Hannah

The flight had been long, but I hadn’t gotten much rest, not with my thoughts on Charlie, on the children, on my regrets as I ran away, ran home.

The realization that had hit me hardest of all as I flew over the Atlantic was that I truly loved him. I loved him even though he’d hurt me. I loved him even though he wasn’t free to love me back. I loved him for how he loved his children and how he’d made me feel. I loved him for wanting me, for giving me a glimpse into a life where I belonged to someone and where they belonged to me even if I couldn’t keep them.

And what hurt the most was that it didn’t matter that I loved him because I’d had no choice but to leave.

I waited for my bags at the carousel with bleary eyes, rolled them outside in the drizzling rain, took a train home, my mind on Charlie all the while, on all the things I’d left behind in New York, on all the things I’d left in Holland that I would come back to.

Once I was out of the station, I climbed into a waiting taxi, and when we pulled away, the driver made small talk, asking after my trip, if I was home for the holiday, about my family, and I didn’t want to speak of any of it, didn’t want to talk, especially not about America or what had happened there. But I smiled and answered all the same.

It was good practice for when I got home.

When I unlocked the door, and called, “Hallo,” I found that my entire family was home.

They flooded into the entry, smiling and shining and tall and blond, and with every kiss and hug and word of Dutch rather than English, I found my spirits lifted, my heart filled back up for the moment.

Everyone was talking at once—Mama shushing my eight-year-old twin brothers, who were bouncing, asking what I’d brought them. Annelise, my older sister, and Johanna, my younger sister, talked and laughed, watching me with eagerness to get me alone and hear the real story. Oma hugged me and told me I looked hungry—she always smelled of vanilla and cinnamon and home. And Papa wrapped his arm around my shoulders, whispering that he’d missed me.

Mama ushered us back to the kitchen, our favorite room of the house.

We all sat at the long table in the dining room that Mama and Annelise had set with cookies and pastries and tea and coffee. They flitted around, gathering extra spoons and napkins and generally fussing about.

“Did you see the Statue of Liberty?” Bas asked.

“Did you eat a hot dog from a cart?” Coen asked before I could answer.

“Did you get mugged?” Bas asked just after.

Papa tsked. “Boys, maybe give Hannah a little breathing room.”

They made faces at him.

“If your mouth needs something to do, eat a cookie.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. It became an instant sport to see who could eat the most at once.

Johanna beamed at me from across the table. “I can’t believe you’re home!” I can’t wait to hear why, her face said.

“I’ve missed you too,” I said with a laugh.

Annelise and Mama finally sat, beaming down the table at me.

“How’s the shop?” I asked. “Who’s keeping it today? I didn’t think you’d all be home.”

Mama laughed. “As if we would stay at work when we knew you would be here. We’ve all missed you terribly, Hannah.”

I smiled back. “I’ve missed you too.”

“Sara and Julia are at the shop. They said to tell you hello. We’ll see them tomorrow, I think.”

“What had you rushing home without warning?” Oma asked without malice or accusation. It was just her direct, nosy, caring way.

Everyone was silent, and a flush crept up my cheeks.

“I was just homesick, Oma. It would have been my first holiday away from home.”

“Bah,” she said with a wave of her hand. “You’re not a baby, Hannah, and I know you better than to think you would turn tail and run home because you missed your mama. Did something happen? You’re all right, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Oma, I’m all right,” I said a little too quietly.

She didn’t believe me, and her face told me so.

But as she opened her mouth to argue, Mama cut in. “Hannah, how is Lysanne? How was America? We got your postcards, but I want to hear about the adventures you had.”

Oma gave Mama a look. “But I want to know—”

“Have a cookie, Mama,” Mama said pointedly.

Oma took the cookie Mama thrust at her, dipping it into her coffee with a look on her face.

I smiled at Mama gratefully and launched into stories about New York and Lysanne, skirting around my failed jobs and the tangled up mess that had ended it all and sent me home. By the time I was finished, Oma looked fit to burst with questions, and I pushed away from the table.

“If it’s all right, I think I’d like to shower and lie down for a little bit.”

“Yes, of course,” Mama said, seeming relieved. She’d seen Oma, too.

Papa took my bags upstairs, and Mama hooked her arm in mine, taking me up behind him.

“Are you all right?” she asked quietly when we were out of earshot of the rest of the family, still chatting noisily in the kitchen.

I leaned into her. “No, but I suppose I will be.”

She nodded. “I’m here, if you want to talk. I’m always here.”

“I know,” I said, wishing I could tell her everything, deciding that I would once I had it all sorted out myself. “I’m sorry to come home so suddenly.”

“Why ever would you be sorry? I never wanted you to leave in the first place,” she said on a laugh. “New York is too far away. I missed you, my angel. And to have you home now is the best gift I could get. I can’t even explain how I was dreading the holiday without you. It wasn’t going to be much of a celebration with one of my children missing.” She squeezed my arm, pulling me a little closer.

“I missed you too. I shouldn’t have gone away, Mama,” I said, tears springing from out of nowhere as we came to a stop outside of my room.

She searched my face. “Don’t cry. And don’t regret going. I don’t believe that things happen for a reason. The idea of fate never appealed to me; I wish to be the master of my future. But everything that happens to you, good or bad, is a chance to learn and grow. So don’t wish to change the past. Just consider the future and use what you’ve learned to make yourself stronger. That’s all you can do. That, and wait for time to pass so that whatever hurt you has time to heal.”

She didn’t wait for me to answer, just pulled me into a hug, and I sank into her arms, closing my eyes, fighting my tears back for just a few more minutes until I was alone.

Mama let me go just as Papa came out of my room, pressing a kiss into my hair before taking Mama’s hand and leaving me alone with my thoughts.

My room was as I’d left it—a comfort and a curse. Because even though it was the same, I had changed. I’d never be the girl who had last sat on this bed and daydreamed about her future with blissful, dreamy romanticism.

I didn’t unpack—I was too tired, too worn—just set my suitcases on their sides and opened them up, digging through them for my toiletries and a change of clothes. Down the hall I went and into the shower, turning the water as hot as I could stand it, waiting until the stream ran lukewarm before dragging myself back out.

I dressed sleepily in leggings, an oversize sweater, and tall, comfortable socks, braiding my damp hair. And by the time I made it back to my room, I found both of my sisters sitting on my bed, cross-legged and excited.

Annelise motioned to the door. “Close that, and tell us everything.”

I sighed. “Lise, I’m so tired. Can we talk later?”

“No. Now, close the door! You know Oma is listening.”

Johanna laughed. “She can’t stand not knowing.”

I sighed again, this time even heavier. And then I closed the door because the looks on their faces said they wouldn’t be leaving until I told them.

“Move over,” I directed as I approached, climbing into bed with them.

“What in the world happened?” Johanna asked. “You really are all right, aren’t you?”

I only had a small smile to offer as reassurance. “I’ll be okay, but right now … no, I’m not all right. Not really.”

“Start at the beginning,” Annelise ordered and leaned in to listen.

And so I told them. I told them about Quinton and his advances and my leaving. I told them about Charlie, about who he was and how I cared for him, about Mary and the kids and the whole ordeal, all the way to our fight and my trip home.

I left out the part where I loved him.

They watched me, hanging on every word, every twist and turn, only offering gasps and gaping mouths and the occasional noise of disdain, especially whenever I brought up Mary.

“You haven’t spoken to him since you left?” Annelise asked.

I shook my head.

“You care for him very much, don’t you?” Annelise watched me with eyes that saw too much.

“Yes, very much.”

“Have you thought about calling him?” Johanna asked.

“A hundred times, but I won’t. I can’t, not after the way things ended. There’s nothing for either of us to say.” I took a breath. “I never should have taken the job, not after Quinton. I knew it the second I first saw Charlie, but I thought I knew better. And in the end, I hurt him, and he hurt me. It was a dangerous situation, and I didn’t even think twice, just jumped in. I shouldn’t have left home in the first place. Everything that happened in America was a mess, and now I just want to forget all about it.”

Tears dropped off my lids, too heavy and fast for anything but a free fall from my lashes.

Johanna reached for my hand. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I’m sorry this happened.”

“Mama said not to be sorry. She said I should be glad it happened, but it hurts too badly to be ready for that.”

“Well,” Annelise started, “Mama’s very wise about such things.”

“Yes, she is.”

She nodded and moved to climb off my bed. “Come on, Johanna. Let’s leave her alone to rest, yeah?”

“Yes, of course,” Johanna answered, hugging me tight before she followed Annelise to the door.

Annelise smiled from the doorway. “You sleep. We’re going to make you oliebollen, so they’ll be ready when you wake, and we’ll be sure there’s enough that you can eat them until you’re sick—with some leftover.”

I chuckled. “That actually sounds perfect.”

And then they ducked out of my room, leaving me alone.

I slipped under the blankets and listened to the sound of rain pattering against my window, wishing for things I could never have.