The girl started and looked back at Brianne.
“Hey. I had something to show you the other day, but I didn’t get a chance. Do you have a moment?”
Hannah lowered her book and glanced back down the gravel road toward her house. “I guess.”
“Come on over here.” Brianne waved her toward the porch. “I’ll be right back.”
Inside, she snagged her backpack, lying on the floor near the couch and still stuffed with art supplies. Her stomach tightened. Children had a way of making her feel as if she were about to step on a land mine. There were so many ways to fail them. They depended on adults, and adults were only older people who sometimes didn’t know much more about right and wrong than they had as kids. Life didn’t get easier nor everyone wiser.
Life wasn’t like that.
Brianne stepped back out and dropped the bag beside the small table. “Have a seat. I want to show you one of my current art projects.”
Hannah glanced down the road again.
Brianne pulled out the half-colored photograph of Hannah and slid it across the table to the girl. “This is a picture I’ve been working on. It’s actually the first time I’ve done this with a person in the photograph.”
Hannah leaned closer. “Wow. That doesn’t look anything like me. I mean, I know it is, but . . .”
Brianne cocked her head. “Sometimes we see ourselves very differently than others see us. I look at that picture, and I see a perfect replica of the beautiful, intelligent, and imaginative young woman I’ve just started to know.”
Hannah’s nose wrinkled. “I’m not beautiful.” Her words were just above a whisper.
“I think your filter is blurring your view of yourself.”
“My filter?”
“How we see the world. Everything we’ve experienced helps build a lens. But the filter doesn’t necessarily show us an accurate picture.”
Brianne ran her finger over her bottom lip. “When I was in third grade, a boy told me my hair looked like bugs lived in it. I washed my hair every morning and night for two years. I combed it obsessively and spent way too much time keeping it neat and styled. And still, I thought my hair was ugly. All because of something a rude boy said, probably without even really looking at me.”
She paused to gauge Hannah’s reaction. Nothing showed. “I was looking at myself through a filter that was warped and distorted. Not the true picture. That’s what happens when we look at ourselves through the words and actions of others.”
“Did he treat you better after you started taking care of it?” Hannah’s gaze remained on the grass in front of her.
Sorrow pinched at Brianne. Why did kids so need their peers’ acceptance? If she could understand that, she’d change her life plans and go back to work. “Hannah, my hair wasn’t messy to begin with. It was fine. Just because someone tells you there’s something wrong with you doesn’t make it true. Have you ever said something you didn’t mean, maybe to your brother or sister?”
She shrugged. “I guess.”
“Did saying it make it true?”
One side of her mouth tipped up in a slight smile. “I don’t know. Do you think Connor’s face looks like the backside of a monkey?”
Brianne couldn’t help herself. She chuckled. “No. I don’t think there’s even a slight resemblance, but if you’d said that to someone who was already concerned about their looks, they might have taken it as at least partially true. Do you understand what I mean?”
She nodded. “You were already sensitive about your hair, so what the boy said made sense to you. It seemed real.”
“Exactly. The thing is, when we’re in middle school, and sometimes into high school, we can be sensitive about almost every part of ourselves, so it’s easy to let bad filters affect the way we view ourselves.”
“Then how do you know what’s true and what’s not?” Hannah turned her head, and for the first time, she looked Brianne directly in the eyes.
“Great question. We all need people we can trust, who we go to when we’re uncertain or insecure. People like your mom and dad. They’ll tell you the truth. And God. And if you don’t mind, I can be one of those people too.”
Hannah’s lips curved into a smile. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
26
Addison ran her finger down today’s date in her planner. It bumped over a frog sticker someone had stuck onto July 23. She bit her lower lip as she tapped a fast rhythm with her toe. She was fastidious about her calendar. Every little appointment and reminder was handwritten in the appropriate place. Why did it feel like she was missing something?
“Mom . . .” The name came out long and pained, as only Hannah could express it. “Do I really have to go to this soccer thing?”
“Um, yes. I feel like we’ve covered this question maybe a hundred times.” Addison kept her gaze on the calendar. There was something else. Something important.
“But I don’t know anyone there.” The kitchen chair screeched against the linoleum as Hannah flopped down.
“That’s the point.” Addison raised a finger above her head. “You can meet some people your age.” She added a second finger. “It’ll give you a head start on school.”
“Okay, okay. Please spare me the list.”
Oh, the tiny moments when a parent wins a battle.
Addison grinned. Hannah was turning into a beautiful young woman. Each day, she watched as her daughter fumbled around, searching the world for the kind of person she’d become. Hannah was and would be amazing, if only she could see herself the way her mother did.
Addison brought her hand back to the planner’s page and pulled at the sticker. That frog gave her orderly list a haphazard look. Gently tugging, she peeled it away without tearing or damaging the paper below. What was underneath sent a surge of adrenaline through Addison’s chest. Today was Caroline’s doctor appointment. The one that had taken so long to convince Caroline she needed.
Initially Addison had felt a tiny twinge of guilt as she pulled back the sticker, thinking Lilly must have placed it there as a sweetness. The truth tasted bitter. Addison slammed her fist down on the book. Caroline!
Seriously, she’d gone from half of a parenting team with three children, to a woman managing five on her own. Where was the book on this arrangement? None of the parenting manuals or magazines had mentioned this as even a possibility.
“Caroline?” Addison stuck her head out the kitchen door. No one was in sight, a rarity that produced more concern than peace. She’d expect this kind of behavior from Connor when he knew there’d be vaccinations, but Caroline was well past being a grown woman. Didn’t Addison have the right to expect a bit of maturity?
She tapped her watch. There was no way to be at Hannah’s soccer camp in time and still get Caroline to the doctor. Addison’s shoulders slumped. She’d called the win too early. Hannah would get her wish and stay home to mind Lilly while Addison escorted her runaway mother-in-law to the doctor.
“Caroline, I’m going to give your kitchen mixer a spin. Thought you’d want to know.” Addison let the words float out into the warm summer air, baiting her trap.
Caroline scooted around the corner, her speed indicating her physical health was in prime condition. “Addison, were you calling? I was out with the goats. Sometimes it’s hard to hear with all their bleating and such.”
There wasn’t a sound in the air. If those goats were bleating, they were using sign language to do it.
Hannah stepped into the kitchen. “All right. I give in. But I want an hour of uninterrupted reading time as my end of this deal.” Both eyebrows raised, as if daring anyone to disagree.
“You’ve got it.” The words were out of Addison’s mouth before she’d given them a thought. How would she be in two places at once? Addison stared out the kitchen window while both Caroline and Hannah stood behind her. In the distance, the corner of Brianne’s house showed through the dense rhododendrons that bordered her yard. How many favors could Addison ask
before she destroyed the one friendship she had in West Crow?
Hopefully one more wouldn’t be the breaking point.
“Caroline, please get ready for your appointment. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.” She didn’t need to turn. She could imagine the gaping mouth of her mother-in-law. Chalk that up to two wins for Addison—if Brianne was on board.
She pulled the cell phone from her pocket and tapped the last contact she’d called.
“Good morning.” Brianne’s voice was lighter than usual. It almost made Addison rethink her request.
“Hey. I hate that most of our conversations start the same way, but I have a favor to ask.”
“Go for it. I slept like a baby last night. Today I can take on the world.”
Addison stopped herself before pointing out that babies don’t sleep through the night. “Could you take Hannah to soccer camp? And would you mind taking Lilly too? I’d leave you my van—you wouldn’t even have to move Lilly’s booster seat.”
A crash broke through, and the other line was silent.
“Brianne?” A vision of the phone flying across the room and smashing against the wall filled Addison’s imagination.
“Sorry.” Brianne’s breathing was hard. “Chester landed on my lap, and I dropped the phone. I can do that. In fact, I could use the fresh air.”
Leave it to Brianne to make a favor sound like she was getting the good end of the deal. “Thank you so much. I have to leave with Caroline in a few minutes.”
“I’ll be right down as soon as I do something with this puppy.”
“Hey.” Addison tucked a clump of hair behind her ear. “Why don’t you bring Chester here? Connor is staying with Caleb. He’d love some puppy time.”
“Really?”
“Yes!” Connor hollered from the living room, where he was playing a video game with Caleb.
“Did you hear that?” Addison asked.
“I did. I’ll be right there.”
Addison ended the call and turned back to her daughter and mother-in-law. The looks of resignation on their faces highlighted a family resemblance she hadn’t noticed before.
EMILIA FISTED HER hands and held her smile under tight restraint. July 23, and the results were finally in. The medication in the blood matched the medication in the baggie. Though the levels weren’t as high as she’d hoped, mixed with the alcohol, she had him. Caleb Kilbourn was impaired. He was guilty.
Kilbourn was going to pay for his crime.
The printer hummed, spitting out a hard copy that Emilia added to the file of evidence she’d been gathering. She stacked it on top of the collision report—a large X marking the point of impact, sketches for skids and scrub marks, some probably not even relevant to this collision. Nothing in there was as important as the numbers on the new sheet of paper, a detailed analysis of Kilbourn’s blood on the night of the MVA.
Emilia snagged the compilation of her investigation and headed for the door. She’d sit in the DA’s office all day if that’s what it took. As she rounded the corner, she came face to face with the sheriff, reminding Emilia of her promise to run the case by her before asking for the state to file charges.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
Sweat dampened Emilia’s neck. “Your office. If you approve, I’d like to take the Kilbourn file to the DA myself.”
Sherriff Commons motioned Emilia toward her office. “I saw the toxicology report. This is going to be a hard sell. Are you sure you want to push this one?”
“He killed a woman. We live in a town that’s overrun with drugs and alcohol. If we allow the basketball coach to get away with driving under the influence, what does that tell teens?” Blood pulsed in Emilia’s neck. She couldn’t let this go. Not until Caleb Kilbourn paid for the death of an innocent woman.
BRIANNE PULLED UP to the soccer field in Addison’s family van, feeling like a fraud in mother’s clothing.
“Do I really have to do this?” Hannah’s head lay back against the seat.
“Don’t you want to meet some new kids? It will certainly make things easier when school starts.” Brianne used the same reasoning she’d heard from Addison.
Like a puppet, Lilly’s head popped up beside Hannah in the back. “I wish I was going to soccer camp. Look.” She pointed toward a group forming near the side of the field. “They’ve got those orange hat markers Daddy uses.”
“They’re called cones, and you’re not supposed to wear them.” Hannah’s shoulders slumped further.
“Whatever. I think I’ll still call them hats, ’cause Daddy says I can.” She flopped over the seat, her right foot nearly crashing into Hannah’s head. “Can we get out?” Lilly wriggled next to Brianne. “I can’t wait. Maybe some of the other girls have sisters.” Her chin jutted forward.
“Okay, but, Lilly, you stay on the side of the field where I can see you at all times. Do you understand?” Brianne tried to make her voice convey the seriousness of her statement.
Lilly nodded as she slid the door open and jumped to the sidewalk, nearly colliding with a mom and her toddler.
“Would you just tell Mom I’m fine. I don’t need to spend time with my peers. And I don’t need to talk out my feelings. I get it. Bad things happen.”
“They do.” Brianne twisted in her seat to face Hannah. “And good things happen too. It’s important for you to remember that life is a mix. Maybe soccer camp will turn out to be one of the good things.”
Hannah pulled hair over her eyes. “You sound just like Mom.” She sighed, but she unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out the door.
Outside, the air smelled of freshly mowed grass and new bark mulch. A group of twenty girls clustered together as if reuniting after months apart.
A girl with a dark ponytail biked up the sidewalk. She stopped near the group and dropped her bicycle onto the grass. Instead of joining in with the others, this kid picked up a soccer ball and held it tight to her stomach, like a boundary she dared any of them to cross. This was not the kind of kid Hannah needed in her life. This girl looked ready for a fight, and Hannah really needed to make a friend, someone she could share secrets, jokes, and dreams with.
Brianne searched the group and found Hannah standing on the edge, her mouth curved into a smile that looked as fake as an actress’s eyelashes.
Brianne’s stomach squeezed into a ball. Hannah’s discomfort was so palpable. Was this how mothers felt all the time? Did they go around beaten by the fears, emotions, insecurities of their children? How was a mom expected to survive the childhood of her children?
A woman, tall and thin, her blond hair gathered into a braid so tight it yanked at the corners of her eyes, blew a whistle and motioned for the girls to join her on the field.
Hannah and the girl from the bike held back a few steps behind the others.
The coach hollered out instructions, ending with the brutal command to “find a partner.”
Girls paired off and started kicking balls back and forth.
Brianne bit her bottom lip as Hannah watched, eyes round, as everyone started warm-ups.
The coach went to Hannah and pointed out the girl from the bike, the only other player without a partner.
It took every muscle in Brianne’s body to stop herself from running out there, grabbing Hannah, and leaving. This favor to Addison was bigger than she’d anticipated.
At one end of the field, just beyond the goal, Lilly stood with the attention of four other children directed toward her. From the cock of her hip and the way she wagged her finger, she was handing out her own list of instructions and forming her very own team.
Addison must have been like that as a child—direct and in command. Hannah was more like Brianne had been—introspective, fragile. Why Brianne had ever thought child psychology was a good field for herself was a mystery with a missing chapter. Her father had mentioned this concern about the time Brianne was entering grad school, wondering if her sensitive nature was compatible with this line of work.
>
She’d grown up with amazing and supportive parents. They’d attended every event Brianne and her brother had been a part of. With all the love and understanding they’d given, why hadn’t Brianne listened to her father’s reservations?
A faint tinkle of laughter drew Brianne’s attention away from Lilly’s forming army.
Hannah held her hand over her mouth, a smile on her face.
The other girl grinned and kicked the ball back to her.
By the time the coach called the team together, it was clear a bond was already forming. Hannah and the bike girl were becoming friends.
27
She’ll have to fill out this new patient information form.” The receptionist handed a clipboard to Addison, a pleasant smile on her still-young face.
Addison slowly returned the smile. “But my mother-in-law has been coming to this office since before her boys were born. She’s hardly a new patient.”
“I understand what you’re saying, ma’am, but Mrs. Kilbourn was a patient of Dr. Campbell. He’s retired, so she will be a new patient to Dr. Larson.”
Addison licked her lips. The stress was getting to her in weird ways. She’d nearly chewed a hole in the delicate skin, leaving her chained to a tube of ChapStick. “How long ago did Dr. Campbell leave?”
The woman cupped her hands together. “Let’s see. It was just a bit before I started working here, so at least five years ago.”
“And Caroline hasn’t been in since then?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you that. It’s considered private information. I can tell you that Dr. Campbell still took house calls for some time after leaving, but I can’t speak to Mrs. Kilbourn’s medical care.”
“What do I need to do to have access to that kind of information?”
One of the receptionist’s eyebrows lowered. “You’d need to have Mrs. Kilbourn sign a waiver with your name on it.”
“And what if she was unable to consent?”
The woman looked past Addison to Caroline, still thumbing through a copy of Women’s Health. “I don’t understand. Do you mean if she were unconscious?”
More Than We Remember Page 17
