Raven helped Claudia with social media, took pictures, helped with some of the work in the house (when she wasn’t complaining about it or sulking in her room blasting angry music) and technical aspects of the blog—like laying it out, linking in pictures, linking to older, relevant blogs; Claudia paid her ten dollars an hour. Raven didn’t resent it, even seemed to enjoy it—especially the social media stuff.
Even though Claudia had regrets about all the sharing she’d done, she was also proud that she had taught her daughter not to be ashamed of what had happened to Claudia, of who Raven was or where she may (or may not) have come from. There was nothing more corrosive than secrets. If Raven had discovered later that Claudia had hid Raven’s origins, it would have broken trust, introduced shame. She’d raised Raven as openly and as honestly as she’d done everything else. Except for that one thing, the one thing that wasn’t supposed to matter, but did.
“Okay,” said Claudia. She knew when she was beaten, when she was wrong. She didn’t believe she’d started out wrong, but somehow her decision was wrong now. That was such a trick of parenthood, knowing the line between protecting and smothering, the line between loving and clinging.
“Okay?” asked Raven, glancing over sideways. She sat up a little in her seat, a kind of brightness coming onto her face.
“Okay,” said Claudia. “You can have the test.”
? ? ?
AFTER DROPPING RAVEN AT THE train, Claudia stopped at the hardware store for a few basics, then drove back to the house. Exhaustion suddenly pulled at her eyelids, pushed down her shoulders. She sat in the truck for a minute, stared at the gaping hole where the barn door used to be, at the big gray beast of a house. They stared back at her like members of a rival gang, ready for a rumble.
“You will not beat me,” she said, pulling herself out of the defeated slouch into which she’d fallen. “You will not.”
The sun dipped behind a swath of gray clouds.
Ayers had come out here with her the first time, when she’d just had the initial idea for the project. They’d left Raven with her grandparents and driven out together.
“Okay,” said Ayers, as he pulled the Range Rover to a stop. “Wow.”
“Amazing, right?” she’d said.
“That’s one word for it.”
“What?”
“Claudia.” He had this way of saying her name that made the first syllable sound like “cloud.” “Do you know how much work this is going to be? How much money?”
He pointed up at the roof that sagged, where so many shingles were missing it looked like a design choice. “The roof alone.”
He shook his head, blew out an amused breath.
She thought she knew—how much work, how much money. She was up to it. She always believed that; that she was up to any task, no matter how daunting, that lay before her. “But it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
He watched her with his blue-gray eyes, with that sad, sweet expression he still had when he looked at her.
“Yes,” he said, putting his hand on hers. “It is.”
The tug back to him was still strong, so many years passed and still.
“How’s Ella?” she asked. It was mean; but it worked. He drew away from her. Why? Why did she keep pushing him away?
“Oh,” he said, looking back at the house. “You know.”
“Sophie must love her,” said Claudia. “She’s so upright, so—proper.”
“Sophie hates her, and you know it.”
“I’m surprised,” said Claudia. “They’re so alike.”
“Stop it.” She saw the smile turn up the corners of his mouth just slightly. She felt that energy of laughter that never died between them. The universe was a joke, and just the two of them were in on it.
They went inside that day; she used the new video camera Martha had sent her. It was her first blog post about the house: A New Start in an Old Place.
Why did it seem so long ago?
? ? ?
INSIDE, SHE CLIMBED THE CREAKING stairs to the second level, then up the slim back staircase that led to the room where she’d set up her office. A tiny square of a space, with a quirky round window that looked out on to the woods. She called it level two and a half, since the room was suspended between the second floor and the attic. The engineer thought it was an addition, not original to the house, something created from a storage space that dropped down from the attic. It was a perfect office.
At her computer she went through the posts to find that first one, to remind her what she felt that day. The video was shaky and amateurish. And too dark; the lighting was bad.
“Uh,” said Ayers on the video. He leaned in and inspected the banister, pulling lightly at one of the dowels, which broke off in his hand. He regarded it with dismay, held it up to her and they both started laughing.
“There is literally not one thing in this house that doesn’t need repair. I mean—Claud, it’s a gut job.”
“Are you kidding?” she said from off-camera. “Look at this wainscoting.”
It had been original to the house; it restored beautifully. “And this chandelier.”
She panned to it. It had been grimy with dust, some of its glittering crystal teardrops missing. It too had come back to life with the help of her friend Blaire, who restored antiques. They were even able to find some crystal pieces online that matched almost perfectly. Today it shimmered over the dining room table.
She’d pointed the camera back at Ayers. He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, then rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. She loved his hands, which were big and strong but still soft, gentle. “Well,” he said. “If anyone can do it. You can. You’re the strongest person I know.”
She remembered feeling embarrassed; it was so far from true. She wasn’t strong at all. She was a shivering wreck most of the time.
“I’m in,” he said. “Whatever you guys need. I think it will be good for Raven. A project, the country, distance from the city.”
The video ended when she tripped, the camera flying and landing in position to catch Ayers helping Claudia up.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. They both cracked up again. She cut it there.
? ? ?
THE POST HAD BEEN UP there for a while, got a lot of views and comments.
So, that’s your EX husband? If my ex looked like that, I’d have held on tight.
You get that he still loves you, right?
Your ex is a hottie. He can restore my wainscoting any day. Wink, wink.
Can I get the name of the friend who refabbed your chandelier?
She watched the video a couple more times, thought of calling Ayers but didn’t. Sometimes talking to him just reminded her how much she wanted him here, helping her. How things were so much easier when she didn’t have to do them on her own. But she’d chosen this path. And she had no right to ask him for more than he already gave.
She checked the post about the fallen barn door, then wrote a few sentences about her plans to call Just Old Doors and have someone come out. She was rewarded with a swath of encouraging comments
Then she girded herself and headed downstairs, ready to rumble.
seven