It made her feel light-headed.
“It’s mostly her.” It was a struggle to keep her voice normal. “And she has her moments when she’s tired.”
“Of course she does. And she asks a lot of questions.”
That was something Ella wasn’t going to disagree with. “She’ll question you until the battery in your brain dies.”
“Is this the age group you teach?”
And just like that they reached a junction. Left or right?
This was the perfect moment to tell her mother the truth, but she didn’t want to do anything to shatter this new, fragile truce.
She chose the safer of the two paths.
“Yes. I’ve always loved this age. They’re learning so much every single day.”
The wind picked up, bringing with it a flutter of snowflakes. They spun and swirled, light as dust.
Her mother was hunkered over the snowman, her coat a splash of color against the snowy landscape, her hair windblown and her face free of makeup. The wound on her head had healed, but there was still a scar. The mother she knew always wore black, and a fierce expression. She strode through life with her mouth pursed, eyes fixed forward, as if not one single body part was allowed to deviate from its brief. This new version of her mother, this peacock-colored, smiling, soft-as-butter, attentive version, wasn’t someone she recognized.
An icy wind snaked through the collar of her coat, and Ella was about to step forward and zip Tab’s coat up to the neck, when her mother leaned across and did exactly that.
“Are you warm enough, honey?”
Honey? Honey?
Her mother never used pet names. Her communication when they were growing up had always been practical. Have you brushed your teeth? Don’t forget your reading book. Pay attention in class. Learn something new every day.
“Yes, thank you, Nanna. I’m like toast. I’ve finished the head.” Tab pushed, pressed and patted. “What do you think?”
The snowman was possibly the most misshapen object Ella had ever seen.
She held her breath, waiting for her mother to kill Tab’s joyful moment with a careless remark about how she should keep trying until she was perfect at it, but instead Gayle clapped her hands.
“I think it’s wonderful. You have a real talent.”
Ella was so shocked she forgot about the cold.
She’d always believed her mother wasn’t capable of being warm and encouraging with her family. She’d made excuses—assumed that something inside her had died when she’d lost the man she loved. But it seemed she was capable of it.
Her insides churned with a cocktail of emotions she couldn’t identify.
Regret? Even a little envy? She straightened her shoulders. Whatever it was, she was going to ignore it. This was good. Really good.
Her mother was trying hard and Ella would try hard, too. Sometimes in life it was important to stop thinking about what might have been, and think about what could be.
Tab pressed more snow onto the body, her breath steaming the cold air. “Can we build a snowman every day that we’re here?” She glanced up. “Nanna?”
“Yes, we can.”
Tab brushed the snow from her mittens. “Next we need twigs! For arms.”
“I’ll find the arms.” Ella headed toward the trees, her feet punching through the thin crust and sinking deep.
Pinecones poked through the layer of snow and she stooped and picked a couple up, tucking them into her pocket. Then she found twigs and a stone that she thought might make a good mouth.
She took her time, enjoying the winter wonderland, and then walked to the edge of the trees and watched the two figures tending the snowman and laughing together.