She was the best part of my life. My beautiful, intelligent, charming daughter. My Ellen.
I tossed the dust rag into the bin, fluffed the sofa pillows, and straightened the cushions, then went to the back door. I paused to grab a bottle of water from the fridge and to slip my feet into my yard shoes. The backyard garden was relatively shady this time of day, and nothing relaxed me like working with my hands. I donned my gloves, knelt on the rubber kneepad, and spent a couple of quiet hours searching out the tiny weeds from the dirt. As I turned the soil with the spade, I amended it with fertilizer. I wouldn’t plant anything outside until May due to frost worries. My grandmother had always insisted I wait. I laughed softly at the memory. She would’ve told me yet again about that Easter snow when she was young, of how deep it had been. And then she would go on to recite stories of late frosts that had tricked many an unwary gardener. Small wonder I learned early to start the seedlings in the safety of the house. In a few short weeks, I’d move them out here.
If the house building went as planned, I’d end up transplanting the herbs, the tomato and cucumber plants, and whatever else I decided to grow, to the Hollow come June. Knowing I’d be putting the plants through a second move, a good start was especially important.
Using the back of my gloved hand, I brushed my hair away from my face. The sun was warm on my back. The breeze touched my cheeks. It made me smile. I couldn’t collapse properly, but at least I knew how to laugh at myself. Nerves got me going. No wonder I stayed slim.
I was feeling better now. It was time to put away my tools and wash up. Ellen would be home soon, and she’d be hungry.
Her friend Bonnie dropped her off at the house. I heard the car drive up and then drive away, and Ellen came through the front door, calling out, “Mom? Mom?”
She was always upbeat. I glanced at the clock. Right on time. Her snack was waiting on the island in the kitchen.
“Here you are,” Ellen said as she dropped her notebook on the granite counter and hopped up onto the island stool. “Guess what?” She took a sip of lemonade. “Remember I told you Bonnie was waitlisted for Tech?”
I would’ve nodded, but Ellen barely paused, saying, “Bonnie got the letter.” Her face glowed, and her dark eyes flashed with amber sparks.
“For Tech?”
“Of course. We’ll be there together! We’ll room together. Or get an apartment together. Oh, Mom, it’s going to be great.”
“Wow. I don’t even know what to say.” I tried to match her excitement, but many emotions swirled inside me and it was hard to sound genuine.
Luckily, Ellen didn’t seem to notice my hesitation. “I know, right? How amazing is it?”
“Amazing. For now, though, you’d better eat. What time do you have to be at work?”
“At five. I get off at seven.”
I walked over to stand beside her. “What about your homework?”
She sighed, tossing her long, dark hair. It fell across her shoulder and cascaded down her back again in perfect lines, like a fan spreading wide. I couldn’t help myself. I pulled the locks back and away from her face while she bit into the sandwich. She allowed me a few minutes of play-braiding her hair while she chewed.
“Soon, homework—at least for high school—will be a thing of the past,” I said, her hair entwined with my fingers. “What am I going to do when you take off for college?”
Ellen was suddenly still. She leaned the side of her head against my palm. “I’ll only be three hours away.”
“More like four,” I responded.
“Are you going to be OK, Mom?”
I was appalled at myself. I didn’t want to lose her, but more than that, I didn’t want to hold her back. I released her hair and put my hands on her shoulders.
“Don’t you worry. I have plans, remember? Be patient with your old mom? I have to do a certain amount of moaning and groaning. How else will you know you’ll be missed?”
“Old? You’re the youngest mom I know of in the whole senior class. People think you’re my older sister.”
“Nonsense.”
“You were my age when I was born.”
“No, ma’am. I was nineteen. You are seventeen.” I watched the braid fall apart, slowly unwinding. “Besides, I have plans. Plans I’ve put off for many years. It’s time now.”
Ellen smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So those plans of yours . . . do they include Roger?”
“Of course. He was showing me the house plans earlier today.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Roger and I are friends. Good friends. That’s it.”
“Fine.” She shook her head. “You’re wrong, but have it your way. Tell me, then, if not Roger, then someone else? You should have someone special, someone all your own. A boyfriend. I worry about you, Mom.”
“Well, don’t. If I meet anyone I’m interested in romantically, I’ll be sure to lasso and hog-tie him until you have a chance to pass judgment.” I patted her shoulder. “Now finish your sandwich and I’ll drive you over.” Then I saw it. I touched her wrist. “What’s this?”
“My butterfly?” She saw my expression and giggled. “It’s temporary, Mom. Not a real tattoo.”
Earlier in the school year, Ellen had drawn a big, colorful butterfly on the front of her notebook. Now she’d inked one in black on her forearm above her wrist.
“It’s a felt-tipped pen, Mom. It’ll wear off.” She sounded sad. Then the end of her mouth quirked up, and she put her wrist next to her cheek and asked, “What do you think? How would this look? A butterfly on my cheek?”
I pulled her arm away from her face. “No tattoos.”
She was teasing. I was horrified anyway.
“No tattoos. I mean it.”
She touched the flesh where she’d drawn the butterfly. “Bonnie and I want to get matching tattoos. Just a small butterfly, Mom, that’s all. On our arms, I think. Monarchs. Those are the orange ones.”
“Don’t even consider it.”
She groaned. “Mom, no fair. Everyone has tattoos now. And this one is appropriate. Symbolic. We are starting whole new lives. Leaving Mineral and high school behind. Becoming adults and being on our own at college—”
“No tattoos.” I frowned and pointed at her. “Promise me.”
“For now, I promise.”
“I don’t like surprises. Not that kind, anyway.”
“I promise I won’t do it without telling you first.”
“Not without my agreement.”
“But, Mom, you’ll never agree.”
“Don’t say never. Nothing is forever or never, and stuff happens all the time whether we want it to or not. But tattoos? When you’re thirty, if you still want one, then I won’t interfere.” I paused. “Probably.”
Ellen stopped in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. She turned back toward me. “I love you, Mom, but I’m not a child anymore. I’m about to graduate.”
“And?”