Fiona, who had been living with us for two days, sat across from Eamon and me, riding backwards. She'd occasionally pop up onto her knees and look out the window, especially if Eamon told her there was something special to see like birds or water. Otherwise, she drew pictures of horses and sang to herself. Her voice was already nearly as beautiful as her dad's. Someday, it might be even more so. Luke and Amy napped in the row behind us, fingers twined.
We transferred at Old Saybrook, lugging our suitcases behind us, and we rode to the end of the line, Hoop Hole Hill Road, where Luke had a driver with a minivan pick us up. Between the five of us and our luggage it would've been too much for Dad’s car. He'd bought a Prius a few years back, after Amy and I expressed concern about him not having reliable transportation in the winter. He'd gone for years not using his car at all. After Mom had died, we were the excuse. He refused to drive us anywhere. He was too worried it would traumatize us. On the rare occasion we were invited to a sleepover at another girl's house, we had to ask for a ride.
But Amy and I were not invited to many sleepovers. Right after Mom's death, we became the poor Fuller girls, worthy of pity and sorry looks, not parties or celebrations. We made people uncomfortable. Amy and I saw it on faces everywhere we went and we didn't fully understand it, but we could feel it. Months after Mom's death, the rumors started. She'd been drunk. She was on drugs. She'd been trying to kill all three of us. Most of it was lies, but there were only so many times you could deny something so ugly before people started to think you were covering it up. And of course, Amy and I both knew there was some ugliness in there. We just didn't want to talk about it. If anyone ever wondered why we'd both been so desperate to get the hell out of Chester when we got older, that was the biggest reason.
Fiona sat between Eamon and me in the last row of the van. He put his arm around her, and around me at the same time, rubbing my shoulder gently. He seemed to know when things were weighing on me, which was both a blessing and a curse. He was so quick to comfort. I never had to ask. But he was equally fast with the questions.
“You okay?” he asked.
Do you have about a million years for me to explain?“I’m good. I just want us to have a nice Thanksgiving.”
“I’ve never had an American Thanksgiving,” Fiona said, kicking her legs. “And I don't feel right about us killing a turkey. They're lovely birds. They have nice feathers.”
Eamon laughed and leaned down to press a kiss to Fiona's head. “We won't be killing the turkey ourselves. And I promise you, however lovely turkeys are, you'll find them equally delicious.”
She gazed up at him. “I don't know, Dad. I might just live on mashed potatoes.”
“I’d expect nothing less of a good Irish girl.”
The driver took the turn onto our road. The houses in this part of town were farther apart, set off the road, all just as old and modest as ours—shutters and windows like soldiers lined up in a row. Amy and I had always loved these generous yards when we were kids. We could roam for days. The summers here had been especially lovely, especially before we'd lost Mom, running across the mossy lawn in bare feet and playing tag. Even when you got an acorn to the arch of your foot, you didn't care. You were free. Of course, our lemonade stands never saw much business, too little traffic in our corner of the world, but we sat there anyway, baking in the sun in folding chairs, drinking up our wares and bemoaning our lack of profits.
Despite the good memories, pulling up to the old house made my stomach churn, a clear indication of how much my past was not my past. It was as much a part of my minute-to-minute life as breathing. It didn't take much to remind me of it. It was deeply woven into what and who I was.
Dad came bounding outside and the screen door smacked loudly against the frame when he let go of it. He had a smile so wide on his face that I nearly questioned whether it was really him. The new girlfriend, Julia, was right behind him, along with her two dogs—a yellow Lab and a Huskie. Julia wasn't moving particularly fast, but Dad had mentioned her hip bothered her, so hopefully that was the problem, not us.
“My girls are home.” His voice was bursting with relieved and happy notes. Yes, it was hard for Amy and me to come back. But maybe we had put it off for too long. It hadn't been fair of us to leave him here by himself just because he was doing better, because he wasn't drinking.
“Mr. Fuller.” Eamon held out his hand for my dad.
“Dad, this is Eamon. And his daughter, Fiona.” I watched as my dad shook Eamon's hand, overcome with a feeling that was hard to describe—a mix of pride and surprise and happiness. How do you feel when you see something you thought would never happen?
Dad bent at the waist to greet Fiona face-to-face. I knew in that moment that my dad needed to be a grandparent, STAT. I'd have to talk to Amy about that. “Hello, my dear. You've come a long way. You must be hungry.”
“Starving. There was nothing to eat on the train.”
“Fiona, you never said a thing about being hungry.” Eamon sounded more than a bit annoyed. He did pride himself on being an attentive dad.
“I didn't really realize it until just now when Mr. Fuller asked me.”
“Maybe we should go inside and fix that,” I said. “It's freezing.”
“Luke and I will get the bags,” Eamon said. Luke was already unloading suitcases from the back of the minivan.
Amy, Fiona, and I followed Dad and Julia inside. Why certain places always smelled the same was beyond me, but that was certainly true of our childhood home. It never changed. It was spent firewood and a bit of a dusty, old smell, like dried flowers or the yellowed pages of a book. We stomped the snow from our shoes out on the three-season porch and I showed Fiona where to leave them, in the old tin tray right next to the door. In her stocking feet, she tore off into the house with my dad.
I held the front door open as Luke and Eamon came up the front stairs toting our luggage.
“Thank you for doing that. Taking care of the bags,” I said to Eamon as he took off his boots. Amy and Luke had already stepped inside.
“Of course.” His eyebrows drew together. “I like your dad. What I met of him. Hoping I get some time with him over the next few days. It might help me decipher the puzzle of Katherine Fuller.”
“There's no puzzle. I'm an open book. It just happens to be a very dull book.”
He pulled me into a hug and kissed the top of my head. “Nice try. I don't believe that for a second.”
“I’m serious.” What I really wanted to say is that he shouldn't try to decipher me. Whatever he'd already figured out about me was more than enough. He made me happy and I appeared to do the same for him. Why did we need anything more than that? I really didn't think we did.
“Let's go inside. I want to warm up.”
