"By the Grace of God" by Audrey Stewart

for my Beth

“She’s talking about not putting sunscreen on her kids.”

“Shit, is she really?”

“Yes, right after she said there’s tracking chips in the covid vaccine.”

“Shit,” Alex said again. 

“At this point, the sunscreen thing almost seems more controversial.”

Alex looked at her cousin. They’d spent their whole twenty-seven years together, through a sort of forced proximity orchestrated by their mothers: two pillars of matriarchy who called each other daily to swap recipes and secrets, which they would then relay to their respective daughters in the strictest confidence. The daughters—Alex and Beth—would then call each other to tell the secrets anew in even stricter confidence in what felt, to them, like the most high-stakes game of telephone in the world. 

The telephone lines hadn’t been created spontaneously. In fact, despite being related by blood, Alex and Beth couldn’t be more different. Beth was a recluse and bitch, and Alex was too loud and too annoying, and that was exactly how they described themselves. As a rule, they could only handle being together for three days before they wanted to kill each other. 

Yet, the girls grew up living simultaneous and parallel lives: different schools, friend groups, extracurriculars, even preferred shopping malls. But their mothers made sure they remained in each other’s orbits, pulled by the gravity of motherly guilt. At least once a month, one mom would drop a daughter at the other’s house for a weekend sleepover where the two girls would bicker and play. 

Family gatherings were common, with Alex and Beth’s siblings of all ages running circles around them. That’s when together, the bitch and the pain, would sequester themselves off somewhere, playing a game of their own making that neither enjoyed much.

Despite these attitudes, every few weeks, Alex would ask her mother when Beth was coming over. Beth in turn would get mad at Alex for singing too much during sleepovers and playdates. 

If Beth and Alex were two planets orbiting together around a familial sun, then they would occasionally have a moon. 

Her name was Samantha, and she was the daughter of the sister who was not called daily, but weekly. While Alex and Beth were only a few weeks apart in age, Samantha was a whole year younger. In this additional playmate, either girl found that which they could not get from each other. Every few months, Alex and Samantha would make up dances in the basement that they would then coerce the rest of the family to watch. On roughly opposite months, Samantha and Beth could be found playing soccer in the backyard. Alex hated soccer, and Beth hated dancing, and Samantha was happy to do either. 

When schedules and willpower allowed, their mothers would coordinate a time for all three girls to play together. That’s when magic happened: games were at their most elaborate, most dramatic, most mischievous. They’d be three magical fairies gifted to a sleeping prince, mermaids tasked with communicating with underwater aliens, farmers with organic, artisan pinecones to sell. Their mothers would enjoy cups of coffee together and watch from the kitchen windows, each admiring her own daughter. Alex was pretty enough, looking similar to every other blonde girl in the county. Beth was pale, with dark, shining hair, and neither girl would have looked out of place on a local ad for a family restaurant. But Samantha stood out: rich, olive skin and dark, thick hair that naturally fell in ringlets, and bright, green eyes that shone against her complexion. “Where did she get those eyes?” their mothers would ask fondly, the third sister would shrug and simply say “God knows.”

Inevitably, the time came when Alex wanted to make up dances to songs that her siblings had recorded on CDs: songs about clubs, cocktails, and other foreign bodies. Beth’s language grew more colorful with words she’d heard in R-rated movies. And Samantha wasn’t allowed to play with them anymore outside of large family gatherings, which happened about once a year. 

Adolescence came in full force, and together Alex and Beth explored questions about growing chests and surprise hair. At family events, the question they’d ask each other changed from ‘Where is Samantha?’ to ‘Have you said hi to Samantha yet?’ Small talk got smaller as the girls got older. Beth and Alex went from going to hide out in the car to drink stolen wine to going to bars to drink cheap wine. In following years, Beth answered on the second ring when Alex abandoned her virginity on a sheetless dorm bed with a guy from her history credit. Alex called immediately when Beth texted ‘emergency’ in all caps to cry when she thought she was getting fired, and was instead getting promoted. The orbit continued, unceasing and automatic. 

Beth moved to a big city, and Alex moved to a bigger city. Alex began a career in college admissions, Beth in healthcare administration. They each gained smart, pretty, and successful friends that they trusted and relied on. Despite that, Alex and Beth called only each other with their worst: the snotty crying, the fear, the loneliness. Alex usually forgot to text back, and Beth would spend each conversation baby-talking her cat, but they always picked up the call. And Samantha, she was just a number on their phones, a topic they would bring up to reminisce on. 

At age twenty, Samantha had gotten married to a Christian man named Duke. He was sixteen years older than her, with three kids—one aged sixteen—and a lot of guns. They’d known each other for about seven months before the wedding. Samantha’s father officiated—a barn wedding in the rain. Her father spoke of obedience and looked so proud. During the ceremony, Beth and Alex squeezed each other’s arms and bit their nails. 

By the time Samantha was internet famous, she had three kids of her own. Alex and Beth would watch her content with a sick fascination, calling each other to recap. 

“What is she feeding those kids?” 

Beth shrugged, and scrolled to the next video—this one about the miracles of unpasteurized milk—while lazily swirling a glass of red wine in her other hand. They sat out on the porch of one of their mother’s houses, bundled up tight enough that they wondered why they’d decided to come outside in the first place. It was a few days before Thanksgiving, and each girl was back in town for the holiday, an elaborate event that joined both their families, and that would normally end with them hiding out in corners to get away from obligations of cleaning dishes and running to the grocery to get more sweet potatoes. 

Alex asked the question she asked every time Samantha posted. “Should we say something? I feel like we should say something.”

“Our mothers would kill us.”

“And Samantha’s going to get someone else killed!” 

“Stop screaming. There’s enough of that inside,” said Beth. “She’s an adult, and she’s made her choices.”

Alex groaned obnoxiously. “Yeah, but it’s not all her fault. We’d have ended up the same way with parents like Martha and Bob.”

“I know,” said Beth gently. “But there’s no going back for her at this point. She’s so deep in it.”

Alex sunk deeper into her rocking chair, its wood stained from years of exposure. “Yeesh. Six kids.”

“I heard the oldest step kid is in prison now,” said Beth.

“Please tell me it wasn’t gun related.”

“No, I think it was something with drugs. He believed he could cook the cure for covid on his stove.”

“So he was making meth, basically.”

“Probably.”

Alex and Beth sat quietly for a moment, sipping their wine and scrolling. 

After a few minutes, Beth spoke. “You know, she’s supposed to be back in town for Thanksgiving, I think.”

“What!? Really? She never comes home. Where’d you hear that?”

“My mom told me.”

“Beth. What if we called her?”

Beth snorted. “Hell no.”

“No, I’m serious. What if we all went for a drink together? One drink.”

“Have you seen her bible study lives? There’s no way that girl drinks.”

“She can have a Sprite. Or we can go to a restaurant, I don’t care. Dude, we haven’t seen her in ages. I bet we could be a good influence. Or something.”

“Shh. Her mom called Hilary Clinton a marxist the other day; I don’t think I want to have a drink with her.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Martha doesn’t know what a marxist is. C’mon. We were so close as kids. Are we just going to never talk to her again?”

Beth glared at Alex. “Are you going to shut up about this?”

“Not if talking makes you do it. One drink. I’ll buy AND I’ll drive.

Beth let out an exaggerated moan. “I hate you. And I’ll need more than one drink.”

Alex squealed. “Fuck I’m nervous.” Before Beth could change her mind, Alex pulled up the call app, and dialed Samantha’s dusty number. 

Two days before Thanksgiving, Alex drove them to the bar that they’d picked specifically to avoid spooking Samantha: not too loud, not too raunchy, not too crowded. It was a place they felt was classy: low, velvet couches with gold accents; marble countertops; cocktails with ingredients like lavender and bergamot. When they walked in, Samantha was already in the booth. 

All three girls exchanged hugs, pleasantries, and compliments. Youlookgood’s floated by yourhairsgottensolong’s. They settled into the booth and glanced at the menu. When the waiter came to take their drink orders, Samantha ordered a Shirley Temple. Alex and Beth took one look at each other, and ordered the same. 

It was the first time they’d gotten to look at Samantha up close. While Beth had settled into a long bob style, and Alex had dyed her hair blue, Samantha looked exactly the same. If anything, her long, thick hair was longer and thicker, her tan skin was tanner, and her bright, green eyes popped more vividly than they ever did on a phone screen. She was stunning. 

Alex started. “How have you been? It’s been ages! We really shouldn’t have let it get this long.”

Samantha laughed genially. “No, that’s on me too. I should have checked in with you both. What are you both up to now?”

“I work in college admissions. It’s interesting; I help decide on who will be in the incoming class. I get to read essays and debate students' merits versus resumes. Benefits are great,” said Alex, passing the proverbial baton.

“Mhm, and I’m in the healthcare sector. Mostly I help certify insurance claims for a children’s hospital, anything from cancer to broken legs. I think I’d like it more if the healthcare system was built better. But I have a really great team,” said Beth.

“That’s awesome!” She sounded genuinely interested. “Any kids?”

Beth and Alex blinked. “No not yet,” winced Beth.

“None for me,” followed Alex.

“Husbands?” 

Alex felt a claw digging into her thigh. She bucked her knee to push Beth off and pressed on. “Wow, Sam, I’m sure you would have heard if either of us had gotten married, right?”

Samantha took a sip of her Shirley Temple. “Yeah my mom probably would have told me. But that’s okay! You’re both so pretty, I’m sure you’ll each commit to someone soon.”

The moment hung in the air, and Alex pushed past it. “And how about you? Gosh, you’ve had three kids of your own now, is that right?”

“Yes!” Samantha pulled out her phone to show pictures. Three tan kids stood in a parking lot, smiling ear to ear. “That’s Brayden, Temple, and Duke King.”

“Four kids?”

“No no, sorry. My youngest is Duke King,” she smiled.

“Oh,” Beth smiled politely. “I bet that’s tripped up a couple teachers.” Alex kicked her under the table. 

“We’re actually homeschooling.”

Alex took a sip of her water, then her Shirley Temple. “How has that been? That must be tricky with three kids.”

“It’s not too bad. Since I was homeschooled, I have a sense of how it’s meant to go. And I started homeschooling with Duke’s children as soon as I became their mother.”

“Wow, you’re a saint,” Alex could feel Beth tensing up next to her. In this polite chit-chat, she was forgetting why she’d suggested this in the first place. She wished she’d ordered a gin & tonic. 

“Do you remember the game we all used to play at family reunions? We’d take bath towels and pretend they were fairy wings and run around.”

Samamtha’s already bright smile brightened. “Aw yes of course! Alex, you always made up the best games.”

Beth smiled too, seemingly for the first time since they’d sat down. “I forgot about that one. I didn’t like that we were supposed to be in a big cage though.”

“Yeah I probably should have workshopped that one. But it was better than ‘cure the baby with the cold’.” replied Alex.

“You’re just mad that you were bad at curing babies with colds.”

Alex laughed outright, “You bitch.” She froze and looked at Samantha. “Sorry about that.”

But Samantha looked perfectly at ease. “No worries,” she said. “Although if you want to cure a baby’s cold, put honey on their feet. Works every time.”

Later, Alex would be proud of herself for not making a face. She and Beth had seen Samantha’s claims about honey on feet to cure colds before, and had described it to each other as utter bullshit. “Oh interesting! I’d never thought of that. How does that work?” In the back of her head, Alex remembered Beth telling her not to indulge Samantha’s pseudoscience on the drive over.

“The honey pulls out toxins. It’s antibacterial.”

“But how does it pull toxins out through—”

“Samantha, how are your stepchildren doing?” asked Beth. Alex looked at her. This was an unusually direct question for Beth to ask.

“I call them my children now.” Smile. “They’re good! Chris is up for parole in two years, and he’s been witnessing to inmates everyday. I’m very proud of him. And Caroline is currently on a mission trip to Bosnia.”

“And the third?”

Samantha paused, but her soft smile never left her face. “About a year ago, Ashley was called back to God. She’s with the Lord now.”

Alex just stared at her cousin. Why was she smiling like that? “What—Shit.” Her words were halting. “Samantha, I’m so sorry.”

Beth jumped in “How did this happen? She was what, fourteen? That’s horrible!”

Samantha nodded sagely. “She was fifteen. But I’m comforted that she’s with Jesus in heaven now. I can’t be too sad when I know that. And she got saved when she was thirteen.”

Alex responded. “Yeah, but you’ve still lost a child. It must have been terrible for you, and Duke. And your whole family. I am so so sorry,” she said again. She saw Beth twitch out of the corner of her eye. She could almost see inside her mind: years of social media posts toting cures of honey pulling toxins out of feet and Tylenol bearing the mark of the beast. 

“How did this happen?” asked Beth again. Alex stared at the side of Beth’s head, telepathically willing her to back off, but Beth was ignoring her.

Samantha was the picture of regret, the Madonna of melancholy, and Alex felt herself internally praying to a God she didn’t believe in: please be a car crash, please let her have fallen off a cliff, please let it be an accident. Alex tried to push away the prayers. Of course it would be something like that. It was an absolute nightmare to lose a kid, and it was absolutely not their business if Samantha didn’t want to talk about it. Beth needed to cool it. 

“It was painless.” Samantha’s voice had an almost breathless quality, as if she were reliving the loss. “Ashley died in her sleep one night. But I know it was painless because she looked so peaceful when I found her in the morning.”

“That’s truly terrible,” said Beth, her tone curt. “Did she have health issues? Had it been an ongoing thing?”

Alex jumped in, running interference. “It’s just that normally when something like this happens, we’d hear about it from the family. Did your family not know?”

“They knew, but it was a difficult time for Duke and me. I think my parents just wanted to make sure we had some privacy. Our church rallied around us, which was really all we wanted.”

Alex reached out to put a hand on Samantha’s hand. “I can’t believe that’s something you’ve had to go through.”

“Yes, of course, same. But was she sick? Was it expected? If it was, it must’ve taken a huge financial toll. Are you and Duke doing okay?” Beth was redirecting, and Alex could hear it in her voice. It was a voice she’d developed from calling health insurances out on bullshit for a living. Alex admired it begrudgingly: there were a lot of sad kids with cancer who Beth had gone to bat for.  

“Like I said, our church rallied behind us, so our family is okay. But don’t worry, I’m not sad. How long are you both in town for?”

“No, I’m sorry. I just—how does a healthy kid die in her sleep? Was it a brain aneurysm?”

“Beth, move on,” said Alex as quietly as she could.

“No it’s okay,” Samatha sighed. “Ashley was sick.”

Alex saw Beth’s shoulders immediately relax. When she spoke next, her tone had lost its combativeness, and was filled instead with genuine sorrow. Alex knew Beth had seen many families through the death of a child. “I’m sorry. I just see a lot of kids dying everyday. I get a little triggered.”

Samantha cast her eyes down, and everyone took a sip of their now-watery Shirley Temples. 

“What did she have? If you don’t mind me asking, of course,” said Alex.

“Epilepsy.” Samantha let out a big sigh, as if saying the word was a load off her chest.

Now Alex paused. “Epilepsy?” 

Samantha nodded.

“Epilepsy.” The tone that Beth’s mother would call ‘attitude’ was back. “But that’s a treatable disease.”

“Romans says ‘if we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord.’”

“Cool, sure. Was she on medication?” asked Beth. This time, Alex didn’t interrupt. 

“Girls, I’m worried about your lack of faith. There is a cure for that, but if you don’t treat it, you’re bound for an eternity of pain.” 

“Nope. Was she on medication?”

“Duke and I found that her medication wasn’t effective. It made her dizzy. Instead, I gave her a daily scalp massage. It had worked since I’d started it. Ashley was called home by the grace of God. We don’t dictate the Lord’s timing.”

“You took her off her anti-seizure medication?” Alex asked quietly.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” Beth was nearly screaming. It was a rare occasion when Alex was quiet and Beth was loud. “You decided a head massage would stop seizures!? You were not this stupid when we were kids.”

“The head massages did work! But God decided it was her time. I trust in the Lord’s timing.”

“You killed that girl,” Beth was nearly weeping now. 

“I would never! I loved her like she was my own. And CPS cleared me of all wrongdoing. The massages would have continued to work if Jesus wanted them to!”

Beth slumped down in her seat. Her head dropped to her chest. She was openly crying now. The few other patrons at the bar were staring at them. Alex gently draped her arm over Beth’s shoulder, only to have it immediately shoved off. “No, Alex. She killed her. She killed her!” She got out of the booth and stood by the table, her cries growing more and more hysterical. Alex reached for Beth. “No, don’t touch me! She killed a child!” 

Alex looked at Samantha looking at Beth. Her face was serene, yet pitying. Samantha looked at Beth as if she knew nothing, as if it were her who had experienced the death of a child. She looked at Beth as if she were a woman destined for an existence in the fires of Hell. 

“Yeah, okay.” Alex took a deep breath. “Samantha, you’re a cunt.” She stood up, grabbed Beth’s arm, and pulled her towards the door, dropping two crumpled twenties on the bar on her way out. “Sorry about this.” she said to the bartender.

She took one look back at Samantha. She was so pretty it was upsetting. They made eye contact. In her eyes, Alex hoped to see something she wouldn’t have seen on social media: desperation, regret, even fear. But in her eyes, she only saw that same pitying gaze, which felt like its own form of damnation. Alex led Beth out of the bar.

Alex left the car idling, so the radio could play the Goo Goo Dolls mutedly in the background. Beth sat there crying into her hands, and Alex rubbed her back.

“Samantha killed her stepdaughter!”

“I know.”

“She’s a child-murderer!”

“I know.”

“Why aren’t you more upset about this?”

“I don’t know. It’s still Sam.”

The November air met the blasting heat from the car heater to condense on the sun roof. Alex sighed and leaned back in her seat. It’d been an exhausting night, and they still had to get through Thanksgiving dinner, knowing what they knew.

Alex lifted her finger and drew the board for a game of tic-tac-toe in the condensation of the sunroof. She drew an ‘X’ in the center. “Your turn,” she said to Beth, pointing up.

Beth looked at the slowly-disappearing board. She rolled her eyes, and fresh tears dripped down her cheeks, that she quickly rubbed away. She drew an ‘O’ in the bottom right corner. 

Alex responded with an X at the top right.

“This would be so cute if we were a couple,” said Beth.

“Or if we hadn’t just found out the cousin killed her stepdaughter.”

“Alex!” said Beth. Alex knew it was meant to be a scolding, but Beth’s heart wasn’t in it.

“What do we do now?” said Alex, “CPS already decided not to do anything, apparently.”

“Our moms would kill us if we did anything.”

“Do you think they know?”

“If they did, one of us would have already heard about it.”

Beth nodded despondently. She sighed, looked back at the sunroof, and drew an O on the bottom left.

“What do we do?”

Alex took a deep breath. She thought about Samantha’s wedding, and felt nauseous. She lifted her hand and started drawing another board on the sunroof. “Another game?”

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