even so, it still looked like home.
A sharp pang struck her as she shut the engine off and looked at the tree she used to climb. She’d carved her initials on the branch right above the small platform she’d built, her base for a tree house that never materialized. Not too far away was the old well that she was never supposed to get close to, but, of course, the warning made it all the more seductive. She’d thought she would throw pennies down the well, making her wishes for a pink bike, a kiss from Hayden Harvey, and a training bra come true. But the old well had ended up being dank and weird smelling. She’d slid a penny under the concrete lid and never heard it plink below.
Here her childhood sat, ripe with memory but not with regret.
No, her regrets were more recent.
Ellery picked up the cake pan, climbed out, and walked around to the kitchen door, which no longer had a bang-and-slam screen door, but instead a pretty french door with a striped awning above. Her mother’s car sat in the carport, which had also been given its own makeover. Ellery climbed the steps, expecting Jonas’s bark. The dog didn’t come skidding to the door. Instead she caught her mother’s figure walking past.
Daphne moved toward the door, her eyes widening only slightly. For a moment the two of them stood, each on a side of an unfamiliar door, both perhaps wondering at the metaphor.
Finally, her mother opened the door. “Ellery.”
“Hi, Mom.”
She could tell her mother wanted to ask her a barrage of questions, but for a moment, she merely took her in. Ellery knew what she found was likely a surprise. Ellery’s hair was no longer flat ironed within an inch of its life. Instead, she’d opted to let it curl naturally, a softer look. Her makeup was minimal—her Seattle look, as she liked to call it. She wore a slouchy sweater because March was still cold in Louisiana, perhaps the coldest month because spring tended to hold on to the chill as if it knew the torrid heat of June would soon render it a distant memory.
“You look good, honey,” Daphne said, something warm in her eyes. “Gained some needed weight.”
“It’s cold in Seattle . . . and rainy. I’ve been eating more. And I’ve gone curly,” she said, twining her hair about her finger. “I can no longer afford a blowout every week. Or maybe I never could.”
Her mother’s mouth twitched. “Come on in. I would offer you tea, but the kettle is packed.”
Ellery stepped inside the warmth. The mudroom was empty and smelled of new paint, and the new kitchen was gorgeous but also bare. It didn’t look like home. Tears prickled in her throat, but she swallowed them down. She set the pan on the counter right as her mother wrapped her in a hard embrace. Ellery didn’t fight it, because she needed her mother’s arms, needed to smell the Chanel N°5 she wore on special occasions, needed to breathe in home. She wrapped her arms around her mother’s back and laid her head against her shoulder. Her mother’s hands rubbed her back, and Ellery closed her eyes and pretended there was nothing hard between them.
Daphne eventually dropped her hands and pushed away, wiping tears from her eyes. “You came home.”
Ellery nodded. “But only for a visit. I needed to see the house before you handed the keys over, and I wanted to be here for the luncheon. Tippy Lou called me and told me about the award.”
Daphne set her hands on the marbled island. “She’s a meddling old woman.”
“Yeah, and always has been,” Ellery said, joining her mother at the island. Daphne glanced over at her. It was obvious her mother had been looking for her composure but hadn’t found it. Tears streamed down her face.
“Sorry,” she said, wiping her cheeks. “What’s this?”
Ellery pulled the aluminum foil off the top of the cake pan, revealing a chocolate sheet cake with sprinkles. “I missed your birthday.”
Daphne’s gaze met hers. “You baked me a cake? A chocolate Texas sheet cake?”
Ellery looked down at the cake covered with sprinkles. “It’s the first time I’ve ever baked something. I had to do it at Tippy Lou’s house. I’m not sure the almond milk worked so well.”
Her mother stared back at the cake. “No one has baked me a cake since my mama died.”
Ellery felt the unshed tears perched in the back of her throat move to