50 pages • 1 hour read
The name Kenna is Gaelic—it translates to “one born of fire.” Determined to earn a second chance, Kenna defines her character to a single error in judgment: When she was drunk, she did not realize that Scotty was still alive immediately after her drunk driving accident; she believed she had just killed the man she loved.
Her life since that catastrophic error has been her trial by fire. Five years in prison, separated from a child she has seen only briefly, alienated from her friends, despised by her town, Kenna returns knowing the odds are against her. As Ledger observes multiple times, there are no easy solutions. Kenna drove impaired—but Scotty was far more impaired. She drove too fast but not that fast. She could leave town and begin a new life, but she does not want a new life—she wants her own life. For too long in the novel, Kenna pretends to be someone safe, someone else, someone named “Nicole.” In the end, she is ready at last to be Kenna.
Thus, her character is defined initially by her lack of self-esteem. In her determination to reunite with her daughter, Kenna is not sure she is worth her daughter. The psychology of a second chance is complicated because Kenna cannot make the accident go away. In the tipping point moment, Kenna shares with Ledger the most painful letter she ever wrote, one that refuses to obfuscate her guilt or temper her responsibility and instead offers the only thing she can offer: an apology. That difficult act of sharing is key to her freedom to be herself again and to embrace the offer of love tendered by first Ledger and then by her daughter: “Now that I have forgiven myself,” Kenna says in closing the novel, “the reminders of [Scotty] only make me smile” (318).
In any business, a ledger functions to maintain balance, to keep accurate, honest records and to make sure that what is in the past—good decisions and poor decisions—is foundation for going forward. Ledger engages Kenna’s wounded heart on a deeply emotional level. He knows that she is the woman he and the town have demonized as selfish, cold, and irresponsible, but he does what the rest of the town, including Scotty’s parents, refuses to do: He takes into account the entire woman and not just that single act. Like any good accountant working the ledger, Ledger refuses to ignore the bad and refuses to simplify the good. He comes to love Kenna for exactly what she is and not what he wants her to be.
That fairness and balance define his complicated relationship with the daughter of his dead best friend. In his role as Diem’s uncle/friend/surrogate father/coach, Ledger sacrifices the typical life of a man his age—he cannot commit to a marriage that asks him to choose whom he can love and whom he can protect. His willingness to care for others defines his generous character.
If anyone in the novel has reason to be bitter, it is Ledger. Denied a promising (and lucrative) football career because of an avoidable accident (shades of Kenna’s own accident), he returns to his hometown a bartender happy to minister to the steady line of misfits who crowd his bar. He extends to the wounded Kenna the same fairness, emotional balance, and empathy that he offers Roman to help in his struggle to control his substance use disorder. In getting to know Kenna, Ledger changes his mind and, in the process, he finds his heart. That willingness signals his emotional heroism.
Scotty is a memory, more a ghost than a character. For his grieving parents, his bereaved lover and the mother of his child, and his closest friend, Scotty is a memory. The joy he brought those who survived him is clouded by the reality of the accident. Scotty has become a source of sadness. Each survivor clings to some element of Scotty and uses that as a reason not to engage the real-time complicated world he has departed.
Scotty becomes everything his parents, his lover, and his friend need, everything that they once found in his presence and now insist on shaping into his absence. He haunts the storylines in the narrative presence. Ledger cannot enjoy the love he starts to feel for Kenna because he is sure he is betraying his best friend. Kenna cannot move easily into her role as Diem’s mother much less as Ledger’s lover because, as her copious letters to her dead lover attest, she cannot break free of Scotty’s influence. Scotty’s parents are unwilling to depart the soft prison of their grieving, certain that Scotty was better than Kenna. Their world is uncomplicated: Scotty is their hero, and Kenna is their villain.
Once each character—Ledger, Kenna, Grace, and Patrick—allows Scotty to be what he was before the accident, an imperfect boy growing into an imperfect man, they all embrace the joy of knowing Scotty.
Diem is a precocious and lovable child who charms her grandparents and Ledger. She dances about the plot, offering the characters a strategy for living in the world that threatens each of them.
Central to understanding Diem’s character is her dream, at the age of 4, to learn to fence. The request is both eccentric and telling. She is not interested in T-ball—the pace is too slow, the challenges are too predictable, and the action too simplistic. Born from the fiery passion of a young romance, Diem (Latin for “day”) understands only the benediction of every morning. She does not live anchored by regret, and she does not smolder in resentments over the absence of her parents. She is a born fencer—ready to respond and eager to rise to the challenges of every day.
After more than 300 pages of buildup, the reunion between Kenna and Diem can seem anticlimactic. In a novel in which tears run freely, the scene at the Landry lunch seems oddly dry. Diem matter-of-factly accepts this stranger as the mother she has long thought about. It puzzles Kenna: “Diem’s eyes fill with something, but I don’t know what her expressions mean yet. I don’t know if it’s surprise or curiosity” (305). It is both. It is Diem doing what an expert fencer does: moving as much forward as backward, a motion that responds acrobatically to unexpected events. Of all the reactions Kenna’s presence receives in her hometown, it is Diem’s that serves as the novel’s template for how to live in an imperfect and terrifying world of contingency, bad luck, and poor choices: “I could not have asked for a better outcome,” Kenna affirms, “it’s like I just get to slip into her life without so much as a ripple” (306).
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