Page 79 of Henhouse
“It’s fine,” Effie croaked, but the tension in her jaw saidotherwise.
“We are supposed to get some heavy pieces delivered today . . .” Hope mused, certain that Brayden was in search of some extra brawn since she was not in the mood or condition to heft furniture around.
“I promise, it’s fine.” But her tone had sharpened.
They walked through the front door and sure enough, Theo was there with Brayden muscling the new sofa into position across from the mantel. It was a large sectional that they assembled by clipping the extending L shape into the hooks of the other piece. It looked heavy if the glistening sweat on both of their brows was any indication. Theo looked up meeting their surprised looks. “Hey.”
Effie turned to Hope. “Where do you want this?” she asked, lifting the reusable grocery bag she’d carried for Hope into the air.
It wasn’t much, a few things she hadn’t wanted boxed or in the truck. A carved jewelry box that her dad had given her mom before she was born, a ratty, old stuffed rabbit that she’d loved to near death, the first copy of her first book, and an embroidered lilac Effie had made for Hope’s middle name. “It should all go upstairs, but you don’t—”
“I’ll figure it out.”
Effie hurried up the stairs and away from Theo, who was shirtless and sweating and far too handsome to keep a rational distance from. She hadn’t reached out to him since the ball, and she hadn’t heard from him either. She supposed he’d said it all, laid it all bare, if only in sentiment.I want to be your forest.To Effie that meant he wanted to protect her, nurture her, help her grow, and be her home. He’d never let her read his poems, but his turns of phrase were loaded enough that if she ever read them, she might combust.
Hope and Brayden’s bedroom was at the top of the stairs. The dark walls and brooding tones were made inviting and cozy with little touches of light wood and linen when they might otherwise have turned austere. Effie opened the bag and retrieved the jewelry box within. She placed it atop the natural-wood bureau that stood under the large window on the back wall. If she played it right, she might make unpacking this bag last long enough to avoid Theo altogether.
The embroidery hoop she placed beside the jewelry box, propped against the wall in temporary display. Effie assumed that Hope wanted the stuffed animal in the baby’s room, so she ventured down the hall to the nursery.
It was sweet and inviting, just as Hope had described. Effie put the stuffed bunny on one of the floating shelves that housed empty picture frames ready to display baby’s firsts. She adjusted the bunny until it sat with one leg dangling over the edge of the thin shelf looking for all the world like the main character of a children’s book.
The creak of old floorboards was her only warning. “Are you going to avoid me forever?” Theo was tall enough to take up most of the doorframe, his broad shoulders reaching for the jambs on either side. It hurt to look at him, to know she wanted him yet had turned him away. Maybe it was enough to know that for a fleeting moment in time, she had been desired by someone like him. Someone strong and handsome, kind and inquisitive, intoxicating and wholly out of her league. Though if the way his eyes grazed over her was any indication, it was Theo who felt undeserving of Effie. She almost laughed at the absurdity.
“Just until you stop looking at me like that,” Effie confessed. She could see it clear as day, the longing, the heartache over the distancebetween them. But she couldn’t see a way to move forward while she didn’t love herself enough to believe she deserved this. Deserved him.
“I don’t think I’ll ever stop . . . but I’ll try. If that’s what you want.”
Effie’s breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t what she wanted,was it?“I’m sure you won’t have to try once you find someone who can love you better than me.” The word had wedged through her mental screens. They’d dodged it all this time and yet it still lingered, waiting to be let free. If he heard it as the confession it was, Effie couldn’t tell. His face remained stoic, but his teeth turned to diamonds with how hard he clenched them.
“One day, Effie, I hope you see yourself the way everyone else does.”
Effie deflected with a huff. “Why?”
“Because maybe then you’ll realize there is no one better for me. Maybe you’d let me in. Maybe we’d just be happy.” He took a tentative step toward her. “Aren’t you tired of talking around this?”
Yes.“No,” Effie said instead. There was too much she was uncertain of, herself, the longevity of his affection for her, the way life looked if she let herself not just be contented or at peace, buthappy.
In all her life she had never wanted for anything. She liked to float and bake and stay unattached to the outcome of things because it was safer. The only plans she made involved recipes and sewing patterns. But almost as soon as she met Theo shewanted. It was a feeling that had only ever been mirrored in how much she wanted to talk to her dad again, to see his face, to get his advice now that she’d grown up. It was dangerous to want because there was no guarantee that you’d get what your heart desired.
And as if God herself was demonstrating the ephemerality of joy, Hope screamed from downstairs, “Effie! We have to go!”
38
The smell of antiseptic stung Effie’s nose. Each word she caught from the doctors and nurses around them through the fog of her grief carried with it a horrid new taste.
Stroke.Too much salt.Unconscious. Rusted copper.Hospice.Hot wax.
Somehow the rest of her family was able to give the medical professionals their full attention as they discussed the palliative care ahead. But Effie could only stare at Aunt Beatrice, laying horribly still in a hospital bed, wires and tubes connected to her. Machines beeping was the only real sign that she hadn’t been lost yet.
Effie settled into a stiff chair with its plasticky upholstery and took Aunt Bea’s hand in hers. She traced the veins visible beneath her fragile skin with her thumb. Bits of paint clung to the underside of her fingernails, and Effie couldn’t have stopped the tears that came for anything.
It didn’t matter that eighty-three was a good long life. It didn’tmatter that she’d had a fulfilling career in the sciences and shared her wisdom with countless students. It didn’t matter that Beatrice had loved her Thatcher women with her whole heart and given the rest to a man who never came home from war. All that mattered to Effie in that moment was that Aunt Bea wouldn’t see her own art show. She wouldn’t meet up with those old friends. She wouldn’t get to do all the things she’d put off, because her time had finally run out.
At least that’s what the doctors were saying around her. That this was nearly impossible to come back from. But if Effie knew anything, it was that Aunt Beatrice was as unpredictable as they come. She had turned from chemistry to watercolors. She brought home exotic birds and dished like a schoolgirl in the cafeteria. She was too vivacious to be snuffed out. Though Effie knew it was an inevitability, being faced with the reality was entirely different.
People filtered in and out of the room all afternoon, but Effie remained.
Finally, when the sky had darkened outside the open window of Beatrice’s hospital room, Effie felt a firm hand on her shoulder.
