Chapter 7 Eleanor
ELEANOR
The drop off went much better today than it had been going. It had taken a couple of weeks to get adjusted, but Ava was actually starting to like her school.
When I pulled back into my house, I saw Belle's van sitting in the driveway. My shoulders relaxed as I put my car into park and climbed the stairs. She was an ember of warmth in my mother's cold house.
When I entered the house, it was the same pristine place it always was, except for some music in the kitchen. Good music. The Ramones, if I'm correct. And I was always correct when it came to music.
When I entered the kitchen, I saw Belle bent with her head in the bottom cabinet, humming to the song.
"Hi," I said as I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee.
Her head hit the top of the cabinet as she gave a little oof. She emerged from the bottom cabinet, rubbing the back of her head, and set a cutting board down on the counter next to the fresh carton of strawberries.
I leaned against the doorway. “You know, my mother would have an aneurysm if she saw you using the wrong cutting board for fruit.”
“Oh my God! You can’t sneak up on a woman with a knife in her hand!”
I laughed. “Consider it payback for all the times you’ve caught me crying in random hallways. And to be fair, you didn't have that knife in your hand when I snuck up on you,” I said as I took a sip of coffee.
“Fair enough. Want some strawberries, or do you only eat food your mom disapproves of?”
“That’s becoming my new diet plan.”
Belle grinned and pushed the bowl toward me. “Smart. Rebellion with vitamin C.”
I took one, still smiling. “You always this cheerful before noon?”
“Only when I’ve had coffee and good music,” she said. “And because your mom’s not home. I swear, that woman’s tension could curdle milk.”
“She was born clenched,” I said before I could stop myself.
Belle laughed so hard she nearly choked on a berry. “Born clenched! I’m stealing that.”
For a minute, we just stood there laughing, the kind of easy laughter that felt like stretching after being cramped too long.
When it faded, Belle wiped her hands on a towel. “Hey, what are you doing Saturday?”
“Probably laundry,” I said. “And pretending my life’s together.”
“Cancel your glamorous laundry plans,” she said with a grin. “The Grimm Reapers are having their spring picnic. It’s a roller skating thing at the park. Ya know, skates, games, food, music, the whole thing. You should come.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you,” she said. “You liked the bout, right? This is the family version. Lower risk of concussions, higher risk of friendship bracelets.”
I raised a brow. “That’s quite a sales pitch.”
She shrugged, smiling. “You could bring Ava. There’s a little path where kids skate, and the team’s doing a charity booth for the Penguin Project. Plus, it’s basically the most fun you can have in daylight.”
I hesitated. “You really think we’d fit in?”
Belle leaned her hip against the counter. “Eleanor, everyone fits in. That’s kind of the point.”
The simple confidence in her voice made something in my chest ease.
“Okay,” I said softly. “Yeah. We’ll come.”
Belle grinned. “Good. I’ll save you a spot on the blanket. But fair warning, I plan to win the three-legged race this year.”
I smiled back, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. “You strike me as the competitive type.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” she said, tossing a strawberry at me.
I caught it, laughing, and for a moment, the house didn’t feel like my mother’s for just a moment.
Belle rinsed the knife and set it in the drying rack. “So, what are you going to do with your sudden day of freedom? Spa day? Couch day? Full-blown rebellion?”
I smiled faintly. “Honestly? I think I might actually try to work for a bit.”
Belle tilted her head, curious. “Work work or ‘pretend to be productive while scrolling’ work?”
“The first one, hopefully.” I hesitated, twisting the strawberry stem between my fingers. “I . . . used to write and illustrate children’s books.”
Her face lit up. “No way. That’s incredible.”
“It was,” I said quietly. “But I haven’t done it in a long time.”
Belle leaned against the counter, giving me her full attention, not pushing, just waiting. “What stopped you?”
I took a breath, then another. “My husband died. A little over a year ago.”
Her expression softened instantly, all that wild energy quieting into something gentle. “I’m so sorry, Eleanor.”
“Thanks.” I looked down at the counter, tracing the grain of the wood. “He was my biggest cheerleader. I think . . . I just couldn’t make anything without him. Every time I tried, it felt wrong. Like the color got drained out of everything.”
Belle nodded, not with pity but understanding. “Grief does that. It makes the world grayscale. Until one day you pick up a brush or a pen, and realize there’s still a little color left.”
Her words hit deeper than she probably knew.
“I think,” I said softly, “I’m finally starting to see the color again.”
Belle smiled, small but sure. “Then that’s your sign. Go make something, even if it’s messy. Especially if it’s messy.”
I laughed quietly. “You’re kind of bossy.”
“I prefer motivationally assertive,” she said with a wink, grabbing her bag. “I’ll see you Saturday.”
After she left, the house was quiet again, but not empty the way it used to feel.
I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee and sat down at the little desk by the window. The sketchpad was right where I’d left it, buried under unopened mail.
I hesitated only a moment before flipping it open.
My pencil moved almost on its own, the way it used to. A circle. A line. A swoop of motion.
When I looked down, a tiny roller derby girl stared back at me. She was all elbow pads and fierce grin, hair flying behind her as she skated full speed toward something just out of frame.
I smiled. For the first time in a long time, drawing didn’t hurt.
It felt like breathing.