Chapter 13 - The Bench
The city dedicated a bench to Claire Hollis on a Saturday in September, in the botanical garden where she used to walk on Sunday mornings.
Grant had not wanted to do it. Diane had pushed for it, and Grant had eventually agreed because he couldn't think of a reason not to, and because Amelia had said she wanted to go.
It was a small ceremony. Thirty people. Diane and her sister. A few of Claire's friends from the museum. Priya. Dr. Patel, who had asked if it was okay to come.
And, at the back, Rosa and Leo and Sofia.
The bench was stone, with a small brass plaque. Claire Elizabeth Hollis. 1981–2023. She walked here.
Amelia was in her wheelchair. Grant stood behind it.
They had asked her if she wanted to say something. She had said no. Then two days ago, she had said yes.
At the end of the ceremony, Grant pushed her chair up to the front.
She gripped the armrests.
"Hi," she said.
The crowd waited.
"I don't really have a speech." She looked down at her lap. "My mom used to bring me here. She liked the roses. She used to say the ones that smelled the best were the ugliest ones, because they didn't have to try."
Someone in the crowd laughed softly.
"I'm eleven now. I was nine when she died." She paused. "For a long time I thought it was my fault. Because we were fighting in the car. About a song. And I said I hated her. And then she turned around. And then it happened."
Grant felt his chest tighten.
"But it wasn't my fault," she said. "My dad told me that. He told me every night for like four months, which was really annoying." More laughter. "And Leo told me. And Sofia told me. And my doctor told me. And I didn't believe any of them for a long time. And then one day I did."
She looked up.
"So I want to say something to my mom. Which is—I'm sorry we were fighting. And I love you. And I'm going to be okay."
She stopped.
Then she put her hands on the armrests and pushed herself up.
Grant stepped forward. She shook her head.
She stood. Bent forward, leaning on the chair, her arms shaking, her breath loud in the quiet garden.
Then she let go.
Two steps. Her legs stiff, her arms out, her whole body tilted forward like someone walking into wind.
Grant did not move.
She took a third step.
Then she stopped and sat down on the bench. On Claire's bench. She sat there, breathing hard, and she put her hand on the plaque.
May you like
"Hi, Mom," she said.
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