Chapter 2
I had spent eighteen months hating a dead woman for something she apparently never did.
Not completely.
I loved Sarah too much for hatred to survive every day.
But grief needed somewhere to go, and Margaret gave it direction.
Sarah was leaving.
Sarah was angry.
Sarah took Emily without telling me.
Sarah drove too fast.
Sarah made one final reckless decision.
That was the story.
I built my mourning around it.
Emily sat wrapped in a clinic blanket while Dr. Pierce gave her crackers and water.
She ate too quickly.
I noticed.
So did he.
“When did you last eat?”
Emily looked at Margaret.
That answer made me cold.
“Emily.”
“This morning.”
It was nearly evening.
Margaret sighed.
“She snacks constantly if nobody controls her.”
Emily lowered the cracker.
I crouched in front of her.
“You can finish it.”
She stared at me.
“All?”
“Yes.”
“What if dinner—”
“You still get dinner.”
Her face changed.
Small.
Almost invisible.
Children should not look surprised when told food will not disappear because they ate earlier.
I turned toward my mother.
“You controlled food too?”
“She needed rules.”
“She needed ribs that could expand.”
Margaret’s expression hardened.
“You’ve always been dramatic where that girl is concerned.”
That girl.
Her granddaughter.
My daughter.
I looked back at Emily.
“Tell me about Mom.”
She hesitated.
“What happens if I’m wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Grandma said if I tell wrong things, you’ll go back to work forever.”
My stomach tightened.
I ran the Warren organization from a rural woodshop because after Sarah died I could not tolerate the main estate. I still commanded men, routes, crews.
But I wore sawdust instead of suits most days.
I thought staying nearby made me present.
Apparently proximity was not the same thing.
“Tell me what you remember.”
Emily held the cracker with both hands.
“Mom said we were going to your workshop.”
Margaret went still.
Emily continued.
“She said she had to show you something before Grandma took it.”
I looked at Margaret.
“What?”
No answer.
Emily whispered:
“A little wooden bird.”
I knew exactly what she meant.
May you like
I made Sarah a wooden swallow the year Emily was born.
And I had not seen it since the night Sarah died.
