The Memory of Butterflies: A Novel

by Grace Greene

  “Braden’s hurt, Mom.” She looked so young when she bit her lip. She was trying not to cry.

  “Badly?”

  “I don’t know. His arm is the worst, I think. Maybe his head. He wasn’t wearing a seat belt.”

  “Was he thrown from the car?”

  “No, but he was thrown around inside the car.” She touched her forehead. “I think this came from him. His elbow, maybe. It was crazy, Mom, like the scariest roller coaster you can imagine.”

  “It’s over now, Ellen.” I wanted to hug or shake the memory from her. She seemed trapped in it.

  “It went on and on. The car kept moving and hitting stuff, and Bonnie was screaming. The windshield broke, and I saw the cracks spread across like it was in slow motion.” She looked at me. “When I got out of the car, I couldn’t believe we weren’t all that far from the road.” She shuddered.

  I wrapped my arms around her again and hugged her while I pressed my lips to her hair.

  A man’s voice came from behind us. I turned, expecting to see the police officer, and saw, instead, the boy from my past, the first Ellen’s father, Spencer Bell. The air whooshed from my lungs.

  He was older, of course, as I was. His dark hair was thinning a little on top, but otherwise, time had been kind to him.

  “Hannah? Is that you? Hannah Cooper?”

  He moved toward me, and I used Ellen as an excuse to turn away from him—buying a short second to compose my face—and then stood and stepped away from the bed.

  I smoothed my blouse and pushed my hair behind my ear. I didn’t know what to do except to smile pleasantly as I said, “Spencer? What a surprise.”

  He extended his hand, and I had no choice but to take it. No reason to avoid it, really, I told myself. He was ancient history. He had no bearing on my present.

  He shook my hand, then pulled me into a hug. Inwardly, I recoiled. What was going on here?

  “Hi, Mr. Bell,” Ellen said. “How’s Braden?”

  His mood was somber. “He’s doing well considering. He’s lucky he only has a broken arm.”

  I recognized his emotional struggle to reorient priorities and caring, to be able to say “only” a broken arm, and my incipient panic eased.

  “It will heal well, I hope,” I said.

  “Mom, this is Braden’s father.”

  I attempted a small joke. “I figured that out.”

  He pointed toward me and smiled at Ellen. “Don’t tell me this is your mother? We’re old friends from high school. Did you know?”

  Ellen shook her head. “I didn’t.”

  Spencer smiled. “Ellen’s a wonderful girl. She and Braden are together a lot. I know you’re proud of her, with good reason.” His brow furrowed as he stared at me. “You and I . . . I don’t think we’ve seen each other since the summer we graduated? Then I went off to college. That was when Braden was born. Melissa’s son. You remember Melissa?” He forced a smile again.

  I wanted to be sympathetic. He was worried about his son. But I didn’t want to encourage this conversation.

  “I hope your son has a swift recovery. I’m glad he wasn’t . . . more badly injured.”

  He nodded. “Me too. Truly. I saw the car, so this is nothing short of a miracle.” With that, he gave me a wry grin, turned, and walked away.

  I was reminded of the boy who’d written my number on his arm and changed the course of my life. My head ached. I rubbed the back of my neck, telling myself to let this go. It meant nothing.

  This whole experience was too much. But I was handling it, I reassured myself, despite the humming in my ears and the rush of heat in my chest and face. Then the officer walked up.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? Why don’t you sit down? Would you like some water?”

  “No, I’m fine, really.”

  “You’re very pale, ma’am.”

  I forced a smile. “I’ve never done this before, never been in this position.” I sat on the edge of the bed, and that seemed to satisfy him.

  “Hopefully you never will be again.” He nodded toward Ellen, who bit her lip. “Can you confirm her name, age, and your relationship to her?”

  I did. He asked permission to speak with Ellen. I said yes, if Ellen felt up to it. Ellen said she did. But she didn’t have much to offer.

  “I wasn’t paying attention. I don’t know what happened. One moment we were driving along, and I was talking to my friend Braden in the backseat. Suddenly there was a bright light.”

  “From outside?”

  She shook her head and looked at me, confused. “I don’t know. Everything happened at once.”

  “Where were you coming from?”

  “We’d been at Bonnie’s house waiting for John and Braden.” She shrugged. “When they arrived, we took off. We were on the way to Charlottesville to go see a movie. And that’s it. If you’re asking about drinking or anything—no.”

  He nodded.

  “How are the others?” I asked.

  “I’ll leave the injuries to the doctors, but lucky. Very lucky. Your daughter came through the best.”

  “Mom always fusses about wearing my seat belt. I guess she’s right.”

  “Moms usually know best,” he said.

  They released Ellen soon after. She insisted on going to see the other kids. Braden was with an orthopedist, and the other boy was getting stitches. Bonnie was bruised and subdued. Her parents were with her. Her mother’s eyes were swollen and red. Her dad looked calm. I knew them, but barely, and we exchanged a few words, then I touched Ellen’s arm and told her it was time to leave.

  Roger was in the waiting room. I’d almost forgotten him. Ellen was delighted to see him. She brightened and hugged him.

  “You brought Mom to me? Thanks.”

  “You look good.” He smiled at her. “How do you feel?”

  Ellen put her arms in both of ours. “Tired,” she said, then added, “Take me home, please.”

  The doctor had given Ellen pills for pain. I was sure she’d be hurting come the morning. But she was young and resilient. I was a very lucky mom.

  When we got home, I made us tea, and we had a small snack, but Ellen’s eyelids were fluttering as she tried to stay upright and awake. Finally, I told her to get some sleep. She gave me a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek, and then went into the hallway. The light came on in her room and spilled back up the hallway. Within minutes it was off. Before I’d finished picking up the kitchen, she was sound asleep.

  I stood in her doorway and watched her sleep. I wanted to smooth the hair back from her face and tuck the blanket around her snug and tight. I remembered when she’d made a much smaller bump in the bed. She was grown now. A young woman. I was very proud of her. How close had I come to losing her tonight?

  The temptation was strong to set a chair into the open doorway and watch her all night, but she didn’t need me in that way any longer, and I wasn’t as young as I used to be. I needed my rest. I moved on down the hall to my room, turned on the bedside lamp, and then closed the door so the light wouldn’t disturb Ellen.

  Now what? I sat on the edge of the bed.

  Now what?

  She hadn’t asked about what Spencer had said about us dating years ago. I’d thought she would, and I was prepared to brush it off as meaningless ancient history. Sometimes trauma confused things. While she hadn’t asked tonight, she might ask tomorrow. I needed to be prepared.

  Prepared? What a sick joke. Ellen was dating Spencer’s son.

  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?”

  I jumped, startled, dropping the spade, then scrambled for it again in some crazy idea it would serve as a weapon.

  “I’m sorry, Hannah. I took a chance on finding you home. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Spencer. Why? I asked the question silently.

  “How did you know I was back here?”

  He shrugged and smiled softly. “I knocked on the door. I was about to leave when I heard you singing.”

  I frowned. “Singing?”

  He nodded. “Quietly singing. You have a nice voice. I didn’t know.”

  “How is your son?”

  “He’ll come home this afternoon. The fracture was clean. They expect him to heal well.” He shook his head. “Youth. It’s prone to getting hurt, but it’s also good for healing.”

  Finally, I smiled. “That’s true.”

  “How have you been?”

  I stood, pulled off my gloves, and gestured toward the patio. “Would you like to sit?”

  “I can’t stay,” he said. “Maybe for a minute.”

  “Glass of tea?”

  He drew in a deep breath. “Are you sure?”

  “It’s a glass of iced tea, Spencer.”

  “Then yes. Thank you.”

  “I’ll be right back. Have a seat.”

  I paused in the kitchen to r
ecoup my calm. His obvious unease gave me some confidence. I took two glasses from the cabinet, poured the tea over ice, and sliced a few lemon wedges. I carried it back out. He was still there. I almost laughed. What had I thought? That he might run away? But then, he had before, hadn’t he?

  He rose to his feet when I reappeared and held the door open for me. I set the tray on the table, and we both sat, took our tea, and then I waited to find out why he was here.

  Spencer took a sip, cleared his throat, then said, “I was surprised to see you at the hospital last night.”

  I smiled and waited.

  “I mean, it never occurred to me Ellen was your daughter. She’s a sweet girl. Smart. Beautiful. My son is . . . has a crush on her.” He looked away, shrugged, and turned back to face me. “Reminds me of us.”

  “That was long, long ago. Different times, different people.”

  “I guess you’re right. I hope you don’t mind if I skip the small talk?”

  “Please do.”

  “Is there a problem with Braden and Ellen dating?”

  My smile vanished. I waited.

  “My mother told me long after the fact that you came to the house looking for me. She said you were pregnant.”

  I might’ve expected to feel distress, hurt, or maybe embarrassment. In the hospital the previous night, I’d been caught off guard. Now, though, with a cold calculation that surprised me, I ran my finger around the bottom edge of my glass. The condensation was already building up. With an icy, controlled anger, I set the glass carefully on the table.

  “That was a very difficult time for me.”

  His face turned maroon. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I made some bad choices back then. For a while after that, too. I—”

  “Ellen isn’t your daughter.”

  “But . . . I mean I saw her birthday was . . . Braden mentioned her birthday, and I realized—”

  “You thought you and I had a child together? There’s been a lot of years between then and now, and I’m only just hearing from you?”

  He shook his head. “Wait a minute.”

  I met his eyes ruthlessly, but I kept my tone cool and civil. “You aren’t her father. I went to your house. I didn’t tell your mother I was pregnant with your child. That was her conjecture.”