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“
Me
all
the
time
,
”
Jolene
said
.
“
Pissed
at
you
for
being
adopted
.
”
Beth
grimaced
,
opening
the
book
to
the
title
page
where
the
childish
handwriting
read
“
Elizabeth
Harmon
,
Methuen
Home
.
”
“
What
about
for
being
white
?
”
“
Who
could
forget
?
”
Jolene
said
.
Beth
looked
at
Jolene
’
s
good
,
beautiful
face
with
all
the
remarkable
hair
and
the
long
black
eyelashes
and
the
full
lips
,
and
the
self
-
consciousness
dropped
away
from
her
with
a
relief
that
was
physical
in
its
simplicity
.
She
smiled
broadly
.
“
It
’
s
good
to
see
you
.
”
What
she
wanted
to
say
was
,
“
I
love
you
.
”
During
the
first
half
of
the
meal
Jolene
talked
about
Methuen
—
about
sleeping
through
chapel
and
hating
the
food
and
about
Mr
.
Schell
,
Miss
Graham
and
the
Saturday
Christian
movies
.
She
was
hilarious
on
the
subject
of
Mrs
.
Deardorff
,
imitating
her
tight
voice
and
her
way
of
tossing
her
head
.
She
ate
slowly
and
laughed
a
lot
,
and
Beth
found
herself
laughing
with
her
.
It
had
been
a
long
time
since
Beth
had
laughed
,
and
she
had
never
felt
so
easy
with
anyone
—
not
even
with
Mrs
.
Wheatley
.
Jolene
ordered
a
glass
of
white
wine
with
her
veal
and
Beth
hesitated
before
asking
the
waiter
for
ice
water
.
“
You
not
old
enough
?
”
Jolene
said
.
“
That
’
s
not
it
.
I
’
m
eighteen
.
”
Jolene
raised
her
eyebrows
and
went
back
to
her
veal
.
After
a
few
moments
she
started
talking
again
.
“
When
you
went
off
to
your
happy
home
,
I
started
doing
serious
volleyball
.
I
graduated
when
I
was
eighteen
and
the
University
gave
me
a
scholarship
in
Phys
.
Ed
.
”
“
How
do
you
like
it
?
”
