The Memory of Butterflies: A Novel

by Grace Greene

  “Good. But Ellen . . . what about the other kids? Your friends. Is it all settled?”

  “It’s all good now. Mr. Bell apologized to a bunch of people. Said he’d been mixed up, and then he said goofy stuff like if he’d had a daughter, he’d want it to be me and how people had misunderstood him. Ridiculous, but it worked, and everyone’s moved on to other topics. You said they would.” She sighed. “But after the way they acted, I don’t know if I’ll ever trust them again, not like I used to.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  “Not me. Not really. I’m glad I know the truth. I’m extremely glad Mr. Bell isn’t my father.” She stared at me, perhaps to gauge my reaction. Whatever she read in my face must’ve reassured her. “I guess you know by now that everyone thinks you and Liam fooled around all those years ago? No one knows the real story. I’m comfortable with that. You are, too, right?”

  I nodded and tried to choke down the lump in my throat.

  “I’d better get on the road. See you soon, Mom,” she said, but she didn’t move. She stood there holding the sandwich bag and the drink. Suddenly, she set them back on the counter and rushed over to me. She flung her arms around me, gave me a quick, strong hug, then reclaimed the bag and bottle and was gone out the door.

  I ran after her but stopped myself on the porch. “Wait, Ellen. Please?”

  She paused in the yard. “What?”

  “I need to know . . . Have you forgiven me? Will you ever be able to trust me again?”

  She fixed those dark eyes on me and tilted her head to the side. With a small smile she said, “I’m not saying that what you did was right, but if I ever have a child who needs someone to love and protect them, and it can’t be me, then you’re my first choice.”

  With a last nod, she got into the car.

  As she drove away, I blew her a kiss and waved. The car horn honked once as she vanished around the curve.

  Nearly overwhelmed by the encounter, the embrace, and the promise, I leaned against the posts and ran my fingers lightly over the carvings. No butterflies here, thank goodness.

  After a few minutes, I sat in the rocker. I was still there an hour later when Roger’s SUV came into view.

  He parked and walked over to join me on the porch. “She’s gone now?”

  I nodded.

  “Are you upset?”

  “Yes,” I said, and smiled. “And no.”

  “There’s no pleasing you, Hannah Cooper,” he joked.

  I reached out and took his hand.

  These days there were two rockers on the porch. “Have a seat,” I said.

  “How did it go?” he asked as he sat and stretched out his legs.

  “She said Spencer admitted he’d had it all wrong, and he apologized to folks about saying all that stuff.”

  Roger feigned surprise.

  “Don’t bother,” I said. “I know someone spoke to him, and I think it was you.”

  He shrugged. “He’s foolish. Not necessarily a cruel man, but self-centered. I pointed out a few realities to him, and he decided to do the decent thing.”

  I laughed. “He did wrong when he told the truth, but the decent thing when he agreed to lie?” I touched Roger’s arm. “I think I must be a bad influence on you.”

  “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. No complaints here.” He stood and pulled me to my feet.

  Roger wrapped his arms around me. He spoke into my hair. “I have loved you for many years. You never asked me to hang around waiting. I made that choice on my own. I was wrong to blame you.”

  I put my hand lightly on his cheek. “I’m glad you did wait. I couldn’t ask anyone to love me as I was, with so much to hide and knowing in my heart that one day it was bound to fall apart, and I didn’t know I could love anyone else this much. I thought every bit of love I had in me belonged to my daughters. I’m not sure all my problems are resolved even now, but I hope you’ll continue hanging around with me to find out.”

  He stepped back, his expression serious, but his hands were gentle as he caressed my arms. “One more thing we need to deal with, Hannah. Something that’s seriously overdue. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  One more thing? Enough already. But I waited.

  Roger walked to his SUV and pulled something large from the backseat.

  Whatever was wrong, at least I’d have his help with the problem, and its solution, too, if I needed him.

  Roger paused at the foot of the steps and held up a board. It was a painted sign, carved and artistically weathered to look like an antique, but it was new and wonderful. Perfect for the cabin and for a fresh start.

  Aloud, I read the words, “Cub Creek Pottery.”

  “Yeah,” Roger said. “The old shop relocated, I hear.” He grinned. “I picked this sign up cheap from a local woodworker. He does good work, doesn’t he? Think you can find a place to hang it?”

  After Roger left, I went to Ellen’s room and stood at the window again. There was no shadowy figure on the cemetery wall. The small figure hadn’t returned, and I knew she wouldn’t. The past was now officially in the past.

  Ellen had arranged a few trinkets and personal items, including a hairbrush and a framed photo of Gran and Grand, on top of the dresser.

  What about the clothing in those bags she’d carried? Why had she expressed that odd concern about whether I would approve of where she put them?

  I opened the top drawer and found something unexpected amid the T-shirts and pajama bottoms. I lifted it out carefully.

  The baby book.

  I hugged it to me and rested my cheek against the top edge.

  Also in the drawer, nestled next to the book, I saw a carefully glued and mended blue butterfly pot. There were a few small gaps where the pieces were chipped or missing, but that was OK. I knew where they were.

  They were safely and securely held in my heart.

  Forever.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to Kelli Martin, my editor at Lake Union, for her support and encouragement, and to Lindsay Guzzardo, my developmental editor, who worked with me to make this the best book possible. This story involved challenging, often difficult, life events and choices, but telling Hannah’s, Ellen’s, and Gran’s story meant a great deal to me, and Lindsay’s help was amazing in bringing it together.

  Lake Union provided an amazing team to help me with The Happiness In Between and The Memory of Butterflies and I’m very grateful. In addition to Kelli and Lindsay, I’d like to thank Stacy Abrams for keeping my stories free from timeline or grammatical embarrassment, Toisan Craigg for her excellent and patient proofreading, Laura Klynstra for the outstandingly gorgeous covers, and others whose names I don’t know but whose contributions to the team make it all work.

  Thanks to my husband, who is my rock and support through the long hours of writing and the emotional toil of creating stories to share with readers, and sincere gratitude to my first readers, Amy, Amy, Jill, and Julie, who help me understand what works and what doesn’t.

  Most of all, thanks to the readers who take the time to enter my worlds, whether along the North Carolina beaches or in rural Virginia amid the forests and dark, winding roads, and who stay awhile, and who share their own experiences and their reading enjoyment with me and others.

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  How might things have been different if Hannah had gone to college after graduation, as intended? How might this have affected George Bridger’s decision and his granddaughter’s life?

  What did you think when Hannah made the decision to keep the child? Did she make a rational choice? Was it the right choice? Later, she says she would’ve come forward if the child’s father had returned earlier. Do you think she would have?

  Secrets were kept from Hannah by her grandparents, and Hannah, in turn, keeps secrets from her daughter. Ultimately, Hannah confesses the truth to Ellen yet, at the end of the story, she tells one more lie, deliberately and with forethought, to protect her. Would y
ou have done the same?

  Themes of love, truth, loss, and acceptance recur throughout this story, but the predominant theme is that of birth and rebirth, both literally and figuratively, in the references to metamorphosis, the Cooper cemetery, and Hannah’s clay figurines. Which recurring motifs or symbols spoke to you?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Grace Greene is an award-winning and USA Today bestselling author of women’s fiction and contemporary romance set in the bucolic reaches of her native Virginia (Kincaid’s Hope, Cub Creek, The Happiness In Between, The Memory of Butterflies) and the breezy beaches of Emerald Isle, North Carolina (Beach Rental, Beach Winds). Her debut novel, Beach Rental, and the sequel, Beach Winds, were both Top Picks by RT Book Reviews magazine. For more about the author and her books, visit www.gracegreene.com or connect with her on Twitter @Grace_Greene and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/GraceGreeneBooks.