoves me out of the way.

"Ow," I say to her.

Presley Ann laughs lightly next to me.

As we stand on the steps of The Governor's mansion, Presley Ann's parents are to her right along with her brother and sister-in-law. But she and I are not the center of this bell-ringing portrait. The Governor and First Lady are. Gram is standing between First Lady and-most importantly- me, as she refuses to stand next to anyone else. Smart move. I don't care what Presley Ann once told me about Gram living in the moment. Gram believes Presley Ann, her mother, and I are the future, so she's chosen to stand next to us. On The Governor's left is my family-Pop, Dainty, my parents, my brother, and my sister-in-law. Behind The Governor are his children-Louisiana, Charlotte, and Dallas.

We're all spread out over two rows of steps on the grand staircase of the mansion, silently waiting. This will be the picture that makes it to all of the news stations tomorrow morning and will be plastered on the cover of every newspaper in the nation.