Kilt in Scotland

by Patience Griffin

  Is Ella doomed to repeat my mistakes?

  She tried to shove the thought from her mind, but she couldn’t stop from feeling—down to her bones—that Ella’s drinking was inherently her fault.

  Hope glanced at the car keys hanging on the hook by the front door. At least there was that; Ella wouldn’t be driving. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t getting a ride home with another inebriated teen.

  To stop fretting, Hope pushed herself off the couch and strode to the closet, pulling out a rucksack. “I’ll start packing without her,” she thought, more than a little annoyed. At least once a year they took a snow camping trip in the thick forests surrounding Sweet Home, where Hope could test Ella’s survival skills.

  Hope’s gaze traveled to the clock once again. Yes, according to the experts, only five percent of what you worry about actually happens. But Hope knew that danger lurked around every corner, ready to ruin lives. She was living proof of how a good life could turn awful in an instant. And how, once things went bad, there was no way to turn back time and recapture the joy she once had. When her parents named her Hope, they’d made a grievous error…because she had none. Her job-one now? To prepare Ella for what lay ahead, good or bad.

  Hope went to Ella’s room and unearthed her daughter’s backpack from a pile of clothes. As an exhausted and overworked single parent, she’d thrown in the towel about Ella keeping her room picked up. In the vast scheme of things, an untidy room wasn’t important. Having skills to make it alone was. Knowing how to survive in the wild was key, too. Their camping trip would only be one night, but two days—Saturday and Sunday—the first two days Hope had off since September.

  Before she could dig past the second layer of clothes on the floor to find Ella’s wool socks, Hope’s phone rang. She raced for the other room and caught it on the tail end of the second ring, knowing it had to be Ella.

  “Where are you?”

  But Hope was wrong; it was Piney Douglas, the closest thing she had to a mother now. Not that she didn’t love Piney, but Hope’s heart sank. Where are you, Ella?

  “Where am I?” Piney chuckled. “I’m in my drafty apartment above the Hungry Bear,” the grocery store/diner where Hope worked. “Where else would I be?”

  “I thought you were Ella.” Hope could’ve piped in that Piney could’ve been next door in the small wooden cabin with her boyfriend, Bill Morningstar, a sixty-ish native, who was known throughout Sweet Home for making Alaskan quilts.

  Piney clucked. “Ella is fine. I’d know if something was wrong.”

  Hope didn’t believe in crystals, Tarot cards, tea leaf reading, and other psychic nonsense, like Piney did. Bill thought Piney’s dealings with the other world was complete rubbish and didn’t seem to think twice about voicing his opinion to Piney. Hope had to admit that at times Piney had the uncanny ability to know what was up with Ella, and thus decided that Piney was an intuitive. Piney maintained she was more in touch with the universe than regular folks because she was born on the Summer Solstice. She looked like Mother Earth—her gray hair curled at her shoulders, her Bohemian skirts flowing about her, and her wise smiling face, as if she was privy to the world’s inner secrets. Piney had come to Alaska in 1970 at the age of twenty-two in search of the truth. A self-proclaimed hippie, she’d arrived in Sweet Home in her converted blue school bus, way ahead of the curve in the tiny home movement. Piney and her thirty-four-year-old daughter, Sparkle, had lived in that blue bus until just a few weeks ago, when two suits from Juneau had arrived, asking to purchase the bus for the state capitol as part of a pioneer sculpture. Piney took the money, telling everyone she’d outgrown the bus. But Hope knew money was tight since Sparkle’s emergency appendectomy. It was perfect timing, too, as the apartment above the Hungry Bear had been vacated the week before.

  “Keep your chin up, buttercup. Don’t let your negative thinking carry you away. Besides, I’m calling to see if the rumor is true.”

  Once again, Hope glanced at the clock. Ten-forty. Maybe she should call the Alaska State Troopers to find Ella. “What rumor?”

  “Mr. Brewster heard at the bank that Donovan Stone is coming home.”

  It felt like lightning struck. Hope couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think either. “Donovan? Here?” What am I going to do? She hadn’t seen him in seventeen years, not since his grandmother’s funeral. Where he’d told Hope he never wanted to see her again. And he hadn’t.

  The front door creaked. For a second, Piney’s call kept Hope from being able to move. But as Ella tripped on the threshold, Hope yelled into her phone, “Gotta go.” She lunged for her daughter, breaking her fall and keeping Ella’s head from hitting the corner of the side table.

  Ella’s response was to laugh as she went down. “You should see your face!”

  Hope didn’t think it was funny. “Where have you been?” She kicked the door shut with her foot. Winter was just getting started, and the baseboard heaters were expensive to run.

  Ella stopped laughing. “Chill, Mom. I was just out with friends.” Her words were slurred, and her breath smelled like cheap wine.

  A smell that brought back awful memories.

  “Who drove you home tonight?” Hope hadn’t heard a vehicle. “Were they drinking, too?”

  “I walked home from Lacey’s.”

  “The trail through the forest?” Hope glanced up at the transom window to the black sky beyond. “Did you have your flashlight with you?”

  “I was fine,” Ella said. “I didn’t need my flashlight. I know my way.”

  But Alaska was dangerous!

  Sweet Home wasn’t Anchorage, but someone could’ve kidnapped Ella and Hope would’ve never seen her again.

  She got to her feet and helped Ella to her feet, too. “We’re going to talk about this tomorrow. I know you’re sad about Grandpa’s passing—”

  Ella swayed side to side. “Don’t bring Grandpa into this. He has nothing to do with anything.” She wobbled into her room.

  Hope followed and caught the door before Ella slammed it shut. Hope’s heart was heavy, so very heavy, as she watched her teenage daughter stagger across her room and fall into bed. Hope plodded over to Ella and pulled off her boots. “I think your drinking has everything to do with Grandpa’s death.”

  Death was such a harsh word, but it had been harsh for Hope to see her dad lying in that casket, felled by a heart attack. There hadn’t been time to fall apart, though. Hope had to keep it together for Ella. Remain strong. Even when she felt her life coming apart at the seams.

  Ella stacked her hands behind her head. She glanced over at Hope before looking up at the ceiling. “Tell me a story. Tell me again about Aunt Izzie.”

  Had people been talking? Had Ella heard something, since the rumor was spreading about Donovan returning to town? “You haven’t asked about her in a long time.”

  “I know. I just want to hear about her now.” Ella reached over the side of the bed and pulled a ribbon from between the mattress and box spring. “I found this ribbon and want to tie it on the Memory Tree.”

  Hope reached out and ran her hand down the ribbon. “We can do that on our camping trip, okay?”

  “Sure,” Ella said.

  Hope had started the Memory Tree after Izzie died. It was the same mountain hemlock where Donovan had carved Izzie’s name—Isabella!—declaring the tree was now hers. At eight-years-old, Izzie had been thrilled. After Izzie’s death, Hope had started visiting the tree, bringing treasures, things Izzie might like and decorated the tree. Over the years, Ella had enjoyed finding new treasures for Aunt Izzie and the two of them had continued the tradition.

  “Go ahead. Talk about Aunt Izzie.” Ella closed her eyes, as if she was six again, listening to a bedtime story.

  Hope understood. There was only the two of them left. When Ella was little, Hope had started telling her stories about Izzie. It was one of the ways Hope kept her sister alive, and a way for Ella to know her namesake. Hope’s mother had hated that she’d named her chi
ld after her dead sister, telling her it was cruel, making Mom despise Hope more.

  Izzie was always a clear image in Hope’s mind and Hope never tired of talking about her. “I loved Izzie. She was just a little thing with a big personality. Even though she was six years younger than me, she tried to act like we were the same age and wanted to do everything I did. Because your grandmother worked nights in the ER at Teklanika Regional Hospital, I babysat her a lot. It was fun. I taught her so much, from how to say her ABCs to how to tie her shoes. When we’d go with Mom to the Sisterhood of the Quilt stitch-ins, Izzie and I would set our sewing machines side-by-side and make all sorts of things from the fabric the Sisterhood would give us. Like matching pillowcases for the bedroom we shared, and blankets for Izzie’s stuffed animals. We used to play Barbies together, bake cookies, and I didn’t really mind if she tagged along with me and my friends.” Most of the time, anyway. Donovan and his brother, Beau, were great about letting Izzie hang out with them, too.

  “What happened to Aunt Izzie?” Ella said.

  “I told you. She died,” Hope said.

  “You’ve never told me how,” Ella said.

  For the first time, it felt like the right moment, since Ella was clearly drunk. And sharing the story would be just one more way for Hope to atone for what she’d done to Izzie and their family. Tonight, especially tonight, Ella needed to hear the cautionary tale.

  “Okay,” Hope said. “I’ll tell you now.”

  She started at the beginning of that awful night. “It was New Year’s Eve, the day before I turned eighteen. I was at a party, celebrating with my friends.”

  Hope left out the part about Donovan, how they’d fought that night. How her friends had encouraged her to dull her anger and disappointment with alcohol after he’d dropped the bomb that he was going to stay in Alaska for college, not go to Boston like they’d planned. Maturity and years of adulting had Hope seeing things differently. She understood now why he couldn’t turn down a full-ride, when every penny counted at his dad’s house. Yes, Hope would leave out Donovan when telling Ella the story, but she wouldn’t leave out the important part and shy away from her guilt in the tragedy. “I had a few sips of wine from one of those red Solo cups.”

  “So what? A few sips won’t kill you, Mom,” her inebriated daughter said. “I drank more than that tonight and I’m fine.”

  “Sure. You’re fine. I should’ve videoed your swan-dive through the front door a few minutes ago. Even a few sips of alcohol can impair your reflexes.” When you need them the most. It had been that way for Hope. She was lucky that when they tested her she was below the legal limit.

  Hope crossed the room. “Scooch over so I can tell you the rest.” She sat beside Ella on her twin bed. “While I was still at the party, Grandma Penny called from the hospital, telling me to pick up Izzie from a sleepover, because Izzie was complaining of a stomachache.”

  “I bet you didn’t want to leave your friends,” Ella said.

  Guilt covered Hope, wrapped around her like a familiar, well-worn robe, the tie in the middle squeezing her stomach until it hurt.

  It was true. Her senior year, she’d begun resenting how much of her time wasn’t her own, how she had to drop everything to take care of Izzie. Izzie wanted her to play like they used to, but Hope only wanted to spend time alone with Donovan. After being best friends their whole lives, Donovan had finally stopped serial dating every girl in Sweet Home High and saw Hope as more than one of the guys. Hope, meanwhile, had loved him from the first day he’d moved in next door.

  “Mom? Mom! You’re doing it again,” Ella said.

  “What?”

  “Zoning out. Get back to the story.”

  It wasn’t just a story to Hope. She’d lived it. And she had to make her daughter understand how life could go wrong in an instant. She dropped into lecture mode. “From a young age, my mom told me to stay away from alcohol. Working the nightshift at the ER, she saw the disastrous outcomes of drinking and driving—mangled bodies, loss of life.” It always hurt to say these words, but Hope was doing penance. “At the time, I didn’t think it was a big deal to have a few sips. I didn’t know I was going to be driving right away. But I was the one with the car keys and I shouldn’t have drank at all.” Also, Hope never understood those who couldn’t have fun without knocking back a few. Donovan was one of them. She’d loved him, but she didn’t like that he drank so much, and so often.

  “So…you picked up Aunt Izzie…” Ella missing the point of what Hope had just said.

  Hope sighed, feeling defeated, but plowed on anyway. “The point is, I should’ve listened to my mother and stayed away from alcohol.”

  Ella rolled her eyes. “Enough with the sermon, already. What happened next?”

  “I yelled at Izzie for being a nuisance. For faking being sick.” Hope had railed on her little sister, telling her that she’d ruined her night. Hope would never forget how Donovan had reached over and laid his hand on hers. Don’t take it out on Izzie. I know you’re mad at me.

  “Then?”

  This was always the hardest part, recalling those horrible details. “There was a snowplow in the other lane.”

  “Was it snowing bad out?” her daughter asked.

  “Not when I’d left home, but by the time I left the party, visibility was bad, nearly a whiteout.” Donovan had offered to drive, but Hope wouldn’t let him. He’d had too much to drink. Sixteen-year-old Beau was three-sheets-to-the-wind, too. It was left to Hope to get them all home safely.

  “But you’ve driven in snow your whole life. What’s the big deal?” her daughter prompted.

  “There was a moose. He charged into the road in front of the snowplow.” Hope took a deep breath to get the next words out. “The snowplow hit the moose and sent it flying toward my side of the road. I hit it. The moose flipped backwards and crushed the back of my car.” If only she’d had better reflexes to swerve and miss the bull. The biggest if only of her life.

  She didn’t remember too much after that, only what the snowplow driver had told her and the State Trooper at the hospital. She’d often wondered if she could’ve saved her sister if only she’d been prepared—stopped the bleeding, kept her from going into shock. It was one of the reasons Hope was adamant about teaching her daughter survival skills, beyond hunting and fishing, although those things were very important, too. Alaska was wild and anything could happen.

  “I don’t know why Donovan and I were brought to the hospital first.”

  “Donovan? Who’s Donovan?” her daughter asked.

  “Nobody,” Hope said quickly. She’d never told her daughter that Donovan and Beau had been in the car that night, too. “I was dazed from the accident and only had a broken arm.” Donovan just cuts and bruises. “Even though I confessed right away to my mom that I had drunk some wine, she didn’t yell at me, but was only relieved I was okay.” Beau arrived in the next ambulance and was pronounced dead on arrival. “When Izzie was wheeled in on the stretcher, she looked so small and broken. She only lived an hour before dying.” Hope would never forget seeing her mother collapse with grief beside Izzie’s hospital bed.

  “And that’s why I’m head of MADD in our area,” Hope finished, though the story was far from complete. She left out the part where her mother never forgave her. How her parents split up over Izzie’s death and her father moved to Fairbanks. How it was her mother who brought MADD to their borough, and then on her deathbed, insisted Hope take over.

  “What happened to your mom? You and Grandpa never talked about her either.”

  Hope shrugged, not wanting to get into it. “She got sick—cancer—and died a few years later.” Mom had been livid when Hope got up the courage two months after the accident to tell her that she was pregnant. It’s a slap in the face, her mom had said, Don’t we have enough to worry about. When baby Ella was born, Mom pretended her granddaughter didn’t exist. After her death, Dad had moved back to Sweet Home to help, easing the load of raising a chi
ld alone. But now he was gone, too.

  Ella looked stricken, then turned to face the wall. “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “What if you die, too?” Ella’s voice was strained.

  Hope understood. They didn’t have anyone now, now that her dad was gone.

  She wanted to tell her: There are worse things than death. Like being rejected at seventeen by your own mother, and being forced from the house, alone and pregnant. Whenever she thought about that dark time, Hope counted her blessings. She owed Piney so much: For giving her a job and letting her stay with them in the bus until after Mom died.

  Hope wanted to reiterate how important it was to be ready for every contingency, how important it was that Ella be prepared…for accidents and to go it alone. If Hope had been prepared seventeen years ago, she might’ve handled her mother’s rejection better, instead of letting grief and depression nearly consume her.

  Maybe it was time to tell Ella more of the truth. How Donovan and Beau had been in the car that night. How her mother couldn’t stand to look at Hope after she’d killed her sister. Maybe the truth would scare Ella straight.

  But Ella had fallen asleep.

  Hope brushed her daughter’s light brown hair from her face. The same color hair as the father she’d never known. And Hope was sure she’d never tell Ella the truth about Donovan.

  She turned off the light and left Ella’s room, feeling drained. She’d spent the last seventeen years feeling tired. Exhausted to the bone.

  Hope didn’t have the energy to finish packing for their camping trip tonight or to worry about Donovan coming to town. She shuffled to her ten by ten-foot bedroom. She didn’t turn on the lights but slipped off her slippers and jeans before climbing into bed with her turtleneck and sweater still on.