Through the Glass Darkly

Ava pressed her thumbnail into the seam of her skirt as the car eased toward the curb, the old house rising slowly into view. The brick was darker than it had looked in the photos Maddie had sent—older, too, the mortar faded to a tired gray. Three narrow stories stacked on top of one another, tall windows trimmed in white, a shallow stoop with iron railing curling like something decorative and unnecessary. It looked less like a place to live and more like something that had already lived a long time without her.

The rental SUV chirped as her mother tapped the brake too firmly.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” her mother muttered, swiping at the screen on the console. “I don’t know why they can’t just make a key like they used to.”

“It’s just the lane thing,” Ava said lightly. “You drifted a little.”

“I wasn’t drifting. I was slowing down.”

Ava kept her eyes on the house and smoothed the front of her blouse with her free hand. The collar sat neatly against her collarbone. The small silver chain of her late great-grandmother’s Miraculous Medal pressed coolly against her skin. She resisted the urge to tug it lower, out of sight. She had chosen the long denim skirt carefully that morning—something steady, something her mother would recognize as her.

The SUV rolled to a stop. The engine ticked softly in the sudden quiet.

Her mother leaned forward over the steering wheel and studied the townhouse. She didn’t say anything at first, and that was worse.

“It’s older than I pictured,” she said finally.

“It’s historic,” Ava replied quickly. “Maddie said most of the houses on this street are from the 1800s.”

Her mother hummed, unconvinced. She glanced down at the navigation screen, then back at the building, as if it might change if she stared long enough.

“I still don’t understand why you couldn’t finish the year there,” she said.

Ava had known it would come again. It always did, when there was nothing else left to say.

“You know why,” she said, eyes fixed on the dashboard. “We couldn’t afford it. And I just … I couldn’t stay.”

“You were happy,” her mother said, wistfully. “The weather was beautiful. The campus was beautiful. That chapel? And the ocean wasn’t far.”

Almost inaudibly, Ava replied, “I wasn’t happy,” like she needed permission to say it. She stared at the scarring just peaking out from under her wristwatch.

Her mother reacted as if she hadn’t heard her daughter. “Aren’t you going to miss it?”

Ava only let out a light sigh as she pulled out her phone. “I’ll text Maddie that we’re here.”

Her mother’s hand hovered over the gearshift, though the engine was already off. “After everything this fall,” she said carefully, “I just don’t want you starting over somewhere you don’t know anyone.”

“I know Maddie.” Ava kept her voice even, her eyes on her phone though she wasn’t typing yet. “And she said HSU’s big enough that nobody really notices if you’re … new.”

“That’s what worries me,” her mother said.

Ava swallowed and tried something else, something that would tickle her mother’s sensibilities. “The Newman Center’s strong. They have daily Mass. Campus bible studies. I checked.” She forced a small laugh and looked at her mother. “You looked it up before I did.”

“And you’ll go?”

“Yes.” The word came out softer than she meant it to. “I just—I think it’ll be different here.”

“Different how?”

Ava hesitated. The house filled her mother’s window, tall and unblinking. “Less … intense,” she said at last. “More room to breathe.”

Her mother watched her instead of the house. “I don’t want you disappearing into yourself again. And, you know me. I also don’t want you getting into trouble. Things happen at college. AMU was …”

Ava grew impatient. “I won’t. I won’t. Aren’t you always the one saying you have to live in the world but not be of it?”

“Yes, but …”

The front door of the townhouse opened.

“Look,” Ava said, grateful for the interruption. “It’s Maddie.”

A girl stepped onto the stoop, sunlight catching in her blonde hair. She wore a loose linen blouse and fitted shorts, white sneakers bright against the dark brick. A faint line of mascara darkened her lashes. She jogged down the short row of stone steps and checked both ways.

“Madeline,” Ava’s mother said under her breath, already reaching for the door handle.

Ava was out of the car before her, the late-afternoon air brushing cool against her calves. She smoothed her skirt again without meaning to.

Maddie grinned and crossed the street. “You made it. Welcome to the Harbor! I can’t wait to show you the campus.” She wrapped Ava in a quick, easy hug. “How was your flight?”

“Oh, it was fine,” Ava said, lighting up a little bit. “Missed our connection, but …”

“Yes, you said that.”

“Everything went smoothly after that,” she continued. “They didn’t even misplace our luggage. That was what Mom had been most worried about.”

Her mother approached more slowly. “Madeline. You look good,” she said a little stiffly. “Thanks for letting Ava have the room.”

“Of course, Aunt Carol,” Maddie said brightly. “We’re excited to have her.”

Ava managed a smile.

When her mother turned toward the back of the SUV, pressing the button on the key fob without result, Ava took Maddie aside.

“I’d told you modest,” she whispered. “What is this? Now, my mom is going to feel even more guilty for letting me come here.”

“Oh God, Ava,” Maddie replied, rolling her eyes. “You need this place even more than you realize. This is modest, Ava. What does your mother expect me to wear? Sackcloth and ash?”

Heat rose in Ava’s cheeks. “I just meant—”

“It’s fine,” Maddie said gently. “You’re fine. Carol will get over it.”

Behind them, the SUV chirped again.

“I don’t understand why it won’t open,” her mother said, pressing the button harder. “It worked this morning.”

Maddie stepped around her and reached beneath the liftgate, fingers finding the latch immediately. The trunk rose with a smooth hydraulic sigh.

“There you go.”

Her mother blinked. “Well. I suppose I didn’t see that.”

“It hides,” Maddie said with a shrug.

Ava moved to the back, lifting her duffel bag onto her shoulder. Her mother grabbed the carry-on, and the three women glanced once more at the house as the hatch closed by itself.

The windows reflected the road in pale rectangles. From somewhere inside came the sound of laughter—bright, unguarded.

Ava straightened her shoulders and inhaled deeply.

It would be different here.

It had to be.