Empire Falls

Oprah than Rosie. “Oprah’s smarter than any five white men you can name, Otis.”
    “She ain’t smart enough to be white, though, is she?” he countered, eliciting a bitter chuckle from his companion.
    The argument Bea wanted was with her daughter, not these two reprobates, but she couldn’t let Otis have the last word, either. She considered herself one of the few unprejudiced people in Empire Falls by virtue of the fact that she took a dim view of practically everyone, regardless of their race or gender. “Unlike some people,” she said, “Oprah’s content in her own skin.”
    “I’m plenty content in my own skin too,” Otis said, not understanding that her remark was directed at her daughter.
    “Now that’s a tragedy,” Bea replied, then turned away to face Janine. “And I’m not trying to bring you down, little girl. You’re always accusing people of that, as if everybody in the world’s only got one thing on their mind. You. It’s a mother’s duty to point out when her child is acting dumber than usual, and that’s all I’m doing.”
    Janine tore the napkin with a vicious stroke of the “u” in Comeau . “Can we just drop the whole thing, Ma?” she suggested, wadding up the ruined napkin. “There’s no point in us discussing what isn’t any of your damn business to start with. If you can’t understand why I might want something better than going through life fat and miserable, then that’s too damn bad. Maybe someday I’ll give up—like you—but not today, all right? People can change, and I’m changing.”
    “You aren’t changing, Janine,” her mother said. “You’re just losing weight. There’s a difference. If you woke up one morning thinking of somebody but yourself, that would be a change. If you thought for two seconds about the effect of all your foolishness on your daughter, that’d be another.”
    “Like I said, Ma,” Janine replied, grabbing the last of the napkins, “you’re just jealous, so let’s drop it before one of us says something they’ll regret, okay?”
    “I’m not even close to saying anything I’ll regret,” Bea assured her. “What I’ll regret is holding my tongue.”
    “How would you know? You’ve never even tried.”
    Down the bar, Otis snorted at that one. Which meant that the television’s volume wasn’t up high enough. Which Bea remedied.
    “What I’m trying to tell you,” she continued, “is that all you’re doing is shoveling shit against the tide. A person is what she is.”
    Janine was tempted to tell her mother about all the orgasms she was having now, how Walt had found the spot whose existence Miles had never even suspected, how nice it felt to be desired for once. Except what was the point of trying to explain this to a woman who wouldn’t even know orgasms existed if Oprah didn’t tell her? “I don’t need you to tell me who I am, Beatrice. For the first time in my life I have a pretty good idea.”
    “You do?” Her mother was grinning now in that superior way of hers.
    “You’re damn right I do,” Janine said, autographing the last of the napkins. After all, there was no point in getting angry. The argument had done exactly what she’d hoped, distracting her from her hunger. According to the clock over the register, it was now ten till four, time to head back to the club.
    “Well, I don’t believe you,” her mother said. “And what’s more, I can prove you’re full of it.”
    Sliding off her stool, Janine shouldered her tote bag and pushed her glass, now empty except for the soggy lime wedge in the bottom, toward her mother. “Yeah, well, I’m not interested in your proof, Beatrice. I’m going to work.”
    “Who’s going to work?” Bea said, covering the napkin with her rough hand. “The woman whose name is on this napkin?”
    “That’s right, Ma,” Janine said, heading for the door. It was her mother’s chuckle that stopped her.
    “Read it and weep, little girl,” Bea said, holding up the napkin between her thumb and forefinger for her daughter’s inspection.
    Suddenly Janine didn’t want to look, aware from her mother’s triumphant expression that somehow she’d managed to betray herself. And there in plain sight was the evidence, scrawled in triplicate in her own hand.
    Janine Louise Roby .
    Janine Louise Roby .
    Janine Louise Roby .

CHAPTER 12
    “T HERE have been times,” Father Mark admitted, “when I feared that God would turn out to be like my maternal