Mark had never mentioned taking Ava to anyone else’s house on a regular basis. “Ben’s house is nice,” Ava continued, completely absorbed in her rainbow. “Granny Margaret makes the best pancakes.”
That name hit me like a punch to the gut.
“Granny Margaret?” My fingers shook almost as badly as my voice as I showed Ava the photo. “Is that her?”
Ava looked up from her coloring book and smiled brightly. “That’s her!” she said enthusiastically.
“And that’s Ben’s house! Do you know her, Mommy?”
But I couldn’t answer. The words were stuck somewhere between my brain and my mouth because I was still processing the shocking, impossible news that Margaret was alive.
I stumbled into the kitchen, where Mark was getting dinner ready. He looked up from chopping vegetables, and his face immediately creased with concern. “Hey, is everything okay?
You seemed upset when you came in. Ava’s not in trouble at school, is she?”
I shook my head and held up the photo with trembling hands. “Do you recognize this house?
This woman?”
Mark wiped his hands on a dish towel and came closer. He studied the photo for a moment, then nodded. “Yup, that’s where Ava’s friend Ben lives.
And that’s Margaret, his foster parent.” His eyes narrowed as he looked more closely at the picture. “Wait a minute. Is that little girl you?”
I nodded, already reaching for my car keys on the hook by the door.
“Hey, where are you going?” Mark asked, his voice rising with confusion. “You’re acting really strange, Ellen.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to go see Margaret.”
I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, hoping he couldn’t feel how badly I was shaking. “I’ll explain everything when I get home, I promise.”
The drive across town felt like the longest 20 minutes of my life.
Every red light seemed to last forever, and every turn brought back more memories I’d spent years trying to suppress. By the time I pulled up outside the house, my hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles had gone white. The house looked exactly the same.
The white paint might have been a little fresher, the green shutters a bit brighter, but it was still the house that had haunted my dreams and apparently my daughter’s imagination. I walked up the front path on unsteady legs, feeling like I was walking through a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.
I wasn’t sure which. I rang the doorbell and waited, my heart hammering against my ribs. Margaret answered the door, and the sight of her took my breath away.
She was older, of course, with silver threading through her brown hair and lines around her eyes that hadn’t been there before. But her smile was exactly the same: warm, kind, safe. She studied me for a moment, her head tilted slightly to one side, then her eyes widened in shock, and she pressed a hand to her chest.
“Ellie? Is that really you?”
My eyes filled with tears as I nodded. I couldn’t speak past the lump in my throat, couldn’t do anything but stand there like an idiot while 25 years of grief and guilt and longing crashed over me like a wave.
Margaret pulled me into a hug that felt like coming home. “I thought you died,” I sobbed into her shoulder, breathing in the scent of vanilla and lavender that had always meant safety to me. “After the ambulance took you away, Mrs.
Johnson said it didn’t look good. She told me you probably wouldn’t make it.”
“I was in the hospital for a week after that fall and then had to spend months in rehab.” Margaret leaned back and lovingly pressed a hand against my cheek, just like she used to when I was little and scared. “I never even got to thank you, sweetheart.
If you hadn’t found me and called the ambulance…”
“They never told me you recovered,” I sobbed, unable to stop the tears that had been building up for decades. “They took me to a group home after that, and I asked about you every day, but nobody would tell me anything. Then Mom got a place to stay and a steady job, so they took me back to live with her.”
Margaret sighed, a sound heavy with old sadness.
“And they never allowed me to get in touch with you. I tried, believe me, I tried everything I could think of. But by that time, you were back with your mom.”
I frowned, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.
“Mom never wanted anyone to know I was taken away from her, even if it was just a temporary placement because we were homeless at the time. She said people would think she was a bad mother for letting us end up on the street. I wouldn’t be surprised if she told Mrs.
Johnson she didn’t want to speak to you.”
We stood there in comfortable silence for a moment, each of us lost in our own thoughts and memories. The evening air was crisp with the promise of fall, and somewhere in the distance, I heard children playing in a backyard. “One thing I don’t understand… why did you come looking for me if you thought I’d passed?” Margaret asked gently.
I smiled through my tears. “My daughter, Ava. She keeps drawing this place.
She’s friends with Ben.”
Margaret’s jaw dropped. “Ava’s your daughter?”
I nodded. “Small world, huh?”
Margaret chuckled.
“I should’ve realized. She looks so much like you. You know, I didn’t foster again for years after that fall.
I fully recovered, so the system would’ve allowed it, but… I always wondered what happened to you, Ellie. You have no idea how many nights I lay awake wondering if you were okay, if you even remembered me.”
I sniffed. “I could never forget you.
When Mom and I were on the streets, it was terrifying, and when CPS took me away… I thought I’d end up in some awful place, that Mrs. Johnson would take me to a children’s home or some bad person’s house. Instead, they brought me here, to you.”
She smiled, and it was like the sun coming out from behind clouds.
“I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see that you turned out okay.”
I took her hands in mine. “Thank you for being the one place that ever felt like home.”
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