They say time gives perspective, and in a way it does. Christmas goes by. Clem and I spend it with Mother and Dad at their apartment. It’s different from past holidays—sadder, because of the empty space where Richard should have been—but it was surprisingly nice, all of us tucked up in one little room, eating and drinking and being together. Clem didn’t even seem to notice that she had only a few gifts. I’d been living paycheck to paycheck while working at Rosalind House, and now I wasn’t really sure what I was going to do. A lot of places were closed for the Christmas break, so I was banking on finding a job in the New Year. In the meantime, Mother and Dad wrote me a modest check for a Christmas present, which I hoped would tide me over.
Angus and I stay in touch, mostly via text message. He understands that Clem is my focus. Sometimes after she’s asleep, I lie on the couch and just talk to him on the phone. No matter what Clem is going through, I don’t think she would mind us talking. Mother and Dad are wonderful, offering to cook, clean, look after Clem. I accept all offers, with the exception of Clem. The best thing to come out of my forced sabbatical is time with her.
I withdrew her from school before Andrea could launch an investigation, and the timing allowed us to have Christmas break and then start her new school afresh in the New Year. At the news she was leaving Legs, she’d kept it together quite well. In fact, when I told her we were going to have some time at home together, just the two of us, she actually seemed happy.
“Why did Daddy have to be a bad man?” she asks on New Year’s morning, when I’m still yawning and stretching awake. Outside, fresh snow pats down for the third day in a row. We’d stayed up late to see in the New Year, watching movies and eating popcorn. Judging from the divots in my back, a few kernels still roam between the sheets.
“Sometimes I really hate him,” she says.
I think of my call to Dr. Felder. This is it, I realize. She’s having her moment. I roll to my side, then sit up. “Sometimes I hate him, too.”
“You do?”
“I do. Sometimes I want to slap his face and scream at him, and other times I want to hug him and tell him how much I miss him.”
“Me, too.” Her face starts to crumple. “I just … I don’t know how to remember him, Mom.”
I pull her into my arms and kiss her forehead. “You should remember all of him. All the memories you have are still true, no matter what he did.”
“But—”
“They’re all true,” I say firmly, almost as if I believe it. Maybe I do. I think of my conversation with Angus, about good things coming from bad. I think about Clara and Laurie, and the things we keep. “Daddy hurt a lot of people, Clem. But Daddy did good things, too. He was thoughtful and kind. And he was a good daddy, don’t you think?”
Through tears, she nods.
“So it’s okay to remember that. Our memories are ours to remember any way we want.”
In Clem’s eyes, the tears continue to fill and fall.
“Daddy loved you so much,” I say, and my voice cracks. “If there is only one thing you remember about him, make sure it’s that.”
Clem looks up at me. “Can you tell me some stories of him? Some that I don’t know?”
I wipe away a tear. “Actually, I have a good one.” I sniff. “About when you were a baby and I found you in the bath with Daddy. He was singing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’ to you.…”
Clem’s mouth starts to upturn cautiously, as though she’s not sure it’s allowed. But after I’ve told the story three times, she’s smiling properly. We stay there awhile, wrapped in each other, telling stories, laughing and crying. It’s sad and it’s horrible. But it’s also nice, being together in our grief.
*
The next day, Clem and I walk to Buttwell Road Elementary. As the building appears in my line of sight, my heart is in my throat. Visually, it’s not as appealing as her old school—it’s a plain, single-level, redbrick building—but by and large, the kids look the same. As we walk into the playground, Clem squeezes my hand a little tighter. It’ll be tough for her, starting halfway through the school year. A year ago, I wouldn’t have worried, knowing Clem would be the most popular kid in the class by the end of the day, but now I’m not so sure.
We meet her teacher, a grandmotherly sort called Mrs. Hubble, who puts her arm around Clem and instantly makes both of us feel better. She introduces Clem to a bouncy little girl called Billie with wild red hair, who will be Clem’s special friend for the day. The two girls start talking right away. When it’s time for me to go, I actually have to tap Clem on the shoulder. I half expect her to tell me, Yeah, okay—you can go, Mom, but she throws her arms around me and kisses my cheek.
I have to turn away so she doesn’t see me cry.
Later that morning, Rosie calls to tell me that Clara is nearing the end. She says Clara was at the hospital but has returned to Rosalind House. To die, she doesn’t say. She says she’s spoken to Laurie, and he wanted to know if I’d like to say good-bye. I head straight over.
Rosalind House looks different under snow. Prettier, if that’s possible. As I squeak along the snow toward the front steps, I remember Clara’s pact to reconcile Laurie and her sister. And I hope that, as Rosie suggested, she hasn’t had the chance.
I ring the doorbell and hold my breath, waiting for Eric. The last time I saw him, he was firing me. What would I say to him? But when the door swings open, an unfamiliar person stands there. A woman in her mid-forties with a bright smile and teased brown bob.
She smiles warmly. “Hello,” she says. “I’m Denise, the new manager.”