My Butterfly

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    I was nervous. I couldn’t help but be. I hadn’t really talked to Jules’s mom in years. I tended to avoid the people that reminded me of Jules or the life I used to have with her. Her mom was one of those people.
    “Rachel,” I heard Mrs. Lang exclaim, as Rachel stepped into the house in front of me.
    Jules’s mom enveloped Rachel in a hug and planted a kiss on her cheek.
    “Oh, and sweetie, Eric left some of that blackberry honey out for Jon,” Mrs. Lang said. “He knows how much he likes that kind.”
    “Oh, thanks, Mrs. L,” Rachel said, as Jules’s mom released Rachel from her grip.
    I was now standing in the hallway behind Rachel, so when Rachel stepped out of the way, I was in plain view.
    “Will,” Mrs. Lang exclaimed.
    I couldn’t tell if she had said my name in a scolding tone or if it had come from a place of surprise.
    “Mrs. Lang,” I said, greeting her and tipping my cap.
    She was motionless for a second, and her expression refused to waiver. But before I could think of what to do next, she threw her arms around me, just like she had done with Rachel a minute ago.
    “It’s so good to see you,” she said, into my shoulder. “It’s been so long.”
    She pulled away from me then but kept her hands on my shoulders, as if to get a good look at me.
    “You’re so grown up,” she exclaimed, as her eyes turned a little sad.
    “Nah,” I said. “I’m not that grown up yet.”
    She softly smiled and then turned to Rachel.
    Rachel shrugged her shoulders and squished her lips together like Rachel did when she was indifferent.
    “He’s really not,” Rachel reassured her.
    Mrs. Lang turned back to me, smiled again and squeezed my shoulders.
    “Well, do you guys want some spiced honey cookies or some honey bread or tea?” she asked, as she darted into the kitchen then.
    Rachel followed Mrs. L into the other room and came back out with a cup of something in her hand.
    “The tea has honey in it,” Rachel said, as she smiled up at me.
    “Will, do you want anything?” Mrs. L asked.
    “Uh, no, Mrs. Lang, I’m fine. Thanks,” I said, grinning.
    Jules’s dad had picked up raising bees in the last couple of years. I knew that because he sold the honey and everything that went along with it at my grandpa’s store.
    Suddenly, Mrs. Lang appeared in the hallway again.
    “Okay,” she said, looking at the two of us. “Let’s see what we can find.”
    She shuffled to the bottom of the stairs and then started her climb. Rachel followed her, and I followed Rachel.
    “Oh, Will, how is the singing going?” Mrs. Lang asked.
    I took another step before I answered.
    “It’s going all right,” I said.
    “It was so funny,” Mrs. Lang went on. “Eric and I were up and about that morning that you were on the Good Morning show, you know?”
    “Mm hmm,” I said.
    “Well, all of a sudden, we heard your voice,” she continued, without missing a beat. “I knew it was your voice. And both of us just immediately stopped what we were doing. I’m not kidding. I set my cup down onto the counter—well, I guess, it more or less fell to the counter—and we both just gravitated to the television as if we were zombies. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”
    She stopped at the top of the stairs, and Rachel slipped past her.
    “I’m so proud of you, Will,” she said, giving me that motherly smile that makes them look as if they want to cry too.
    I smiled, and my cheeks turned hot.
    “It’s nothing really,” I assured her.
    She tilted her head slightly to the side.
    “And you’re staying safe with the whole firefighter thing?” she asked. “No more falling from two-story buildings?”
    “No, ma’am,” I said, shaking my head, my eyes cast down again.
    “I hope not,” she said.
    She rested her hand on my shoulder and lightly nudged me onward.
    Rachel was already sprawled out onto the bed when I stepped into the room. I quickly glanced around and then immediately retraced my steps in my mind.
    “Is this Julia’s room?” I asked.
    “Mm hmm,” Rachel said.
    “Well,” Rachel continued. “It’s the guest quarters now.”
    She had said her last words in a British accent for some reason.
    “It’s better than that awful lavender that Mrs. L let Julia paint it,” Rachel said.
    Mrs. Lang turned and smiled at Rachel.
    I looked around the room. All of Jules’s 4-H trophies were gone, along with all her track medals, her favorite band posters and that frightfully big, stuffed