Chapter 10
Spring brought another invitation from Willowmere Hall.
Lena was hosting a fundraiser for a local recovery center. She remembered that I supported the center’s work and asked whether I would attend.
I read her email twice.
For months, the name Willowmere had meant the contract I canceled, the money I lost, and the night I finally refused to be hidden. I wasn’t sure I wanted to walk into the building.
Then I saw that the recovery center was raising money for people who needed support after serious injuries. I had used some of its services when I left the hospital.
I called Lena.
“I’ll come,” I said. “May I bring my sister?”
“Of course.”
Vanessa said yes before I finished explaining the event.
“Are you sure you want me there?” she asked afterward.
“I asked because I do.”
We arrived together on a warm Friday evening. Willowmere looked the same as it had when we booked her first wedding: tall windows, white flowers, lights along the garden path.
My stomach tightened as we crossed the entrance.
Vanessa noticed. “We can leave.”
“I know. I want to go in.”
Lena met us by the door. She greeted me as someone she was pleased to see, not as a difficult client from the past. Then she led us to a table near the front.
During the program, a speaker from the recovery center described the practical help it gave people after hospital care ended. Rides to appointments. Meals during long recoveries. A place for families to ask questions they were afraid to ask at home.
I thought of Mom, Vanessa, and me, all frightened after the fire and all talking past one another.
When the program ended, Vanessa asked if we could walk in the garden.
We sat on a bench beneath a tree just beginning to bloom.
“I used to think the wedding had to happen here,” she said. “I thought if everything looked right, I would feel all right.”
“Did you feel all right at the greenhouse?”
“I was scared. Then I saw you come in wearing blue, and I knew I could be scared without making someone else disappear.”
I looked toward the hall.
“I was scared too.”
“I know.”
For a while, we listened to voices coming from the open doors.
Then Vanessa reached into her purse and took out a small photograph. It was the one Jo had taken beneath the trellis, the two of us holding hands.
“I keep this in my bag,” she said.
“You have a copy at home.”
“I know. This one comes with me.”
I smiled. “Grandma would approve.”
“Do you remember what she said when we crossed the street?”
“Hold hands and look both ways.”
“She always said the looking was both our jobs.”
I laughed. “She did.”
Vanessa slipped the photograph away.
“I’m glad you still wanted to hold my hand,” she said.
“There were days I didn’t know if you wanted mine.”
“I do.”
Mom joined us a few minutes later. We had invited her and Renee to the fundraiser, but they had stayed inside to speak with someone from the center.
Mom sat on the other side of me.
“I heard they’re looking for volunteers,” she said. “I offered to help with meal deliveries.”
“That sounds useful,” I told her.
“I want to learn how to be there when people are frightened.”
I leaned back against the bench. “I think they’ll appreciate that.”
She turned toward me.
“Would you like to come to dinner on Sunday? You can say no.”
“I can come for dinner.”
Mom smiled. She did not ask for more.
At home that night, I took off my earrings and caught sight of myself in the mirror. The scars on my face and neck were clear beneath the bathroom light. I ran a finger along the edge of my cheek.
There had been years when I hurried past this mirror.
Now I stood there thinking about the garden, the center, and the dinner we had planned for Sunday. My face was part of every one of those days. It did not keep me from living them.
The next afternoon, Ethan and Vanessa came over to help me move a bookshelf. We worked for an hour, then ate pizza on the floor because the table was covered in books.
Vanessa found the small silver box while helping me sort a shelf.
“Should this go in your bedroom?” she asked.
I opened it. Grandma’s bracelet lay inside.
“Maybe I’ll keep it here,” I said.
I fastened it around my wrist and left the box on the shelf beside our wedding photograph.
Ethan went to wash his hands. Vanessa stayed on the floor with me, looking through old family albums. In one picture, she was five and I was ten. We stood outside Grandma’s house, each holding one end of a skipping rope.
“We used to fight over who got to turn it,” she said.
“You always wanted to jump.”
“I knew you’d let me.”
“I did most days.”
She looked at me over the album.
“You can tell me no now.”
“I know.”
“And you’ll still be my sister.”
I closed the book gently. “Yes.”
On Sunday, I went to Mom’s for dinner. I arrived early enough to help set the table. Vanessa and Ethan came after me. Renee brought flowers.
Mom took a photograph before we ate. She asked us first. We stood together in her kitchen, dishes waiting on the counter, and no one told me where to face.
Afterward, I helped carry food to the table. Vanessa pulled out the chair beside hers.
“Sit here, Claire.”
I did.
Mom served the meal. Renee told a story that made Ethan laugh so hard he had to put down his fork. Vanessa reached for my hand beneath the table, and I held it for a moment.
Then I reached for another roll.
The photograph Mom had taken would show my scars. It would show Vanessa smiling beside me, and the rest of our family gathered close.
May you like
When I thought about seeing it years from now, I knew exactly what I would remember.
I had come in. They had made room. And I had stayed.
