Chapter 14 - Emma Stopped Hiding Under Tables
A year after the dinner, Damiano hosted Thanksgiving at Ashford.
I almost said no.
Then Emma asked:
“Can we go?”
So we did.
The house felt different.
Some of Luca’s photographs remained.
His study had finally been changed.
Not erased.
Damiano moved the old desk to storage, donated several business books to a university, and turned part of the room into:
a reading room.
I cried in the doorway.
Damiano said:
“I can put it back.”
“No.”
I wiped my face.
“Don’t.”
Grief does not require preservation in amber.
Dinner was smaller.
Damiano.
Me.
Emma.
Aunt Melissa.
Two cousins.
No Bianca.
Victor no longer worked with Damiano.
No one treated the absences like:
victory.
They were simply:
changes.
Halfway through dinner, a serving spoon slipped from someone’s hand and hit a plate.
Sharp noise.
Emma startled.
My body responded before my mind.
I looked under the table.
She wasn’t there.
She was sitting in her chair.
Bunny beside her.
She looked at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You thought I was hiding.”
I smiled.
“Maybe.”
“I’m eight.”
“As of three months ago.”
“I don’t hide under tables.”
Cousin Melissa said:
“You hid under mine last Christmas.”
Emma looked offended.
“That was because Jasper was chasing me.”
Jasper was Melissa’s dog.
Everyone laughed.
I felt tears in my eyes.
Not because Emma remembered nothing.
Because the memory no longer controlled:
her body.
Later she wandered into the west wing.
Her old bedroom was now:
a guest room.
Different bedding.
Different art.
She stood in the doorway.
“Is this okay?”
I asked.
“Yeah.”
She thought.
“Can we sleep here sometime?”
“Maybe.”
“Not forever.”
“No.”
“Just sleepover.”
I smiled.
“Just sleepover.”
She ran downstairs.
That was the real success.
Ashford had stopped being:
home or exile.
It had become:
Uncle Damiano’s house.
A place she could visit.
Leave.
Return.
May you like
Without her belonging being decided by the door.
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