The Memory of Butterflies: A Novel

by Grace Greene

  The rain dotted my windshield. It was a warm night, and the rain was light, but whatever had happened to Ellen had resulted in her fleeing into the night, reduced to calling her mom to come get her. Unconscionable. Someone should pay for this. No one had the right to treat a young person this way, especially not my daughter.

  Then the fear started. Suppose I drove and drove and didn’t find her? Young people vanished . . .

  Not Ellen. I wouldn’t allow it.

  If she wasn’t there, if I didn’t find her, there’d be no limit to what I’d do. I’d move heaven and earth.

  Thankfully, she stepped onto the road and waved. She was near the tall neon sign at Dell’s Diner. I pulled into the parking lot. She’d walked farther than I thought. Sad. Bedraggled-looking. She seemed in control, though. For me, however, it was all about anger. Sometimes anger was hot, sometimes icy. Tonight it was both. I grabbed the blanket I kept in the back and wrapped it around my child and ushered her into the passenger seat.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Just wet.”

  “What happened?”

  “Can we go home, Mom?”

  “I want to know.”

  “I want to go home.”

  Once we were back on the road, I tried a different tack. “Is Bonnie OK?”

  “She’s fine.” After several moments with her eyes averted, she finally said, “I didn’t know John and Braden would be there.”

  “Braden . . . but he has a broken arm.”

  “Yes, but he came with John anyway. Bonnie bought enough food for all of us, so she knew they were coming, though she pretended she didn’t. And then her parents got home early, and they got mad at Bonnie. And then, for some reason, Braden’s dad came over. He’d been drinking. I could smell it. And he acted like it. Next thing I knew he was saying stuff about Braden and me staying away from each other.” Ellen stared at me. “He said you told him we shouldn’t be together. Did you?”

  I gripped the steering wheel so hard I was sure the dents would be permanent. “Sort of, but only in terms of not messing up your college plans.”

  “Well, he made it sound like something else, something dirty. They all started talking about my father again. Like how they didn’t remember him being in high school with them. I told them. I told them what you said about his running track and all that. About how you met him at a party at the river.”

  “Oh, honey.” I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t keep them closed. I had to focus on the road.

  “Braden’s dad started laughing.”

  “He’s an idiot. A self-important, drunken idiot. I’m sorry, Ellen.”

  She was silent for a long moment, then she spoke softly. “I want to go home, that’s all,” she repeated.

  As much as I wanted to punish Spencer, and Bonnie’s parents, too, this was my fault.

  “At first, I didn’t understand,” Ellen said. “There was a lot of winking and laughter . . . You know the kind of laughter where other people know the joke, but you don’t? And you laugh politely because you don’t know that you’re the joke?”

  “Yes.”

  “Braden’s father was joking about how Braden and I were . . . might be . . . related. Like brother and sister, except we weren’t . . . Braden’s father said, according to you. He asked Bonnie’s dad if he was my father. Like it was a big joke. Because somebody was, he said, and nobody knew who the lucky daddy was.” She gave a sob and clapped her hand over her face while she regained control. “I wasn’t going to tell you all that, Mom. I’m sorry. Braden was embarrassed. He left with John. He left me there, Mom.”

  Another long moment of silence followed, then she resumed. “Bonnie was going to bring me home, but her car was blocked in, and I wouldn’t wait because . . . I couldn’t. I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re sorry? None of this is your fault. It’s my fault for my decisions. Spencer Bell’s fault for being the jerk that he is. Shame on Bonnie’s parents, too, for letting him say such things. They know you. They should’ve kicked him out instead of encouraging him.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to be angry, Mom. Not at anyone. What they or anyone says shouldn’t, doesn’t change who I am. I know that. But I can’t help it, Mom. It still hurts.”

  I reached over and stroked her hair. Ellen was now living with the results of the decisions I’d made fifteen years ago, and decisions made before that when I dated Spencer. If I hadn’t accepted the job with Babs . . . If Grand hadn’t passed . . . If I’d gone on to college after graduation.

  If I had, I wouldn’t have Ellen, and I couldn’t regret that. But I would do everything I could to ensure she didn’t repeat my mistakes.

  We pulled into the garage, and I helped her out of the car.

  “I’m fine, Mom. Or I will be.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I did things in the wrong order and that you lost your father and never got to know him. I’m sorry it’s made you uncomfortable, ever, even once in your life.” I opened the door into the house. “And I’m sorry that left an opening for idiots like Spencer Bell to intrude.”

  “Mom. Please don’t say anything to anyone. Not to Braden or his father or to Bonnie’s parents. No one. I can handle this. If you get involved, it will be worse.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Ellen. I’ll have to think about it, though. I understand about not talking to your friends. I know it will blow over with them. But these adults? They should know better.”

  “Don’t say anything. Promise, Mom?”

  I fixed her a mug of hot chocolate. She was already in her room and dressed for bed when I brought it to her. I set it on the nightstand. She was subdued, which I understood, but it worried me. I turned to leave.

  “Mom?”

  I stopped in her doorway. “Yes, sweetie?”

  “I don’t want to go to graduation. It’s too fresh. People will still be gossiping. There won’t be time for it to blow over and be replaced by other gossip.”

  Ellen was valedictorian. She’d been practicing her speech for weeks. Ellen had perfect attendance. Everything she’d worked for since we moved to Mineral after the fire, the dedication she’d put into her school pursuits, her life out of school—it was all wrapped up into this culmination at graduation that was happening in two days—and she wanted to stay away.

  “I understand, Ellen. But I don’t agree. People will always gossip about one thing or the other. Most won’t have any idea about any of this, and the ones who do . . . well, they know you and care about you.” I sat beside her. “If you don’t go to graduation and give the speech, you’ll always regret it.”

  Her expression was sad yet stubborn. She ignored the hot chocolate and rolled over, turning away from me.

  “Graduation is in two days, Ellen. Your speech is ready, and you’ll be brilliant as always, and all this nonsense will be in the past.”

  She looked over her shoulder at me, doubtful.

  “My sweet girl, we’ll talk about it in the morning. After a night’s sleep, we’ll both feel more objective about it. Sleep in and I’ll get you up for breakfast. We’ll have all our favorites.”

  “OK, Mom.”

  OK. Such an inadequate word. Tonight, it was probably the best I could hope for from my hurting child.

  “Good night,” I said softly and closed her door, but not all the way.

  How could I go to bed and sleep as if nothing had changed? I wandered back to the kitchen. It was neat. Not a speck of dust. No item was out of place. The soft light over the sink lit the granite counter and the pewter fixtures. All was well. But it wasn’t. I stood there at the counter, and I’d never felt so alone in my life. If I’d wanted to go to Roger for advice, perhaps for comfort, that was now out of the question. It would be like confirming I wanted him only when I needed him. I knew that wasn’t true, but he didn’t.

  During the night, I peeked into Ellen’s room, and she appeared to be sleeping. The baby book was lying open on her desk.
I didn’t know what that meant, but it made me inexpressibly sad.

  In the morning, I arose early, checked again on Ellen who was still asleep, and grabbed my shower. As the water streamed over me, I practiced what I might say to her. First was the graduation problem. I wanted her to attend, but I could accept her decision not to, if that was truly her choice. Beyond that, I had tougher decisions to make.

  I lured her out of bed with eggs, bacon, and cinnamon toast. She came to the kitchen and picked at the food. She left quietly, and I heard the shower running. When she returned to the kitchen, she seemed more like herself.

  I took a chance and asked, “Did you hear from Bonnie?”

  “She texted and apologized. Same with Braden.”

  Braden. Who knew what impact he’d have on our lives? Certainly, when Eva Pullen had mentioned Melissa’s baby all those years ago, I hadn’t.

  But Ellen seemed to be working things out with her friends. Whether I liked them or not, I saw that as encouraging.

  “That’s good, right?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.” She leaned against the island as I rinsed the breakfast dishes. “Mom?”

  Here it comes, I thought. The graduation conversation. “What, Ellen?”

  “I’m going to stay home.”

  “From graduation? You don’t want to miss that. You’ll regret it.”

  “No. I’m not going to graduation and not to college, either.”

  I spun around. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t want to start college under these circumstances. Bonnie and Braden and all our friends will be there.” She pushed her damp hair out of her face. “I’ll delay a year. I’ll go somewhere else. Maybe to a school in California or somewhere.”

  My throat and mouth had suddenly gone dry. I only croaked a noise and then coughed.

  Ellen tried to smile, but her puffy red-rimmed eyes betrayed reality. “The good thing, the good news is, I’ll be here to help you move out to the new house. I’ll go home to Cooper’s Hollow with you, and I’ll figure it all out later.”

  “No!” The word erupted from me. “No, Ellen. I don’t need your help. I can manage on my own.”

  She turned pale. She looked stricken.

  “No, sweetheart.” I moved forward to touch her arms, but she shrank away. “You’ll see this is no big deal. It will pass quickly. You’ll stick with your plans. You’ll graduate and you’ll go to Tech. Nothing else is acceptable. Trust me. Everything will be fine.”

  She crossed her arms and turned her face away. “No, Mom, I don’t think anything will ever be fine again.”

  She walked down the hall. I heard the soft noise of her door closing.

  Without the kitchen counter to hold me, I would’ve fallen. The world spiraled around me in a series of errors repeating and sins recurring. I closed my eyes and focused. This would not be. Ellen would go to college. She would face this down. A tempest in a teapot of a small town . . . She was too young and vulnerable to understand how swiftly this would blow over if she could manage to ignore it. Her world, our world, would right itself, and I intended to proceed on that basis. It had worked thus far. We would soon be back on the right trajectory. My personal universe had had a number of resettings. It had worked for me.

  The butterfly—one of the butterflies Ellen was always collecting and sticking here and there—was held by a magnet on the side of the refrigerator. I pulled the colorful paper butterfly from beneath the magnet and held it to my cheek. I closed my eyes and saw George Bridger’s stained glass window with the butterflies and lilies entwined.

  Lilies for death and butterflies for rebirth. It stunned me. Where had I heard that? I had no recollection, but I knew what I had to do, no matter how painful.

  My daughter’s hurt had far more power to destroy me than any hurt or fear of my own. Except for once, long ago. Only then had I experienced pain that could never be exceeded. At least, not be exceeded and survived.

  If I lost my daughter again, would it destroy me? Life as I knew it, probably, but there would be life beyond it as long as Ellen was alive and happy in this world. My child. My heart.

  As far as I knew, Gran, as Clara, had married my grandfather willingly. They were happy together and depended upon each other greatly for the years I had borne witness to. Yet they’d had only one child, and she’d been born late in life. I didn’t know if there’d been others, miscarriages or lost infants. Gran had never discussed it with me. But that one child, the one they’d poured their love and hope into, had eloped and trusted her love to a man who didn’t deserve it. She’d loved unwisely, and it had killed her and damaged both Gran and Grand, and me, too, although I hadn’t really understood until this moment. Gran had passed the damage on to me by her silence. Was she protecting herself or me by not telling me the truth? She’d worked hard to keep me from knowing and to protect herself from having to encounter the remarks from nosy people in town.

  How it must’ve hurt her when I seemed to be repeating the same errors . . . and yet, she’d been afraid I would leave. I’d known it and hadn’t blamed her, but I’d made sure the same issue wasn’t true for Ellen. I’d gone out of my way to encourage her in school and the community. I did everything I could to make sure she’d go on to college and not be held back by me.

  Yet my biggest error had been made back when she was left on our porch and I decided not to tell the sheriff. There was no righting it. I wouldn’t go back and change it if I could because I also believed it was the only decision I could have made, error or not. Wrong or not.

  But to allow the error to continue to shape Ellen’s future was wrong.

  How could I fix it? How could I stop the error from continuing infinitely into the future?

  Only by acknowledgment and confession.

  The distress in my heart, the pain in my head, it all eased. I breathed deeply. Only the right decision could bring this feeling of relief.

  I would do this. I would do it well. All wasn’t necessarily lost.

  Honesty, sincerity, and love were the essential keys. I would tell her the truth. We’d work through it together.

  With fear, but also with newfound peace in my heart, I went down the hall toward Ellen’s room.

  I should’ve known somehow. The air in the house should’ve changed with her departure, but I hadn’t felt it. As the curtains blew into the room, billowing on the late May breeze, my brain struggled to understand its meaning. The window was open, and the screen had been removed. I saw the screen, haphazardly propped against Ellen’s dresser.

  The bed was disordered. The pillow was out of place. The bedspread had ridges and valleys left behind by a restless or distraught young woman. One who was no longer present.

  I went to the window, stared outside, and tried to think. The curtain wrapped around my face. The other panel draped itself on my shoulder. Her car should have been in the driveway. It wasn’t.

  Who? Where? Why? The questions spun in my brain. Had she gone to see Bonnie? Braden?

  Her phone. She’d have it with her. I ran for my own.

  Our phones communicated locations. I could find out immediately where she was.

  No location found. She didn’t show up on my phone.

  No cell service.

  She was in Cooper’s Hollow.

  Whatever my daughter was doing out there, I needed to reach her before she moved on. I grabbed my purse and keys. I ran to the garage and my car.

  I controlled myself until I was out of the Mineral town limits and then opened up my speed on the winding road. I knew the road well from many years of driving it or as a passenger with Grand.

  It was almost as if he and Gran were there with me, urging me forward.

  Her car was there in the new parking area. Only hers. I was grateful. I closed my eyes and bowed my head to my hands, gripping the steering wheel. I wanted to do this right. With the least damage. To me, of course, but more especially to my daughter. To Ellen. I didn’t know what the right wo
rds were or whether such words existed in the universe. I felt alone. Absolutely alone.

  Everyone must pay his or her debts eventually. This must be my turn, I thought. But I had hope. Our love, our bond, was so strong I believed we’d make it past this. Regardless, this was Ellen’s life, her future. I would pay any price necessary to make her happy.

  Cooper’s Hollow looked different now with the construction far along and blocking the old views, including the view of the pottery cabin. The huge storage container still sat in the front. It was a construction site, and that’s what it looked like. The house was well along, but it wasn’t home yet.

  Where was home anyway? Here in the past? On Rose Lane in the present? Or was it where our loved ones were? Not those in the grave, of course. We carried them with us in our memories. For them, the cemetery was not their home but only a memorial. As much as one might miss them and respect them, it was hard to hold a cold memorial and feel the love returned.

  “Ellen?” I waited. When she didn’t answer, I stepped up onto the porch.

  The ground was rough around the porch, churned and clay-red. The roof was on the house, and the plywood was up for the exterior walls. It was far from being finished but full of the promise of what it would be. The porch post showed preliminary notching and shaping. Liam’s work, of course, but no tools were in evidence, and there was nothing fresh like wood shavings or a coffee cup or whatever to indicate he was around. I paused in the doorway and called Ellen’s name again.

  Most of the interior walls were only framed—very little drywall was up—so the view from the front door to the back array of windows was open, yet it was dim inside. Ellen was standing at those back windows, facing the woods and cast into dark silhouette by the outside light.

  She hunched her shoulders forward but otherwise didn’t respond when I called her name.

  I stopped near her. “Why did you run away?”

  Ellen didn’t answer. She crossed her arms and kept her back to me.

  “Sweetheart, we need to talk. There are things I haven’t told you, or anyone, that you need to know.”