All the Ugly and Wonderful Things

Written By: Bryn Greenwood

All the Ugly and Wonderful Things

Bryn Greenwood



FOR MY SOFT-IN-THE-MIDDLE,

COOKIE-BAKING GRANDMAS



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to offer my thanks to the following people:

Jess Regel, who set all this in motion and who has been there every step of the way.

Liberty Greenwood and Robert Ozier, for wrecking my house, putting it back together, walking the dogs, and rescuing me on a regular basis.

Gary Clift, Doc Fedder, and Ben Nyberg, who first suggested that writing books wasn’t the worst thing I could do with my life.

All the wonderful people at St. Martin’s Press and Thomas Dunne Books: Laurie Chittenden, Melanie Fried, Tom Dunne, Pete Wolverton, Laura Clark, Katie Bassel, Lauren Friedlander, Anna Gorovoy, Olga Grlic, Jeremy Pink, and Joy Gannon.

This book’s early readers and cheerleaders: Renee Perelmutter, Jessica Brockmole, Lisa Brackmann, Dana Fredsti, G. J. Berger, Sarah W., Norma Johnson, Laura Anglin, Erica Greenwood, Kari Stewart, Sue Laybourn, Teri Kanefield, Shveta Thakrar, Jenna Nelson, Michelle Muto, Jan O’Hara, Jennifer Donahue, Stacy Testa, Susan Ginsburg, and Gretchen McNeil, BAMF.

Sarah Kanning and Leslie Soden, in whose guest rooms I wrote the first draft.

All of my writing friends: Purgatorians, Lurkers, Pitizens, and the indomitable YNots.

My beloved Vox peeps: Amy Heisler, LeendaDLL, Terry Snyder, Laurie Channer, Lurkertype, Lauri Schooltz, Katrine, RobbieDobbie, madtante, Jaypo, Ms. Pants, and many more.

Clovia Shaw, for her limitless curiosity, her righteous Google-fu, and her 24/7 free consultations.





PART ONE



1

AMY

March 1975

My mother always started the story by saying, “Well, she was born in the backseat of a stranger’s car,” as though that explained why Wavy wasn’t normal. It seemed to me that could happen to anybody. Maybe on the way to the hospital, your parents’ respectable, middle-class car broke down. That was not what happened to Wavy. She was born in the backseat of a stranger’s car, because Uncle Liam and Aunt Val were homeless, driving through Texas when their old beat-up van broke down. Nine months pregnant, Aunt Val hitchhiked to the next town for help. If you ever consider playing Good Samaritan to a pregnant woman, think about cleaning that up.

I learned all this from eavesdropping on Mom’s Tuesday night book club. Sometimes they talked about books, but mostly they gossiped. That was where Mom first started polishing The Tragic and Edifying Story of Wavonna Quinn.

After Wavy was born, Mom didn’t hear from Aunt Val for almost five years. The first news she had was that Uncle Liam had been arrested for dealing drugs, and Aunt Val needed money. Then Aunt Val got arrested for something Mom wouldn’t say, leaving no one to take care of Wavy.

The day after that second phone call, Grandma visited, and argued with Mom behind closed doors about “reaping what you sow,” and “blood is thicker than water.” Grandma, my soft-in-the-middle, cookie-baking grandma shouted, “She’s family! If you won’t take her, I will!”

We took her. Mom promised Leslie and me new toys, but we were so excited about meeting our cousin that we didn’t care. Wavy was our only cousin, because according to Mom, Dad’s brother was gay. Leslie and I, at nine and going on seven, made up stories about Wavy that were pure Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Starved, kept in a cage, living in the wilderness with wolves.

The day Wavy arrived, the weather suited our gloomy theories: dark and rainy, with gusting wind. Of course, it would have been more fitting if Wavy had arrived in a black limo or a horse-drawn carriage instead of the social worker’s beige sedan.

Sue Enaldo was a plump woman in a blue pantsuit, but for me she was Santa Claus, bringing me a marvelous present. Before Sue could get a rain bonnet over her elaborate Dolly Parton hair, Wavy hopped out of the backseat, dangling a plastic grocery bag in one hand. She was delicate, and soaked to the skin by the time she reached the front door.

Leslie’s face fell when she saw our cousin, but I wasn’t disappointed. As soon as my mother opened the door, Wavy stepped in and surveyed her new home with a bottomless look I would grow to love, but that would eventually drive my mother to despair. Her eyes were dark, but not brown. Grey? Green? Blue? You couldn’t really tell. Just dark and full of a long view of the world. Her eyelashes and eyebrows were translucent, to match her hair. Silver-blond, it clung to her head and ran trails of water off her shoulders onto the entryway tile.

“Wavonna, sweetie, I’m your Aunt Brenda.” It was a mother I didn’t recognize, the way she pitched her voice high, falsely bright, and gave Sue an anxious look. “Is she—is she okay?”

“As okay as she ever is. She didn’t say a word to me on the drive over. The foster family she’s been with this week, they said she was quiet as a mouse.”

“Has she been to see a doctor?”

“She went, but she wouldn’t let anyone touch her. She kicked two nurses and punched the doctor.”

My mother’s eyes went wide and Leslie took a step back.

“Okay, then,” Mom cooed. “Do you have some clothes in your bag there, Wavonna? Let’s get you into something dry, okay?”

She must have expected Wavy to fight her, but when she reached for the grocery bag, Wavy let it go. My mother opened it and frowned at the contents.

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