I had no words. It was as if she were speaking a foreign language. I struggled to comprehend.
“I make up stuff about my dad. I tell the other kids about things he did, like being good at sports and how he was smart and all that. I’ve been doing it for years, Mom. I don’t want to keep doing it. I don’t like lying. Plus, it’s hard trying to remember what I’ve said and to whom. You never want to talk about him because it makes you sad. But Mom, when the other kids and parents are talking . . .”
I put up my hands. “Wait. Calm down, sweetheart. Let me catch my breath and you do the same?” I gripped the counter. “Take a seat in the living room. I’ll get us both iced tea, and we can talk.”
Ellen sat but stayed perched on the edge of the sofa cushion, her hands on her knees.
I placed the glasses on the coasters, sat next to her, and put my hands over hers, squeezing reassuringly.
“I can sympathize. My grandparents never wanted to discuss my mother and father. Of course, in later years I found out why, and now you know the story, too. I never wanted to do that to you. Never. I apologize for putting you in the same situation.”
“So tell me, Mom. Why don’t you want to talk about him? I know you weren’t together for long, but you must know more about him. However little, I need to know.”
I focused on the light filtering in through the glass panes in the door. The bright rays pierced through the bands of dust motes and touched the foyer table and the wooden floor. This was the same sunlight that touched every surface and every person in its turn, in its own good time.
“His hair was curly and unruly. Dark brown like yours. You got his hair color and my lack of curls.” I forced a soft laugh and smiled. “How I envied those curls.”
Ellen smiled in return.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, reminding myself that sometimes it was more important to craft the story right than to speak the truth.
“I met him on a sunny day when I was at the river with friends.”
“The river?”
“The South Anna. We were down there for a barbecue.”
“Who was there?”
“Some friends. Friends of friends. Most of them I hardly knew, and they’ve all moved on now. People do, you know. But he was there that day and so was I, and we met.”
“Like a blind date?”
“A coincidence. No one was trying to set us up. But we hit it off right away. He was athletic, but I don’t recall we ever discussed . . .”
Her excitement, the light in her eyes, dimmed.
I added, “Wait a minute. He ran track in high school. I’d forgotten. So you and I must’ve discussed that before, since you mentioned he was good at sports, right? You remembered without realizing it.”
Her eyes lit up again, and I continued.
“Remember, we didn’t attend the same school for very long. He grew up elsewhere, and his family moved here, but they didn’t live here for more than a few months.”
“He died on a family vacation in Colorado.”
“That’s correct. He tripped on a hike and fell. It was an accident. No one did anything wrong.”
She nodded. “And they moved away after he died?”
“That’s right.”
“They didn’t know about me?”
“No, honey. I tried to find them. I should’ve tried harder, but I had my hands full with Gran. I intended to try again, but time passed. I asked Mr. Browne to help find them, and he tried, but to no avail.” The lies slipped past my lips so easily, and yet I felt a prickling along my hairline, as if I were about to break into a sweat, and my face felt a little wooden. I was practiced at avoidance, at misdirection, and when all that failed—outright manufacturing of lies. Lies and details were risky. The more there were, the more likely they were to fail.
I added, “It’s such a common name. It was hard to trace.”
Ellen said sadly, “I looked online, you know. I searched for him, for William Smith. But there were tons, everywhere I looked.”
I leaned forward and put my hand to my forehead. I had brought her to this. Who had those lies been intended to save? To protect?
“Mom? I know this is hard. You still care for him all these years later.” She wove her fingers through mine, then eased them apart. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, sweetheart. You have every right to know.”
“If you remember anything, please tell me. One day, I’ll search for them properly, and I’ll find them. I promised my father.”
“What?”
“I mean that sometimes I talk to him, you know? It’s silly. I know it is. It doesn’t mean that I’m not grateful for our life. You understand that, right?”
“I understand.” This was impossible. I wanted to end this, at least for the moment. I had to think. I pulled her close. “I’m sorry, Ellen.”
She smiled up at me despite her tearful eyes. How did I ever deserve this child?
“You’re right, Mom. You always are. I’m going to wash up. My face feels all teary. I’m going to read over my speech again, too.”
“You’re perfect. Your face and your speech both, but I understand. What would you like for supper? I’ll get it started.”
“A salad, maybe? I’m not very hungry.”
Ellen went down the hall to her room. I heard her moving around, shuffling back and forth, resuming her life. The storm had blown over. For her. Not for me. Everything was closing in around me.
I was chopping lettuce when Ellen came into the kitchen carrying her phone and wearing a sheepish expression.
“What’s up?” I paused with the knife held in midair.
“Bonnie texted.”
“Oh?”
“She wants me to come over.”
I looked down at the lettuce, at the knife, at the fridge, but there were no answers anywhere, only doubts and misgivings.
“Ellen, stay home this evening. I don’t like the idea of you being around these people right now, even if it is silly gossip. What they’re doing is mean.”
“No, Mom. You taught me to be brave. Besides, it’ll just be Bonnie. Her parents are going out tonight. She’ll be home alone. We’ll hang out and watch a movie or something.”
“Why don’t you invite her over here? I’ll make myself scarce, I promise.”
“Please, Mom. I want to talk to her. I’m going to tell her that my family business is my own, that the gossip and teasing hurt my feelings.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“If you insist, I’ll text her back and say I can’t.”
My sigh started at my toes and worked its way up to my lips. My stomach churned. Every instinct I owned warned against this, but the mercurial drama of teenager-hood mixed with the irrepressible recovery of youth was more than I could sort out tonight.
“It’ll be good, Mom. I’m an adult now, right? I should be able to handle things.”
I didn’t know what else to do. I put the knife in the sink. “OK. Fine.”
She planted a quick kiss on my cheek. “Thanks. Bonnie’s picking up something for our dinner, and she’ll swing by and get me.”
“Wait.” I turned toward her. “Don’t you want to drive yourself? That way you can come home when you’re ready.”