The thing about grief is that it doesn't just go away. It sits with you, like bull-headed company that you wish would leave, who overstayed their welcome after dinner. Who insists upon following you forever. Who stalks you.

There are also different kinds of grief. The person you miss doesn't have to be dead.

Sheldon left for Caltech a couple weeks ago. It was an emotional goodbye at the airport, mostly only emotional because Mom couldn't stop crying. I shed a few tears, myself. I do love that little guy. Okay, so he's 5'10'', so he's not exactly little, but he is to me. He will always be my little brother.

I remember when he took the refrigerator apart because it was making a sound. Mom came home and was so mad at him for it. When she asked him why he thought he could do it, he told her that he was smart and he had a book. When she asked him if he still thought he was smart, he answered yes. As he should have, and Mom should have never tried to instil doubt in him. I'm glad that he kept on his own, quirky version of the straight and narrow, because now he's at Caltech. Finally out of Medford. Must be nice.

I do worry about Sheldon, and how he's getting along on his own in California. He got lost in Germany and had to call us for help even though Mom was there in Germany with him, so how is he ever going to make it all alone? I know that he's smart, but the boy lacks common sense and social prowess. He's liable to get beaten up by the next fella he unknowingly insults, and we wouldn't even know.

His absence is felt in the house. Mom doesn't know how to connect with me or Missy because she's spent the last 14 years paying all her attention to him and God. I've been trying to coax Missy out of her troubled state, but it's only gotten worse, it seems. Mom spends most of her time out in her prayer garden. Georgie and I don't know what to do. We don't know who to ask, either. But this afternoon, I have an idea.

I knock on MeeMaw's door. Dale answers. I give him a curt nod. Dale turns around and calls, "Connie, your granddaughter is here!"

"Which one?" I hear her call back.

"The pregnant one," he answers.

MeeMaw comes into view. She looks relieved. "Thank god, I was afraid something had happened and I would see Missy instead of you."

I roll my eyes, chuckling. "Weird thing to say, MeeMaw," I say, sitting on the couch immediately. I'm 30 weeks pregnant now, and my feet are swollen all to hell.

"Hey, in this family, you never know. Look at you and Georgie," she reminds me. I give a nod of concession. "So, what are you here for?" she asks.

"We need to talk about Mom," I say solemnly. She nods.

"Still not gettin' any better, huh?" she asks grimly. I shake my head.

"She's getting worse with the religion thing," I sigh.

"That can get worse?" MeeMaw asks in surprise.

"You didn't think it could?" Dale asks, earning a glare from MeeMaw. "Alright," he says, putting his hands up. He leaves the room.

"It can," I confirm. "She's been pushing Missy farther away, and now she's even trying to drag me into her Jesus freak hogwash."

MeeMaw sighs. "Your mother is just tryin' to make it through this. You know none of us really know what we're doin'."

"I know," I say softly. "It's just that…she's not there for us. She's doing all of this to make herself feel better. She doesn't seem to care that we're drowning too. As if God's going to heal us."

"I think that she truly believes He will," MeeMaw points out.

"I think that she's nuts," I denounce, "and I think that she needs to open her ears and listen to us. Because MeeMaw, I love her, but I'm not going to sit pregnant and have her stress me out like this."

"I get what you're sayin'," MeeMaw nods.

"Do you?" I interject. "Because you're makin' a hell of a lot of excuses for Mom."

"I'm not giving you excuses, Charlotte. I'm giving you reasons," MeeMaw argues.

I sigh. "I know her reasons. I hate her methods."

"Just give her time," MeeMaw says in a somewhat soothing tone. "She'll come around."

"She better," I scoff, "because I'm not hangin' around for too much longer if she doesn't."

"Yes, you are," MeeMaw says, her voice soft yet firm, "because I know you, Charlotte Cooper. You know that your Mom and Missy need you. And as strong as Georgie likes to pretend he is, he needs you too."

"Georgie doesn't pretend he's strong. He is."

MeeMaw thinks for a second. "Yeah. But he needs you. So does your Mom, whether she likes to admit it or not."

I let MeeMaw's words sink in. My family needs me. I couldn't just abandon ship. That's part of why I was so reluctant to accept Jacqueline's offer to stay in Medford with her. I wanted to be with my family, in the end.

"We're two short," I say with a hint of surrender, "and if Mom's not able to take care of this family, then I need to be able to. I just don't think I can."

MeeMaw is silent for a minute, clearly considering how to go about this. "Callie, you're a Texan. And you know what they say about Texans?"

"That we really like our guns?" I half-joke.

"That we don't back away from a challenge," MeeMaw chuckles. "We face things head-on."

"MeeMaw, I don't know how to face this. How do I get through to her?"

"Sometimes it's not about gettin' through to people. I know you, Callie, you always wanna fix things you think are broken. But sometimes things aren't broken, just evolving."

"Surely you've seen this family, MeeMaw. It's broken," I say honestly.

MeeMaw sighs, empathy and wisdom reflected in her gaze. "Callie, just because it may be broken doesn't mean it can't be fixed with a little love and understanding. Your mom doesn't need you to fix her. Maybe she's turning to God because it feels like only He can be there for her."

"But that's not true," I say, frustrated. "We want to be there for her, but she's using God to push us away."

"People turn to what they think will help them in their hard times. For your mom, that's her faith. That doesn't mean she doesn't love or need you."

"I know, but her attempts to try and force her faith onto us are what's pushing us away," I say.

MeeMaw sighs. "Look, sugar plum. You've said you weren't the easiest kid, and you were right. Your mom struggled a lot with you, but she was as patient as she could be."

"And?"

"And now," she says, putting a hand on my shoulder. "It's your turn to be patient with her."

I sigh, but she's right. "I'll do what I can," I nod. "But it won't be easy."

"None of this is easy, sweetheart. But if you get up every day, and take it one step at a time, you learn to deal with it a little better." MeeMaw says, her voice filled with understanding.

"You've always been the strongest person I know, MeeMaw. How do you do it?"

"It ain't about bein' the strongest, Callie. It's about bein' able to bounce back from whatever crap life throws at you. And it throws a lot. You start by findin' joy in the little things in life, and leanin' on your loved ones, and never bein' afraid to ask for a little bit of help when you need it," MeeMaw says.

I nod. "I suppose I've got much to learn."

"We all do. It's part of bein' human, honey."

I pause. "Does it make sense that I'm a little mad at Sheldon for leavin'? And Dad for dyin'?"

MeeMaw nods. "It does. It makes perfect sense. They are both big losses in their own way."

"What if I'm not built Texas tough, MeeMaw? What if all of this just makes me weak in the end?"

"Being Texas tough doesn't mean you never get knocked down, because you will. Hard. But you get back up, Callie Cooper. And you get knocked down again, you get up."

"And what if I don't feel like getting up again?" I ask.

"You will. You know why? 'Cause you got my DNA running through those veins of yours. So does your mother, and the rest of your family. You don't have to have all the answers, sugar plum. But you at least have to try," MeeMaw says with conviction.

I smile a little at her words. "I guess I can try. Thanks, MeeMaw."

"Anytime, honey. Now, you go take care of yourself and that little one that's kickin' in there," MeeMaw says, also smiling.

With a sense of purpose and renewed strength, I head back home, ready to face whatever's waiting for me back there. When I enter the house, Missy's on the couch, flipping through the channels.

"Hey, Missy," I say, sitting beside her. I would sit on the other side of the couch instead of the middle cushion, but that's Sheldon's spot. Even though he isn't here, it still feels wrong to sit there.

"Hi, Callie," Missy says, glancing at me before looking back at the television.

"How are you doing?" I ask meaningfully, hoping that she was at least doing a little better than she's been.

Missy shrugs, barely showing any emotion. "Same as usual."

"I talked to MeeMaw." I tell her. "She thinks we need to be patient with Mom."

"Patient with Mom? But she's nuts," Missy scoffs.

"Missy," I raise an eyebrow. "Look at this way. Imagine you're a high schooler. You meet a man. You fall in love. You have four kids with him. You build a life around him. And then things get hard, they get real hard and then they start to get real good again, finally. But then, he dies suddenly. What do you think that'd do to you?"

"I guess it would mess me up pretty bad," Missy says after a pause.

"Yeah, it would, right? Mom's going through a lot right now. And we, as her daughters, have to learn how to navigate this hard time in her life right now with her," I say softly. "One step at a time."

"I guess you're right," Missy sighs. "It's just hard, you know?"

"Sometimes you gotta do hard things for the people that you love. Healing doesn't always come easy," I sigh.

"It just doesn't feel like it's worth it when she's replacing us with God," she says.

I nod. "And sometimes we have to do things for the people we love, even if it doesn't feel like it's worth it."

Missy sighs. "I just want everything to go back to the way it was."

"I wish that could happen, but it's not possible. So the next best thing is to find a new normal that works for us. Unfortunately, I think we have to weather this storm first."

Missy sighs again, and she nods. "I'll try."

"That's all I'm asking," I smile a little. "Where's Mom, anyway?"

"In her prayer garden."

"Okay. I'll be right back."

I go outside, to the prayer garden. Mom is kneeling in prayer, her eyes closed "Hey, Mom," I say.

She looks up at me. Now that her eyes are open, I can see she's been crying.

"Would you like to read scripture to the baby while I lie down? I need to be off my feet. This pregnancy is killing me," I joke.

She manages a small smile despite the heaviness in her heart. "That sounds lovely, Callie. I'd like that."

We retreat into the house and I head to my room. My mother picks up her Bible from a table nearby and follows me. I lie on my bed and she sits beside me. She begins to read a passage from the book. I'm not really listening, as I don't really care for the Word. I'm doing this for her, not for me.

For a minute, things look like they might be okay again one day. I fall asleep to her reading to me, as if I'm 9 again and not 19.

…

The next morning, I feel like I need a bit of reprieve from my family, as much as I love them. I am going to visit Jacqueline.

I knock on her door. She opens it right away. "Hey," she says, "ain't seen you since the funeral."

"Sorry, been kinda busy grieving and all," I say half-jokingly.

"I guess it's fine," she smiles a little. "Come in."

I sit on her couch. She helps me get into a comfortable position, a small smile on her face. "She's getting big in there."

"Yeah," I agree with a huff. "She's a pain in my ass. And my back. And just, generally. Being pregnant hurts. I don't recommend it."

"I wasn't planning on it. Imagine, carrying a baby for months just for it to come out looking like its dad," she jokes.

"As long as she comes out healthy, I'll be fine with that," I chuckle. I pause. "So, how have you been?"

"I've…been. It's been kind of lonely, not having band practice or seeing you, or really having much to look forward to lately," she admits, looking at the floor.

"I'm sorry," I say softly. "I feel like both of those are my fault."

She looks up, seeming surprised that I would feel that way. "Callie, I can assure you that it's not. You just went through something wildly traumatic. I'm not going to fault you for being a little distant lately." She moves to sit beside me.

I nod. "Have you hung out with any of the other girls since I've been…reclusive?"

"A little bit with Denise, but it mostly felt like we were both just trying to find something to do," Jacqueline laughs humourlessly. "And once with Renee, but she kept annoying me and asking about you."

I raise an eyebrow. Renee has never seemed to like or care about me. "Asking about me?"

"Yeah. How you were doing, when you were going to hang out with the band again," Jacqueline rolls her eyes. "Things I was ashamed to say I didn't know."

"So was the last time we all hung out…at the mall?"

"If you don't count your Dad's funeral-"

"I don't."

"Then, yes."

Suddenly, the girl from the mall is brought to my mind. I never told Jacqueline about my conversation with Allison.

"So, speaking of the mall…" I trail off, not knowing how to start this conversation.

"Yee-es?" Jacqueline asks, an eyebrow raised.

"I saw that girl again at the record store - well, she saw me, and…we had a conversation."

Jacqueline looks like she might be sick. "And?"

"She told me how she knew you. How you were kind of…involved," I say.

"Oh, my god," Jacqueline whines, putting her face in her hands. "She told you about that?"

"It's okay, it's okay," I assure her. "I'm not upset that you're gay, Jacqueline."

She looks up, seeming a little relieved. "Really?"

"Of course. I'm upset that you didn't tell me and I had to hear it from a stranger," I say, my voice carrying a bit of hurt.

"Callie, you come from a conservative family," she excuses. "I had no way of knowing if you were going to turn on me."

"Have I turned on you before? And just because someone's folk are conservative doesn't mean they are," I roll my eyes. "That's just…it's the only thing I'm mad about. That you didn't tell me."

"I was afraid to lose you. You mean a lot to me, Callie. More than I could ever explain to you in words."

A silence fills the room. It's not awkward. It seems to serve to drive the sentiment home, in a way.

"You mean a lot to me too, Jacqueline," I say with a little smile.

We spend the next hour catching up on what we've missed out on in each other's lives - my Mom being a zealot, my sister being moody, her parents getting a new place in Dublin - and it starts to feel a little bit like we're back to normal, but it feels as if there is lava bubbling under the surface all the while. This volcano is set to erupt.

…

When I get back home, Georgie is in the kitchen, cooking. "Hey," I say, "what are you doing here?"

"Mom didn't want to cook, so I'm doin' it."

I look at him for a second. "You do too much lately. I wish I could do more." I say, leaning against the kitchen island.

"Careful, don't stand too close. You'll get a grease burn," Georgie warns, waving me back a little.

I step back and scoff a bit. "A grease burn wouldn't be the worst thing that's happened lately." I'm filled with a sense of deja vu.

"The bacon," Missy answers me, grabbing the bacon from the fridge.

"The bacon," I repeat. "You don't mind a little grease?" I tilt my head in a teasing way, to which she scoffs.

"Please, a grease burn wouldn't be the worst thing that's happened lately," Missy deadpans. I raise a concerned brow, but decide against prying since I know she hates it and I don't really have the energy.

"Okay, if you're sure." I say, taking the eggs out of the fridge.

"I am," she says. A pause. "I wonder how Mom and Sheldon are doing."

"Probably great," I scoff. "They're not here, after all."

And somehow, they aren't here, again. Mom's physically present, but mentally she's perpetually in her own personal garden of Gethsemane. I'm still trying to understand, but it's difficult. It's been 40 days and 40 nights of emotional turmoil in this household, and I'm tired.

Georgie notices my introspective expression. "Callie, you gotta stop doin' that."

I raise an eyebrow. "Doing what, thinking?"

"Hiding inside yourself. You get this sad look on your face for a minute and then don't tell anyone what you're thinking about. Just 'cause you're talkin' now don't mean you're not still shuttin' everyone out."

"I can't help it, Georgie. Nobody really wants to hear how I'm feeling if they can't fix it. And they think they can just slap this big 'thoughts and prayers' bandaid on it, like it means anything!" I huff.

"I know, I've been getting that a lot, too," Georgie nods. "I think people are just doing the best they can. Nobody really knows how to handle these situations."

"Well, you would think that with death happening every day, people would get good at dealing with it," I say indignantly.

"People ain't good at things, Callie."

I pause for a second. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what I said," he says, finishing up his cooking and switching the burner off. "People ain't good at things." He gestures for me to move out of his way. "Hot pan coming through."

I move out of his way. "Yeah, but what do you mean by what you said?"

"I mean that people ain't always gonna know what to say, and death bein' common don't make it easy to talk about," Georgie explains. "You gonna eat or not?"

"I'm okay."

"I'll save you some, then."

"I'm just frustrated, Georgie," I sigh."Why does nobody know what to say?"

"I wish I had the answers. I don't ever really know the right thing to say about anything, anyhow," Georgie chuckles.

I nod. "Maybe we don't need the answers," I conclude. "Maybe we all just need each other."

Georgie doesn't respond verbally, but I see a smile on his face as he puts the food onto plates. My family doesn't know it, but they give me a lot of hope. MeeMaw's wisdom, Missy's compassion, Georgie's way of just letting life go as it does without having much of a fit about it, even Sheldon going and chasing his dreams in the face of tragedy - they all inspire me in ways I can't adequately put into words. I realise, in that moment, that even though the man that gave me the surname is gone, being a Cooper still means the world to me. Even though we're all a mess right now, we'll be okay. We always are in the end, and that's what matters.