Hate You Not

He looks at the house and fields and woods and then the dogs again, and me. And he says, “I think I can be a brave farm boy.”

I think Sutton would be proud, despite her choosing city life. It’s not like they really had a choice, with Asher taking over his father’s real estate empire. The Masterson family has been in San Francisco for a century. They had power and money. No way Sutt was coming back to Heat Springs. But there’s nothing wrong with here, I tell myself again.

My house is old and worn, but cozy. I haul Margot inside, carrying her lamb style, and Oliver walks in front of us. I make Tink and Petey wait on the porch so they won’t overwhelm Oliver as he blinks around the comfy living room then joins me in the short hallway. There are two bedrooms, over on the left of the small house. While we were away, I had Shawn and Mary Helen swap them around, so that the larger one, which had been mine, became the kids’, and I’m now in the smaller room without the en suite bathroom.

My throat aches when I see what they did. The little twin beds Mary Helen found somewhere and painted white and put white bedding on. The bookshelves stacked with kids’ books. Nightstands I can see Shawn built himself, with matching powder blue lamps.

There’s a Batman poster over Oliver’s bed and a Frozen one by Margot’s.

I smile down at Oliver. He beams back at me and leaps onto his bed. I lay Margot out on hers and fold the blankets over her. She doesn’t stir.

Oliver takes my hand as I show him to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth with a new toothbrush and Sparkle Fun Crest paste like we used as kids, and then lies on his back on his new bed. He’s asleep by the time I come back with their bags.

I crouch in the hallway so the noise of me removing their bedspreads from zipped bags doesn’t wake them. Then I sneak into their room and drape one over each kid.

I can’t fall asleep in my new/old room for a long time. I’m so exhausted, everything is spinning slightly. I keep seeing Sutton dancing in and out of my head, looking how she did in their last Christmas card. The long, thick hair…the pretty beaded necklace.

As soon as my eyes drift shut, someone whispers, “Aunt June?”

I jolt straight up in bed and find Margot on my rug with big eyes. Big, crying eyes.

“Aunt June…” She does something to her hair. I can’t see. I fumble for my lamp.

“Ohh.” It’s the lollipop. The damn thing’s tangled in her long, blonde hair. “Oh no, sweetheart.”

She gives a whimper.

“We can fix this.” I slide off the bed, trying to sound cheery as I wave toward the hallway. “Come on. Let’s go to the bath tub.”

I jabber as I lead her to the bathroom in the hall. “So you haven’t seen this place yet, huh? You fell asleep in the car. Does it smell like cinnamon in here?”

With her little hand raised so she can hold the stick of the giant lollipop that’s pulling at her hair, she gives the air a few sniffs. Then she nods, still solemn-faced.

“What do you think about the smell of cinnamon? Does it smell warm and homey or do you think it’s stinky?”

I open the bathroom door and flip the light switch, revealing a claw-footed tub, a porcelain trough sink, a fluffy rainbow rug, and old-school tile walls done in an assortment of colors. Back when we renovated this place for my great aunt, around three years before Mama got cancer, Mom went to the hardware store and brought home a few boxes of whatever they had. I smile at the memory.

“Toothpaste,” Margot whispers.

I smile. “I like cinnamon toothpaste.”

She says, “Me too,” with her brown eyes on her little bare legs.

“Have you ever seen a tub like this?” I ask. “With feet?”

I point to the claw feet, and her eyes widen slightly. She shakes her head.

“Do you like your water cold, medium, or hot?”

She frowns at the tub.

“What about just a surprise? And how about bubbles?”

She smiles slightly, nods.

“I’ll run the bath for you, and you can take your clothes off.”

“No,” she whispers.

“Not a go?”

“You take off. I hold lollipop.”

I push the rubber plug into the drain, sprinkle some bubble bath salt in, and help her undress. Then I lift her into the enormous tub. She looks up at the silky purple curtain, streaming down from the ceiling. Then she looks at me.

“Did my mommy get in this bath?” Her little voice is soft and hoarse.

I swallow so mine won’t be. “Yes. She did.” This bath tub came from Mama and Daddy’s house, so it’s the truth. “We used to sit in here together sometimes. Your mama would tell me stories. She was my big sister.”