Eleanor reached for the door handle, her hand hovering there, trembling.
“A wise woman once told me not to be afraid to leave,” Nora said from the back seat, “but also not to be afraid to come back.”
Eleanor turned slightly, her spine stiff but her smile soft. “Wise?”
Nora grinned. “Very.”
Eleanor arched a brow. “Walk me to the door, then?”
“Of course.” Nora popped her door open and climbed out, rounding the car just as Eleanor hesitated.
She didn’t want to do this—not really. Not to go back inside. Not to face the silence. Not to face what came next. But she knew she hadto. Some things in life were unavoidable, and no matter how far she ran, the inevitable was that life would catch up to her in the end.
Nora opened the passenger door and held out her hand. “Sometimes it’s better to do things together.”
Eleanor nodded, her throat thick. She placed her hand into her granddaughter’s. Her own hand looked small in Nora’s grip—weathered and veined, worn by time. But strong too.
When she tried to pull away, Nora only tightened her hold. “We don’t have to let go just yet, do we?”
“I’ll hold your hand anytime you want,” Eleanor whispered.
Roxy rushed to the door, scratching to be let in.
Leanne was already on the porch, Eleanor’s bag in one hand and her guitar case in the other. “Mom, do you have your key?”
Eleanor reached into her handbag and froze. Her fingers fumbled uselessly through lipstick tubes, loose change, and receipts. A knot twisted in her chest.
Then—relief.
“In the suitcase,” she said, remembering suddenly. “Tucked it in a side pocket.”
Eleanor knelt beside her trusty old suitcase, the same one she’d taken on her honeymoon, unzipping the leather, and dug through until her fingers brushed yarn—soft and worn from years of use. The key was still threaded through the crocheted heart Leanne had made in second grade. Uneven stitches. Faded red. Her girl had been so proud.
Eleanor lifted it slowly, held it in her palm, and grinned at the treasure.
“You still have that?” Leanne’s smile was tremulous.
“Never leave home without it.”
They opened the door and stepped inside. The house smelledexactly as it had when she left. A blend of patchouli and something faintly floral, maybe lavender, maybe memory. The scent wrapped around her like an old shawl, familiar, comforting, and just a little heavy with time.
Roxy raced in wild circles through the house, overcome with joy to reclaim her kingdom.
Leanne quietly set her mother’s bags in the bedroom while Nora wandered into the living room, flipping through Eleanor’s old records. In the kitchen, the sound of the kettle clinking against the stove signaled Leanne’s silent offering of tea, the universal balm.
Eleanor moved to her dresser and pulled open the top drawer. Tucked inside was an old scrapbook she’d started when she was barely more than a girl. The pages were thick with song lyrics scribbled in ink and pencil, ticket stubs from smoky bars, and black-and-white photographs of her wide-eyed younger self holding a guitar. Before Henry. Before Leanne had even been a thought.
She carried it into the living room, settling onto the purple velvet couch that had cushioned her through countless evenings. The fabric was soft beneath her palms, worn in all the right places. She patted the cushions on either side of her.
“I want to show you two something,” she said.
Nora looked up from the records. Leanne poked her head around the corner, steam curling from the kettle behind her.
Eleanor rested the scrapbook on her lap. “This is something I should’ve shown you both long ago. Maybe why I left would’ve made more sense. Why I needed to take this tour. Why I had to go.”
She glanced at Leanne first. “I never regretted meeting your father. I never once regretted having you. Being your mother has been the honor of my life.” Her voice faltered, but she pushed forward. “But…sometimes people have regrets toward the end of plans they neverfinished. And I wanted—needed—to live the life I gave up. Just one more time. Before I can’t remember what it felt like.”
Before either of them could respond, a knock sounded on the front door.
