Chapter 8 - THE PACKING OF WREN
Two days later, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, Simone’s SUV pulled up to the curb in front of 1428 Elmwood Lane.
I stepped out of the car, breathing in the cold air.
When I walked up the front steps and opened the front door with my key, the house was completely silent.
In the hallway sat three large cardboard boxes and two duffel bags.
Wren was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, wearing her coat, holding a small cardboard box containing her favorite books and her high school science projects.
When she saw me walk in, she stood up, a faint, genuine smile breaking across her face.
“Hey, Cass,” Wren whispered.
“Hey, kiddo,” I smiled back. “Are you ready?”
Mom walked out of the kitchen, looking weary and exhausted. Dark circles hung under her eyes. She looked at me, then looked at Wren’s boxes.
“She’s taking all her things,” Mom said softly, her voice devoid of its usual fake warmth. “You really took her away from us.”
“I didn't take her,” I replied, walking over to pick up Wren’s heaviest duffel bag. “You agreed to let her come. And Wren wants to be where she’s supported.”
Brent came walking down the stairs from the second floor.
He didn't look at me. He kept his eyes glued to the floorboards. He looked defeated, stripped of his arrogance. I had heard through Wren that Dad had forced Brent to list his lifted truck for sale on Facebook Marketplace that morning, and had given him thirty days to find a job or move his things into the shed.
Brent walked straight past me into the kitchen without saying a single word.
Wren walked up to Mom and stood before her. “Goodbye, Mom.”
Mom looked at her youngest daughter, her eyes brimming with tears. She reached out and wrapped Wren in a tight, desperate hug. “Call me every day, Wren. Please.”
“I’ll call you on weekends, Mom,” Wren said gently, stepping back from the hug.
We carried Wren’s boxes out to Simone’s SUV, loading them into the back trunk. Wren sat in the front passenger seat, adjusting her seatbelt, looking back at the house through the side mirror as Simone pulled away from the curb.
“How do you feel, Wren?” I asked from the back seat.
May you like
Wren looked at her hands, then looked out the window at the snow beginning to fall gently over the neighborhood trees.
“I feel like I can finally breathe,” Wren said quietly.
