The Memory of Butterflies: A Novel

She shook her head.

“I’m glad. I never left home. There were good reasons for why I didn’t, but still, I never did. I don’t want that for you.”

She smiled. “I was one of those reasons. Don’t take this wrong—you are the best mom in the world—but one day I hope I’ll find out more about my father. I want to learn about the kind of person he was and what we might have in common.”

I stepped away and turned back to the sink to finish rinsing the dishes. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I know he doesn’t feel real to you. I understand. I wish I could tell you more.”

“You might not know a lot, but his family does.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d asked. I’d made up the stories about how he and I met, how we’d hardly known each other, and that he’d died before we knew I was pregnant. It didn’t speak well for me, or my character, to have been intimate with someone I hardly knew. Nor, for that matter, did it flatter me to be able to lie so well in the present. The old stories worked because I had avoided details as much as possible. The story I’d told her of her father’s death on vacation with his parents—caused by a misstep while hiking in the Rockies—was designed to be hard to research. I didn’t like lying, but when the questions started in earnest several years ago, I was glad I’d thought it out ahead of time. More recently, she’d done some searching online. I knew because she’d left the computer browser up with the name William Smith typed in the search bar. Someday, Ellen might seek info more aggressively, but as long as I kept the details vague, what would she have to work with? Not much. Heaven forbid I should ever have to untangle the truth of her early life for her. I shivered. She wrapped her arms around me again, tighter.

“Mom, don’t worry about me. I’ll be in Blacksburg, not that far away, and with lots of my friends.”

I nodded. Time to change the subject. “You’ll need a way to get there.”

“Bonnie’s driving us to school today.”

“I mean a way to get to Blacksburg.”

She tilted her head, her eyes widening as realization set in. Then she waited, her breath held.

“Go check the garage. It’s time to put your driver’s license to good use.”

She shrieked with joy and flew out of the room, her feet hardly skimming the floor.

I followed. “You can’t drive it to school this morning. You have to get used to it and the controls and dashboard and everything. We’ll go out together after school.”

Ellen draped her body across the shiny blue hood of the car. “It’s smooth, Mom. Sleek. She’s beautiful.”

“A note of reality here? Teens are high-risk drivers. You lost a classmate earlier this year in an accident. This is a huge responsibility.”

“Yes, Mom, yes, I know. Your parents died in a crash—I haven’t forgotten. You’ll see—I’ll be the safest driver there ever was.” She turned her face toward me but somehow still managed to keep her arms draped across the car. “Please can I drive it this morning?”

“I have an idea. You drive us to school. I’ll drive the car home and then pick you up after, and you can drive us home.”

“Mom.” She groaned. “I can drive by myself.”

“Not with this car, you can’t. Not until you’re familiar with it.”

“I’ll have Bonnie with me. She’s an experienced driver.”

“No riders. Not yet. Not until I’m sure you can handle it. Promise?”

Suddenly her frown was eclipsed by a huge smile. “Deal, Mom.”

“I’ll get my purse. You get your backpack. Call Bonnie and tell her you’ll meet her at school.”

She ran inside. Many of her friends already had cars. I’d held off for so long, but she’d earned this. Such a good student, perfect attendance, and full of dreams . . . I had to learn to let go, but not all at once. A little bit at a time, and maybe by the time she graduated from college and was truly an adult, I’d be able to trust her to live a good life and come home again on her own.

“Mom? Are you crying?”

I brushed the wet from my cheeks. “Not much.” I laughed a little. “I’m fine, honey.”

“Here’s your purse. I’ve got my pack.” She put her pack in the backseat and tossed my purse over to the passenger side as she settled in behind the wheel and ran her hands around the circle of the steering wheel. “My own car. Oh, Mom, thank you very much.”

There was a box on the dashboard, wrapped with a bow on top.

I nodded toward it. “You’re going to need that.”

She grabbed the box and tore past the decoration. She held up the key on its fancy fob. She kissed it, squealed softly, and plunged it into the ignition.

“Seat belt,” I said.



As with everything she’d ever undertaken, Ellen managed driving like a pro—at least, once she was past the giggles and had managed to back out of the garage and down the driveway without taking out the mailbox. What had I been thinking when I parked it nose in, in the garage? But she did it, and I did my level best to keep my advice to myself all the way to the high school. For one thing, I didn’t want to be the distraction that caused the problem. If she had an emergency, in a moment needing a quick decision, I didn’t want her to hear my voice in her head causing her to second-guess herself.

Even better, from Ellen’s perspective, was that two of her friends, Bonnie and Heather, were out in front of the school when she arrived. Her grin was a thing of beauty. It reached right up into her eyes as the girls ran up and exclaimed over the new car.

I got out and walked around to the driver’s side. “Don’t be thinking about this car. School’s not done yet.”

“Sure, Mom.”

“Hi, Ms. Cooper.” The other girl said, “Bye, Ms. Cooper.” Ellen said, “Wait a minute.” She handed her phone to Bonnie. “Take our picture.”

Ellen pulled me over to stand beside the car.

“Relax, Mom.”

So we leaned back against the car. Ellen put her arm around my shoulders, and I reciprocated. Our heads were together, our faces smiling, as Bonnie held up Ellen’s phone and snapped our picture.

Before releasing her, I snagged a quick peck on her cheek. She ran off with the other girls and disappeared into the building. I drove home.

I was proud of my girl. It broke my heart to know I was losing her. None of the platitudes like “she’ll be back; she’s only going to college,” or “she’s earned your trust,” eased the ache in my chest. Still subdued when I arrived home, I parked the car in the garage and went inside to prepare for the rest of my day. The best part, I suspected, had already happened.



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