Chapter 10 - Carry Yourselves
Daniel and Claire came to Alaska that summer. Nora did not invite Walt. She didn't invite Kendra either, though Kendra sent snacks for the trip and a note that said: *Trying loudly.*
Daniel and Claire arrived in Fairbanks looking like city people pretending not to be cold in July. Nora met them in a rented pickup.
"You're driving this?" Daniel said.
"Usually."
At the property, the cabin frame was up — rough walls, a roofline, windows not yet in, tarps snapping in the wind. Deb's crew had left for the day.
Daniel stood at the edge of the clearing. "You're really doing this."
"Yes."
Claire walked to the frame and touched a beam. "You're building a house."
"A cabin."
"Still."
The three of them stood there, mosquitoes and spruce all around, facing a structure too unfinished to be sentimental.
"I used to think Dad made everything possible," Daniel said. "I don't think that now."
"I used to think you liked doing everything," Claire said.
Nora almost laughed. Then she saw Claire's face and didn't. "No. I liked loving you. That was never the same as liking being used."
Daniel flinched. Good. Truth sometimes needs to bruise.
They stayed three days. Daniel learned to split kindling badly. Claire learned that hauling water is not a metaphor. Nora watched them struggle with practical things and felt something unexpected — not satisfaction. Grief. They should have learned earlier what labor cost. Someone should have taught them.
On the second night, around a fire pit Earl had helped set, Daniel stared into the flames. "Mom. Were you lonely with us?"
There are questions children ask too late, and mothers answer from both the wound and the love.
"Yes," she said.
Claire started crying. Daniel nodded slowly, as if he'd expected it and hoped against it.
Kendra joined by video call the next morning and held up an ultrasound picture. A baby. Daniel's baby. Nora's first grandchild.
"Do you want to know the name?" Kendra asked.
"If you want to tell me."
"Ada. After your grandmother. If that's okay."
Nora had to sit down on an overturned bucket. Claire cried again. Daniel covered his face.
May you like
On the tiny screen, Kendra whispered, "I want her to know which women built the table before she sat down at it."
That sentence did something no apology had. It gave the future a different shape.
