“Did it make you mad?”
“Maybe, sometimes. But that wouldn’t have been an excuse to be mean or to make anyone feel bad. I think it would have made me feel worse. I also had something a lot of them didn’t have, the way you have your art. You’re lucky, and so was I.” Thank you, better-late-than-never revelation. “It’s one of the reasons it was a good idea for me to leave Chance.” My chest quivered as Celia’s wish for me transferred to her daughter. “Just like it’s good that you made new friends in an art class. You’re expanding your horizons. You’re finding what’s right for you. And who’s right for you.”
“But you said you didn’t really make a lot of new friends.”
“I was wrong not to make friends when I left. And I was wrong to leave so many friends behind. I know that now.”
“You should make friends who are photographers like you. Or like you somehow. That’s what I like about Chloe and Rebecca. They get it. They get me.”
“That’s really good advice, kiddo.”
“You should also get married and have kids. You should definitely have kids. Or at least get married.”
Shay’s tone had shifted from wise to wistful. I knew where she was headed, but I wasn’t going there. Not tonight.
“Maybe someday some of that will happen, but none of it is happening any time soon.”
I said it without thinking, which was usually when the truth revealed itself most plainly.
*
Back at the house, I felt steady; no longer shaken by the past, with a new understanding having settled between me and Shay, even if she did want me to get married.
“I’ll meet you in your room. I’m going to say hello to Violet.”
Shay ran up the stairs and I walked to the kitchen. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Violet said. “I heard you two come in. Did you have fun?”
I watched Violet pretend to dry a dish with a paper towel. “We did. I also told Shay I knew about what happened with those girls at school.”
“Miles told me you knew. What did she say?”
“She said she was sorry.”
Violet turned around. “She’s doing better, but it’s been a rough year. Once everything at school calmed down we really believed that planning the wedding would be a good way to distract her, but it just seemed to make things worse.”
“It didn’t seem so bad the other day. Except for the hating-the-shoes part.”
“It’s getting better. We got along great until—”
“Until you were going to be her stepmom.”
“Yeah.”
I stood across from Violet, her eyes cast downward. “It’ll get better,” I said.
“I know.”
Violet looked at me. When she spoke, the words rolled out without effort, as if she’d said them a thousand times before. “The counselor says Shay will have to see that I’m not going to erase all parts of Celia from their lives. I would never do that. Part of the reason I fell in love with Miles was because I could see how much he’d loved her. I wasn’t trying to take him away from Celia’s memory, but he was ready to move forward.”
“And you met him in a grief support group?”
“I did.”
“Can I ask … I mean…”
“My older sister, Lily.”
I gasped.
“She was my very best friend.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are,” Violet said. “Because you understand. Miles has told me how you and Celia were like sisters.”
We reached across the empty space and held hands. I nodded.
“I’m going to talk to Shay, maybe I can help a little with all this. But not tonight. It’s already been a long day. Could I spend tomorrow night with her? Do you have anything planned?”
“Miles is going out with his friends—a pseudo bachelor party at the microbrewery in Jeffersonville. I was just going to have my younger sister, Heather, come here, but I could meet her for dinner if you wanted the house to yourself with Shay. I think she’d rather be with you anyway.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“I’m glad you’re here. And not just because of the pictures.”
“Me too.”
*
I sat on Shay’s bed and scooted back to the headboard. It was the same bed she’d slept on when she was three. The only thing that had changed was that the ballerina bear comforter now was purple with polka dots.
Shay lifted a sketch book off her desk, opened it, and laid it on the bed next to me.
I leafed through the pages of pencil sketches, watercolors, and even some cartoons that looked like they were drawn with Sharpies. I left my camera on the floor, in the zipped-up bag. I wanted to just be with her. I would remember it with my heart, not by looking at something outside of myself. The silence lingered, likely just a few extra seconds, but it seemed like hours. Maybe we didn’t need any more words tonight. Perhaps the images we created in our minds were enough. The soft colors in her floral watercolors that so closely matched the garden in fall, with orange that looked like a match had singed the edges. With green rimmed in deep purple. I captured the scene in my thoughts. I wished there were Hester properties in New England. Or even here in Ohio. I’d never before realized that I missed feeling like I was not on vacation. Even working, I sometimes didn’t know what month it was because the weather didn’t match my internal barometer for seasons. January in Scottsdale was lovely but messed with my Midwestern sensibilities.
I looked back at Shay. This was not the time for my wishes, or for Shay’s.
I turned the page and saw a pastel drawing of Celia’s house—Shay’s house.
“That’s your house. Shay, it’s perfect. Better than a photograph.”
“Not really.”
“Yes, really. Has your dad seen this?”
“No.”
“Has he seen any of these?”
“Some.”
“You should show him. He’d go crazy. They’re amazing.”
“You should show him your pictures too.”
“Those were private. Just between you and me, okay? I only shared them with you because of how special you are to me. And I knew you’d appreciate them. And you know what?” I pulled out my camera and scrolled through the photos. “I’m going to enter that one into the contest.” I pointed. “I’ll use this address on the entry form, since I travel so much. Uncle Beck will know it was all my idea, I promise.”
“When you win you’ll have to come back.”
“I’m coming back even if I don’t win, but a ribbon is a nice incentive.” I smoothed Shay’s hair.
“Can I tell my dad about the contest?”
“Let’s keep it between us for now. He’s got enough on his mind.”
“Why? He’d be really happy you were coming back; I know he would be. It feels normal when you’re here, Aunt Tee. I think he feels that way too.”
I turned and half crossed my legs on the bed. “I have amazing memories of your dad and mom and me. And you. All of us together. But it’s different now. That doesn’t mean it’s bad.”
“I know, but you said you didn’t really make a lot of new friends, and you said you didn’t have a new best friend, so why couldn’t my dad be your best friend? It’s not healthy to be alone. I think I heard that on the news one day. You need a special friend, Aunt Tee.”
“I have you.”