Chapter 15
Bianca and Mother became closer after everything.
Not because trauma magically bonds people.
They argued constantly.
Mother hated Bianca’s tea.
Bianca hated Mother rearranging Ella’s clothes.
Normal.
One afternoon I found them at the patio where the chain incident occurred.
Mother sat beside the same stone planter.
Eating peaches.
Bianca reading.
The decorative chain was gone.
I had ordered every similar chain removed.
Mother noticed.
“Ridiculous.”
“What?”
“The chains.”
“You wanted them?”
“They held flower pots.”
Fair.
I had turned objects into symbols again.
Trauma makes you superstitious.
Mother said:
“Hattie made one chain ugly.”
“That doesn’t mean metal is evil.”
I hated when she was right.
We restored the garden chains.
Different arrangement.
Mother watched.
No reaction.
Good.
The goal was not to sterilize the world of reminders.
It was to return meaning to normal proportions.
A chain could hold decoration.
A table could hold food.
A car could transport someone who chose to enter.
Simple objects had become frightening because people attached control to them.
May you like
Take away the control.
Objects shrink again.
