We spilled out of the house Jimmy, Dolly and I had been living in when I met Pete, into the countryside, where there was space for us all. We sit for 20 minutes in a cafe, waiting for our gate to be called. I know, too, that motherhood can bring a sort of violent, overwhelming love that feels like being encased in metal and dropped into a deep sea. As a mother I have to pretend to be the person I really am not: patient, hygienic, gentle, good at craft, moderate, rarely anxious, never depressed. When I remarked on this to another cowboy, he nodded and laughed. Sex is the place we can find one another again. Pete spent more time away, working to support these children he adored. And I was the parent the children turned to for help, since I was always there.
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