“They buy it because they like it. Your clay work has always amazed me.”
“Don’t say kind things out of pity or consolation, Roger. I may not keep the shop once I’m back home in the Hollow; I’ll likely let the store go.”
Roger smiled. “Don’t disappear on me. I don’t want to complete this project only to find I’ve lost you to the life of a recluse.”
I patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Roger. You’re important to me. I can’t manage without you.”
“Listen, Hannah. This isn’t the first house I’ve built. For most people, a new home is a big thing for them—signifies big change in their lives—sometimes happy events, sometimes trauma, sometimes recovery—but always big. Even bigger when they’re building from scratch. When faced with those changes, most have trouble letting go. Don’t let a few outbuildings define what you want for your future. Don’t panic or grieve over a pile of charred wood. You have the memories. They are in you, and that’s the safest place for them.”
He had effectively stunned me into silence. I knew exactly what he meant. I disagreed that it applied to me—my circumstances were unique—but I’d never known him to be so eloquent about emotional things.
I nodded. “I promise I’ll try to be objective.”
“By Monday we’ll be ready to tackle the site clearing and prep. We’ll clear the debris and put up the erosion control barriers. The barriers, the plastic swale, will also help protect those areas you’re concerned about.” He turned to me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Now put the worry aside and look forward to this as a new, exciting adventure. Have fun with it.”
On Saturday evening, Ellen looked up from her schoolwork and saw me fretting.
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. What about you? Sorry you didn’t go out with your friends this evening?”
“Nah. Bonnie had to go with her parents to visit family this weekend. Now back to you, and don’t change the subject this time. Are you thinking about the big day?”
I sighed. “Yes. Day after tomorrow. They’re almost done widening the road, and the real show is about to begin. I hope . . .”
“What, Mom?”
“I hope I’m making the right choices.”
“You always do.”
What would she think if she knew about the choices I’d made through the years? Doubt tried to wrap itself around me. I needed to stop this now. I smiled at Ellen and teased, “Even when it comes to tattoos?”
“Please,” she said with a groan.
Ellen was sitting at the island with her books and computer. She had a paper due. It was a big part of her grade, and she was serious about it though she already had college and scholarships all lined up. I smiled to reassure her, then resumed preparing our supper.
She said, “Why don’t we go out there tomorrow after church? I haven’t been to the Hollow in a while.”
“You’re smart to live in the present, not the past.” I waved my spoon. “Totally normal for young people.”
“Mom, to be honest, I don’t feel guilty or anything about not going often. Like, if a huge storm came through tomorrow and wiped out the whole Hollow, I might be sad, but it wouldn’t change anything. We are still who we are. Right?”
“True.”
“But since it’s about to change forever and we can go, why not? See it like it used to be, or close anyway. I’d like to.” Ellen put down her pencil.
I leaned back against the counter. “What do you remember?”
“I remember the fire, but I don’t totally remember how scared I was. Just that I was, you know, super scared.”
“What about before that? For instance, do you remember the house? You were only five when our lives changed.”
“I remember Gran. Mostly, I remember she was big and soft and smelled like lavender.”
“Lavender. Funny. I hadn’t thought of Gran and her lavender sachet in years.”
“I remember the day she died.”
“Do you?” I put my hand to my chest.
“Yes. Sometimes I think I remember Grand, but I can’t, right? He died before I was born.”
I was silent. Yes, Grand was already gone then, but not George Bridger.
She stared into a dark corner of the kitchen. “He was tall and thin and had a long white beard.” She laughed a little. “For a long time I thought he was Santa, but a skinny one.”
I forced myself to nod. I tried to control my face while I searched for words. But Ellen went on.
“I must’ve seen a picture of him and mixed it up in my memory. I do remember the house, or parts of it, anyway. It was dark, except for the kitchen. I remember a lot of light there. The house was warm. Felt like summer all the time because Gran was always cold, right? You and I shared a bed while we lived there, and I loved that.” She stared at the wall, a wistful smile on her face. “I missed that the most when we moved here. I felt alone at night for the first time ever.”
Her smile pushed away everything else. I realized I should let it go. Her recollections would continue to blend and change, and probably disappear as many memories did, like dreams, evaporating with time.
“The night of the fire, I remember how you woke me, scooping me out of bed in the dark. I would’ve been afraid, but it felt like I was flying in your arms. At least until I saw the flames in the living room. And then felt the cold outside. It was summer, right? But I remember it as being cold. I wanted my blanket and my doll. I looked at the fire coming out the window, and I was afraid. I wasn’t afraid of the flames. Not for me. I was afraid I’d say the wrong thing, like ‘I’m cold’ or ‘I want my doll,’ and you’d run back inside to get it. I was afraid I’d lose you forever and it would be my fault.”
“It would never be your fault. No matter what. You know that, right?”
“Sure. I was a kid, and kids think everything is about them.”
I watched her face and was satisfied. I went back to cooking.
“So, is it a date?” she asked.
“What?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Sure. Good idea.”
After all that talk about the fire, not to mention old men with long white beards, I was afraid I’d be wakeful that night. The ghosts and regrets from my past were bound to climb into bed with me, but no, I dropped off to sleep as if I hadn’t a worry in the world.