Page 72 of Weight of Guilt

Her mother’s face came apart. “They what⁠—”

“They need twenty minutes,” Nora quickly explained. “He’s resting.”

“I want to see my son.” Their mother’s voice shook, and her eyes widened until it looked like her pupils might burst from them. “I want to see him. I want to see him right now!”

“I know you do,” Wren murmured.

“I have waited ten years to hear this.” Her mother’s voice climbed high and thin. “Ten years, and you’re telling me to stay in a waiting room when my son is close enough for me to touch?”

“Mama, sit down with me,” Wren murmured.

“Don’t Mama me! I want to see my son!”

“Sit down, and I’ll go up to that desk myself and ask.” Nora used her gentle voice. “Come on.”

Nora and Wren led their mom to a seat, and she sat. While Wren sat beside her, Marlowe slipped away to the vending machine and Nora headed to the nurses’ station.

Her mother had worn black every day for ten years. Not mourning, exactly. Wren had decided a long time ago it was simpler than that—black didn’t require a decision.

She was still slim. Still had the dark hair and the blue eyes she’d handed down to all three of her daughters. People used to turn their heads when she walked into a room. They’d stopped somewhere in the last decade after their mom had stopped taking care of herself.

Every six weeks, Wren got her into the chair at Shear Bliss. On the house, though her mother still tried to leave a twenty under the register every time. Wren always gave it back.

Marlowe came back with a can of Sprite and handed it to her mom.

Instead of opening it, Mom started to cry.

Wren’s heart twisted so hard that an ache formed in her chest.

After a few minutes, her mom sniffled and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Marlowe said as she took the empty seat on the other side of their mother.

“I got all the way to the car with no shoes on. I had to go back in for them.” She laughed, but the sound came apart in the middle. “Forty minutes I drove, and I couldn’t tell you one thing about where I was going or what I passed.”

“Tell me where he’s been,” her mother said through the sniffles.

They all exchanged a look, each understanding the weight of the question.

“He can’t remember,” Wren said. “He’s got pieces. A room. Somebody’s voice. He knew us, and he knew the house, and past that it’s mostly gone.”

“Gone how? Gone like he won’t say, or gone like⁠—”

“Gone like he doesn’t have it,” Nora said. “The doctor scanned his head tonight, and there’s nothing on the results to explain the gaps.”

Her mother turned the Sprite can around in her hands without opening it. “But he’s all right. You’d tell me? He’s all right.”

“He’s tired and confused.” Nora kept her explanation simple. “He’s got stitches in his hand from tonight.”

“Stitches?” Her eyes widened.

“It’s a long story,” Nora continued. “I’ll tell you all the details later. But the important thing right now is that he’s in better shape than any of us expected.”

Despite the good news, more tears began to pour from their mom’s eyes until she was sobbing.

Chapter

Thirty-Six