It was as if the clearing away of the fire debris was a signal for time to fast forward.
In April I watched the foundation being dug, the concrete footing poured, the bricks rise, and the fresh gravel being dumped into what would become the crawl space. The floor joists were installed and plywood sheets were laid for the subfloor. The framing had begun.
We were suddenly in May, and Ellen’s graduation was less than a month away.
I went out to the jobsite most days, but only for a short stay. I tried to refocus on my pottery and the shop, and I also began planning for the move.
The lights were out in the front room of Cub Creek Pottery, and the door sign was turned to CLOSED. There was little traffic anyway. I supplied pottery to gift shops in the regional area and to a few locations outside of Virginia, but for the most part, my clients were few and honestly, my pottery work was uninspired. When I saw the clay work being produced by others, especially online or in glossy magazines, I felt mediocre.
It would be different, I told myself, when I was back out in the Hollow. Working in Cooper’s Hollow, away from this shop in town that had no history, no flavor for me, would provide the spark.
Ellen was consumed with preparing for college, talking about college, final exam nerves, and texting incessantly with her friends about all of it. I was glad she had friends to stress and de-stress with because it was wearing me down. They were going out tonight—she and Bonnie and a couple of their other friends. They were going to see a movie, as if this were the last movie they’d ever see . . . which it kind of was—it was the last movie they’d see as high school seniors and in a local theater and so on. Such high drama, and they reveled in it.
I’d protested that this was Sunday and she had school in the morning and not to be out late, and then realized that was likely the last time I’d be giving that admonition.
I pulled out the clay and did some wedging. I threw it against the table. I pounded on it with my fist. By the time the consistency felt right, the worst of my stress had eased, but I felt deflated again. Ellen would soon graduate and would leave for Tech by mid-August. Wedging clay didn’t fix that. I wrapped the clay tightly in plastic, and washed up at the sink.
My cell phone rang. Roger.
“Everything good?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“I missed seeing you today. Did you choose the light fixtures you wanted in the great room and in the kitchen?”
“Not yet. I’ll get it done.” I turned off the power switches as I spoke.
“Are you up for dinner?”
I stopped. “Tonight?”
“That’s the usual timing for dinner. Or we can call it supper, if you like that better.”
He was trying to lighten the mood. I tried to smile.
“Honestly, Roger, I’m not feeling so great. I’m a little headachy.”
“Going out to eat might help.”
“It might, but I don’t think I’m up to making conversation.”
There was a long pause, and then he said, “I don’t need conversation. We’re friends. You can be any way you want or need to be with me.”
“Ellen is going out with Bonnie and some other friends this evening.”
“Just girls? Or is this a girl-boy thing?”
My silence lasted longer than intended.
“I see,” he said.
“No, really, it’s fine. It’s a group of friends. I hadn’t considered . . . but she would’ve said if there was an actual boyfriend, right?” I sighed. Ellen was pretty and smart but hadn’t dated much, and I was totally fine with that. I hadn’t handled dating or love very well. My mother hadn’t. I hoped Ellen, who was much more sensible and goal-oriented, would do better, but a little more maturity wouldn’t hurt her, so going out with friends in groups seemed safer. Of course, there was no guarantee about anything.
My brain was too scrambled. Roger was right.
“Maybe I do need to get out and do something normal,” I said. “Something pleasantly distracting.”
“Five thirty?” he suggested.
“That will work. Where shall we go?”
“How about Italian in Louisa?”
“Perfect,” I said.
Roger rang the doorbell at five thirty exactly. He gave me the once-over and said, “You seem better now.”
“I am. I don’t understand what’s wrong with me.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. “No.” As I snapped the seat belt into place, the words came anyway.
“Regrets, maybe. We all make mistakes, right? Some we can take back. Some we can’t.” Or wouldn’t even if we could, I added silently.
“That sounds . . . philosophical. Or remorseful.”
“Probably some of each.”
“Want to talk about it? Things usually make a lot more sense and assume more reasonable proportions when shared with a friend.”
“Not this, Roger. Trust me. Besides, everyone has done something they end up questioning time and again.”
“Well, you’re right. We all make mistakes or choices that go wrong. I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, and in every job I’ve had. If you’re living, then mistakes are guaranteed. It makes the successes all the sweeter. That’s life, Hannah.”
He touched my hand. His hands were larger than mine. My fingers had been toughened over the years of manhandling clay, and I didn’t get manicures often enough. His strong, square hands were well groomed; the fingernails were clean and neat. That seemed important to me. His were honest hands. Gently, I eased mine away.
We’d hardly been seated in the restaurant when my cell phone rang. Ellen’s name was on the screen. I grabbed it and answered.
“Ellen?”
“Mom? It’s OK. I’m not hurt.”
Her voice was breathless. She sounded like she was crying.
“What’s wrong?” I was already standing, looking around the room. Where is my purse? My keys?
“What’s wrong?” Roger echoed my words.
Ellen continued. “They’re taking us to the hospital in Charlottesville. But I’m fine. A couple of the kids were hurt. We hit a tree, Mom.”
My heart rate ratcheted up even more. “I’m on my way. I’ll meet you there.” I added, “How are you getting to the hospital?”
“By ambulance. Please be careful, Mom. Don’t rush. I’ll be there soon, and I’m OK, truly.”
I didn’t want to disconnect. I wanted this phone connection to stay live all the way to Charlottesville, if possible, but Ellen said, “I need to let Bonnie call her parents. I’ll see you soon, Mom.”
She disconnected.
My purse? Where did I leave it? My hands clenched, and I realized I was holding it.
Roger was suddenly standing beside me, his hands on my shoulders. “Calm down.”
“Calm down? My daughter is on her way to the hospital. I don’t have time to think it through, much less calm down.”
“I’ll take you. You can’t drive like this. Your daughter needs you to arrive in one piece.” His eyes bore into mine. “Now take a deep breath and let it out slowly, then tell me what she said.”