44. No More Chasing Butterflies
Chapter forty-four
No More Chasing Butterflies
Maggie
From the moment I started making funeral arrangements to the day of the wake, I walked around in a fog.
I remember calling my aunt and uncle, but after that, time ceased to exist. Things I would ordinarily be able to handle made me break down in tears.
There were times I gasped for breath when memories hit too hard.
Aunt June and Uncle Isaac stayed with Father, where I spent my days.
They made sure I had at least one meal a day.
At some point, I had an unexpected surprise at my door.
“Easton?”
Smiling, he pushed his way into my hotel room. “You hadn’t answered any of my texts, so I had to come check on you myself. I checked the obituaries and saw your mother had passed. I’m so sorry.”
All I could do was cry. So, Easton wrapped me up in a hug and took over thinking for me.
He responded to my phone messages, making sure I was wherever Aunt June told me to be and telling me about well-wishers.
I thought it was strange that I hadn’t heard from Paul, but Easton never said he texted.
No matter what appointment I had, Easton was always there.
One night, he drove me to meet my family for dinner, offering to act as a buffer for us.
And I let him. I was so numb inside that I didn’t even question it.
On the day of the wake, I was barely functioning.
I hadn’t been sleeping. While food was being pushed at me all the time, I had no appetite.
Exhaustion hit so hard that by the time I needed to do my duty to meet the townspeople coming to mourn Mom that I welcomed Easton’s arm around me to hold me upright.
Thank goodness for Aunt June who had taken me to Mainview to buy a dress and helped me get ready.
She wasn’t so sure about Easton, but he was being a good friend.
I was pretty sure he was the only reason I was wearing matching shoes.
As for the details of the day, though, I couldn’t have given you a list of the people I saw. They all blended together. I was only going through the motions because I was supposed to, expected to, and trying to do my daughterly duty for Father. Inside, though, I was a mess.
At some point, I remembered seeing Paul’s face, distorted with a look I didn’t understand.
Something inside of me missed Paul’s quiet way and strong arms, but I’d been unable to glue myself back together enough to make plans with him or anyone else.
Since he hadn’t contacted me, he must have been busy.
We were “just friends,” so it was fine. He didn’t owe me anything.
After the wake, we drove to the cemetery behind the church where Mom was lowered into the ground.
The pastor spoke, maybe Father did, too, but it was all a dull hum in the background.
Mom was gone. Aunt June kept her arms around me during the ceremony, and then Easton made sure my feet carried me to the church.
The women of the church had a meal prepared by the time we arrived back at the church basement.
It was the Midwestern way. One of them shoved a plate into my hand, but I’m not sure whether I ate anything or not.
Easton hovered around me, holding my hand as I received more townspeople wanting to chat.
He may have given me a glass of water or cup of coffee at some point, but I really couldn’t say for sure.
The church basement was where I’d spent so much time with Mom in my childhood. Sometimes taking care of the food for funerals. Sometimes getting ready for summer church camp. Sometimes preparing for a church picnic or wedding reception. Memories of her were everywhere, making the fog thicken.
Even surrounded by all these people, I was just lonely. Mom was gone, and the world shifted painfully in her absence.
Not able to stand being inside anymore, I feigned using the bathroom to sneak away and out the back door. The side yard held an old wooden swing that I always loved. Tears welled in my eyes. The lump in my throat never seemed to lessen. I was always on the verge of falling apart.
“Mags?”
Glancing up, I was surprised to see Paul when I hadn’t heard him approach. While I tried focusing on him, my eyes were too blurry. I couldn’t speak past that lump in my throat, so I swiped at my eyes, trying to clear them.
“Who is that Easton guy?”
“Easton?” I echoed, wondering why Paul wanted to talk about Easton when he hadn’t texted me since Mom passed.
Paul bit his lower lip, placed his hand on his hip, and looked at the church then back at me. “Yeah. Who is he to you?”
A wisp of frustration made me less than charitable. “He’s been here for me the last few days. Where have you been?”
Readjusting his hand on his hip, Paul shifted his feet a little. “Giving you space. I checked in with you every day, but you didn’t seem to want me to come around.”
“Wasn’t in the mood for sex,” I replied, lowering my gaze to the wood chips under my feet. He hadn’t texted anyway. If he had, I wouldn’t have turned away his comfort, but the lie bothered me.
Paul huffed. “Come on, that’s not all we did.”
I stood abruptly, keeping hold of the rope for balance. Anger boiled in my blood, cutting through more of the fog. “Sure, it is. What else have you done with me since I came here? We don’t talk.”
“I sure as hell never heard you complain.” he asked, his nostrils flaring. “You saying you don’t like what we’ve done?”
“I don’t like what we’ve become,” I said with my whole chest. “Never in my life did I think I would say that, but can you honestly say you do?”
Paul looked like he swallowed a fly.
As Uncle Isaac round the corner of the church and headed toward us, I crossed my arms, trying to hold myself together as my legs shook beneath me.
“Maybe you’re right, Mags,” he said, his eyes darkening. “But we can’t truly be us when you’re not free. All this time, you’ve never been, have you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I bit back, grabbing the swing rope to steady myself.
Uncle Isaac reached me, supporting me before I collapsed. “What’s going on here?”
Easton rounded the corner of the church, jogging toward me.
“Nothing,” I said, the words turning to ash on my tongue, hating how true that was.
Josh and Sawyer jogged over to Paul, flanking him as they each grabbed onto one of his arms to hold him back from going after Easton.
“Paul’s just a friend from high school giving his condolences.
” Sweat trickled down my spine. The humidity made swallowing even more difficult.
“Would you help me inside? I need some water.”
The best thing to do now was ignore everything. Aunt June appeared at the door, holding it open for us as my uncle and Easton helped me walk past Paul and his brothers. I didn’t give them a second look as I went inside.
I’d spent my entire life loving Paul and wondering what he wanted, if it was me or not.
After all this time, I still wasn’t sure, but from now on, I decided I didn’t care.
Right now, I didn’t want him. Mom valued my bravery to go out into the world and live life on my terms. So, that was exactly what I was going to do.
The next day, I woke up early to visit Father without Easton. Since the encounter with Paul yesterday, I’d been working my way out of the grief-stricken fog I was in and wanted a chance to speak to Father about how to move forward together.
I pushed in the front door. “Father?”
Aunt June stood from the kitchen table with a sad smile. “He’s not here, sweetie, but come inside. Let me make you some breakfast. Are you alone?”
“Yeah, I left early to avoid Easton,” I said, moving into the kitchen. “Where did Father go?”
Uncle Isaac held a note with my name on it. “I don’t know what he says in here, but he’s hurting and left for a while. It could be cruel, though, knowing him. Are you sure you want to read it now?”
I nodded, knowing I couldn’t hide from Father anymore.
Margaret,
I thought you’d stop by today, but I’m not ready for the conversation you want or to face a world without your mother.
I’ve gone on a trip to visit some of our favorite places to just steep in the memory of her and try to make it through the emptiness that is my life without her.
As for you, I don’t agree with your life choices like shutting the door on the beliefs I raised you to have.
I don’t agree with you being around that leech who wouldn’t stop touching you at the funeral.
And I don’t like what you did with Paul out of wedlock.
I’m tired, angry, and hurt, so I think we both have a little soul-searching to do before we meet and have that conversation you want.
I expect you’ll need to be back in Chicago before I come home, so don’t wait for me.
It wasn’t signed. There was no caring closing, like “Love, Dad,” or even a sentiment that he could forgive me. As if losing one parent was enough, my chest caved in, feeling like I’d lost them both.
Aunt June held me, but no tears came. I collapsed into a dining room chair where she held me in her arms for a while.
“I can’t stay here,” I finally said.
With a nod, she gave me a sorrowful look. “I know.”
“There’s only one more thing I want from this house before I go,” I said, standing.
In my bedroom, there was a photo of Mom and me at a church picnic when I was twelve sitting on the nightstand. Picking up the frame, I pressed the photo to my heart, kissed Mom’s smiling face, and took it with me. It was the only memento I wanted.
Remembering Mom’s words from one of our earlier conversations, a tear slipped down my cheek.
“I hope you find your joy, Maggie. I think you hoped it would be in Chicago, but you didn’t find it there, did you?”
I shook my head, placing my head on her lap. “Seems like I keep chasing it, but I can’t quite reach it.”
She smoothed down my hair, pulling it away from my face. “Maybe you should stop chasing it and it will come. It works with butterflies.”
Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I checked my text messages. Paul had sent a text every day since Mom’s death, and someone had responded, but it wasn’t me. I didn’t even know they existed.
Easton. He’d lied to me.
I let out a sigh, knowing what I had to do, and went out to the kitchen.
After filling my aunt and uncle in on my plans, I hugged them both and got in my car back to the Litchfield Inn.
Quickly packing, I gathered up my belongings, leaving George the pig on the table, and checked out.
Before I left town, I grabbed some snacks and bottled water from Newcomb’s Market and said goodbye to Suzie at her store.
“You’re leaving town?” she asked as we embraced.
I pulled back. “It’s time. I can’t wait to start the rest of my life. Mom made me see that.”
The lump in my throat made my voice strangled, but it was going to when I talked about her for a while. My heart was broken for so many reasons, but most of all because I lost the most influential woman in my life.
“Is that guy going with you?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Easton?” she asked. “Absolutely not. I’m done with him, and I need to do this on my own.”
“Good,” she said squeezing my arm. “He’s not right for you. And I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Paul, but maybe it’s for the best.”
A butterfly flitted by, landing on a nearby flower hanging outside of her store. Mom’s words came back to me. No chasing them and maybe they’ll come.
I shrugged. “I’m not going to worry about men anymore. I’m going to be too busy living.”
“Take care then. Be safe, and text me at least a few times a week,” she insisted. “I’ll miss you so much.”
“I’ll miss you, too, but I’ll keep in touch,” I promised. “Keep sending me pictures of those sweet kiddos and all the fun you’re having.”
“I will,” she promised, “and you send me pictures of you. I need to see you’re okay.”
After one last look around the downtown, I hit the open road to look for places I wanted to photograph off the beaten path. By myself.
I didn’t need Father’s approval, I didn’t need Easton either, and I didn’t need Paul to love me. I just needed music and the open road. My creativity would do the rest.
Since Brenda wasn’t expecting me back in Chicago for another week, I planned to spend the next five days driving all over the Midwest looking for that something I didn’t know how to describe. I’d know it when I saw it. Trusting my instincts. Not chasing joy but coming across it every day.
When I stopped at a diner in the next county, I chatted with locals and found back roads with absolute gems to photograph.
I also found a few cute bed and breakfasts to stay at in small towns off the beaten path.
Needing to connect with someone, I texted Wyatt, telling him what happened with Mom and letting him know when I’d be back.
I also sent a few raw shots to Karpathia with exclamation points.
She had to know I was taking her advice.
Then, I shut off my phone and just drove, taking photos whenever I found the right light.
While I didn’t feel good, I was determined to get back to doing the things I loved.
If there was anything this trip to Buena Vista had taught me, it was that life was too short not to pursue my passion.
My art was no longer going to take a backseat to my work.
Things were changing, which was both terrifying and exciting.