Spencer Bell. He’d moved back to town, and I’d never had any idea. Small towns weren’t so small anymore. People moved out here from the city all the time.
Lies were bound to unravel. One weak thread was all it took. I should’ve anticipated something like this. My shoulders sagged, heavy with the weight of it all. Was I overwrought? Possibly. But I might also be right.
I whispered a prayer of gratitude for Ellen and for her safety. She and Braden had been in the backseat together and so involved that Ellen had no idea of what preceded, or precipitated, the accident, but she’d been wearing her seat belt. Exactly how close was their relationship? Spencer said they were together frequently.
Was Braden planning to attend Tech, too? I would ask her, but not tonight and maybe not tomorrow. I’d have to see how tomorrow dawned for my daughter and me.
Sleep was elusive. When I did sleep, the dreams were chaotic and filled with warnings. The most memorable was a nightmare in which Spencer and I were arguing and Ellen, standing between us, had simply split into two pieces that collapsed onto the ground. I grabbed the pieces and hugged them to me, wanting her however she was. No matter what. Somehow, in the dream, she was still alive, and people gathered around, taking bets on who she’d be when we put her back together again.
A voice in the background was saying, “Change hurts. Metamorphosis sucks.” And someone responded, “No one wants to be the caterpillar.” Which made absolutely no sense to me and woke me from my sleep. I groaned, rolled over, and buried my face in the pillow, but I couldn’t turn off my brain and find sleep again. I lay in the dark and let them play, both the fears and regrets.
Dreams. Were they prophetic? Probably not. At least, not mine. Without doubt, this dream represented my greatest fears. Hurting my daughter. Possibly losing my daughter. And my guilt.
Some misdeeds could be confessed with an apology offered. Forgiveness could resolve it. Not this time. Ellen would be hurt the most, and I was the one, the only one, with the knowledge.
I thought about those new DNA tests everyone was talking about. About heritage. About genealogy. About medical conditions. Ellen might take one. I couldn’t stop her. She wasn’t going to be under my supervision much longer. The accident revealed that I didn’t know everything she was up to. But as long as I didn’t take one of those tests, we were good. Our blood type was the same. So, in the end, as long as I didn’t confess . . . I would rather, a thousand times over, bear the burden of my guilty knowledge and spare my child, and our relationship, from the truth.
Guilt, worry—the what-ifs were like the sheets that twisted around me as I tossed and turned, and like the pillows that shifted and grew hot and uncomfortable as I moved this way and that. Sometime after the pivotal hour of three a.m., my brain and body must’ve given up, worn out, and allowed me to pass out. I hadn’t thought to set the alarm, and that was just as well.
“Mom.” I was being jiggled. “Mom.”
I opened my eyes.
“Good morning. I’m going to school. You don’t need to get up. I’m all ready to go, but I didn’t want you to worry when you realized I wasn’t here.”
I pushed up. My bed looked like a war zone. “School?”
“School. I didn’t keep my attendance perfect to mess it up near the end.”
“You’re kidding, right? Go back to bed. You need to rest.”
“I’m fine. If I don’t feel good later, I can come home, but I’m going for now. Bonnie isn’t going this morning. I’ll drive myself.”
“No. I’ll pull on some clothes, and I’ll be right there.” I climbed out of bed, aching. I was moving like I’d been in the crash instead of Ellen. “Make sure you have money for lunch, or pack something. I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
Life will. That was something smart people said. Life will out. Life will find a way.
I thought that meant life goes on and that whatever that basic, primal driver of life was, it won. Every time. It would push through and remind you, often with cruel strokes, that any pretense of human control was an illusion.
We were leaving for school, and Ellen was standing there beside the car. She presented me with a cup of coffee and opened the passenger side door for me. I paused, cup in hand.
“I have to get back on the horse, right, Mom?”
I settled in the passenger seat, almost relieved. “No accidents,” I said. “I can’t deal with it today.”
She smirked. “No problem.”
As we drove, I asked, “Did you hear from the others yet?”
“Bonnie and Braden. Bonnie’s face is sore today, mostly from the airbag. She has tape on her face for the cuts—plus she has those awful bruises—so she’s staying home.”
“And Braden?”
“They kept him overnight. He says he’s going home today.”
“Did he text? Or call?” In my mind, there was a difference.
Ellen blushed.
Great.
We had arrived. Cars, buses, kids—they streamed around us and past us. End of school year excitement charged the air. I felt it, too.
“We’ll talk later?”
Ellen grinned. My heart flipped.
“Go throw a pot or two first? Maybe wedge a little clay to work off some energy?”
“Tell me, are you in love with him?”
Her smile grew smaller and yet it deepened. “I don’t know. I might be.”
I nodded. Ellen falling in love—it was bound to happen one day, of course. It made me want to protect her even more. “Later, gator.”
“Love you, Mom.”
She was gone. I got out and walked around to the driver’s side. She turned and waved. I waved back.
My heart was heavy. It seemed like all my efforts for Ellen and her future were seriously at risk. No matter what I did . . .
I drove home. I needed to stand under the shower, to let the hot water stream over my head and down my body to loosen the muscles. I diffused a mixture of lavender and lemon to surround myself with good-mood stuff. I regretted not having someone I could share my fears with and not worry about condemnation or betrayal. But I didn’t. So I steamed in the shower and diffused the air and finished off my morning with another cup of coffee and a sweet roll.
The garden didn’t require my attention. I’d only recently moved the seedlings into the yard. But I needed solitude, activity, and fresh air. I donned my gloves and settled down onto the kneepad. Any new weeds were too tiny to find, but I tweaked a leaf or two and crumbled small clumps of soil—performing little nothing acts to relax me.
The morning sun filtered through the leafy branches overhead at this hour. It was warm, but pleasantly so. I lost myself in the tasks. It wouldn’t be long before I could replant these in the new beds. Roger was having semi-raised beds constructed for me ahead of the final landscaping so that I could transplant these before the heat of summer set in. The big issue would be watering. I was confident Roger would work that out. Meanwhile, this morning the breeze rustled the leaves over my head, and the squirrels ignored me. They were used to sharing this space with me.
“Hannah?”