Chapter 17 - Healing the Roots
Summer blossomed into autumn, turning the maple trees in our Upper Arlington neighborhood into brilliant torches of crimson and gold.
The townhouse transformed from a temporary shelter into a home full of life and laughter.
In September, Noah scored his first goal in youth soccer. When he kicked that ball into the corner of the net, he didn't look around nervously to see if anyone was annoyed by his noise; he sprinted straight to the sideline, his face split in a massive grin, and jumped into Nathan’s arms while Ella and I screamed from the bleachers.
Ella took up watercolor painting. Her lavender room was soon covered in paintings of trees, dogs, and quiet houses with smoke curling from stone chimneys.
Brooke visited every other Saturday under the supervision of a family counselor. She had taken an administrative job at a medical clinic, had moved into a small, clean apartment, and was slowly, painfully learning how to be a mother without an audience. She brought them small books, listened to their stories, and never once asked them to lie for her.
One Saturday afternoon, after Brooke left, Ella sat beside me on the porch swing, watching the dry leaves drift across the lawn.
"Aunt Claire?"
"Yes, honey?"
"Are you going to stay our aunt forever?"
I put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her against my side. "I am always going to be your aunt, Ella. But more than that, I am always going to be the person who keeps the front door unlocked for you. No matter what."
Ella leaned her head against my chest, listening to my heartbeat. "I like this house better," she whispered. "Nobody yells here."
May you like
"Nobody is ever going to yell here," I promised.
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