- but her in-laws have a permanence in her life that she cannot influence or control; the spouse decides. Alison is an only child, so it is easy for Hank. He did not need to integrate with her brothers or sisters. He was not subjected to the treacherous dynamics of an unfamiliar family with its long-held grudges, inside jokes, and uneven affections. He did not need to understand why different allowances were made for different family members, why for instance, Cousin Keith was forgiven everything while Cousin Carl was forgiven nothing. For Alison, none of it was easy. She married into a sizeable and voluble tribe. She has found that with Hank’s extended family there is a lot to adjust for, to compromise with, and to forgive. The forgiveness requires the most plasticity. Alison learned that it is compulsory to forgive in-laws for flaws and situations that would not generally merit forgiveness in any other association. Alison finds ways to balance herself around the harried, sometimes jagged edges of Hank’s family, with its outbursts and its treaties, while always feeling a little unnerved by the pitch in the room.
Alison was raised by her father. It was just the two of them in a hushed world. She was eight years old when they buried her mother on a dazzling sunny day. Allie believed people should only be buried on rainy days and she never quite forgave the sun for its disrespectful behavior that morning. Losing her mother so young, and then learning she could not trust the sun, made her a cautious little girl most at ease inside her own home. And since little Allie had anticipated rain on that terrible morning, she had dressed wrongly. She had worn her heavy black wrap skirt and teal wool sweater, and even though she was not dressed for the weather, that was not the origin of her physical discomfort. She had woken up the day before with a rash covering both of her legs. Doctor Hartman called it idiopathic - but she told her dad (privately) that Doctor Hartman was the idiot because it was obvious she was allergic to burying her mother. Allie stood graveside, as still as stone, even though her need to scratch her legs was more pressing than her need to breathe. She stood still in her wool outfit, and did not scratch, because she was holding her dad’s hand, and she would rather have endured the awful itch than let go. She bore the itch, along with the choking sensation in her throat, and an unreal floating feeling in her head.
Afterward, Allie and her dad clung to each other with ferocity. They were indoorsy people he used to say, fond of Scrabble, books, and an elaborate electric train set they’d worked on together all the time she was growing up. That train set with its little stations, plastic trees, and wooden fences now circles Jimmy’s bedroom upstairs. On Saturday mornings, when the other kids were out playing, Allie would make scrambled eggs while her dad read aloud the local newspaper. Then, they’d set up the Scrabble board. For months after her mom died, neighborhood women would show up like the gustatory Red Cross primed to assist. They gave advice on how to raise Allie and they left hot casseroles. He ignored their advice, but always accepted the casseroles. They devoured them while rolling their eyes and feeling secretly naughty. The doorbell would ring. Her dad would race to answer and whisper “Allie, look hungry.” Little Allie would put on her most pathetic expression and they would accept the offering, close the door, and giggle all the way to the kitchen where they’d enjoy the lasagna from Mrs. Betty or the baked shepherd’s pie from Mrs. Eckhart. Having lost his wife, having lost her mother, they were so grateful to have each other. Their bond grew strong and it was fulfilling. Her dad lived healthfully until the end, and when the day came last year for Alison to say good-bye to him, she did so with a grateful heart, and with the hope she could be a quarter of the parent he had been. Alison carries a singular irreplaceable affection for her gentle father, and every time that train whistles upstairs in her son’s room, she feels it all the way through to her bones. It makes her sad and it makes her smile - it is a paradox she can live with.
After ten years, Alison navigates with deft