Page 79 of Weight of Guilt

It was almost one in the morning when Wren and her family—and Nash—returned to the house.

Nash insisted on checking everything out first, and no one argued with him.

As he did, the six of them waited in the driveway.

All six of them, in one place, the way the family used to fill a pew, Wren mused.

The moment felt surreal. Wren had dreamed about a day like this, but she hadn’t ever really believed it would come. At least, she hadn’t believed it in many, many years.

For a moment, she thought if she pinched herself she might wake up and realize she’d dreamed all of this.

But she knew she hadn’t.

This was as real as it gets.

Finally, Nash stepped outside and gave them a nod. “It’s clear.”

Visible relief flooded each of them.

As people began to file inside, he stopped Wren. “I’d like to stay tonight. But I can sleep outside. I don’t want to put anyone out.”

“Don’t be silly. You can stay inside. We’ll find room.”

“You sure?” His gaze met hers.

“I’m positive.”

“Okay then. Thank you.” He nodded toward his place. “I need to go check on Tank. But I’ll be back.”

“Sounds good.”

She joined everyone inside and immediately noticed the awkwardness in the air. It wasn’t surprising, however. No one gave you a manual on what to do when a kidnapped family member returned. They were all winging it here and doing their best.

Wren’s dad shifted in the foyer as if unsure of himself. “There’s a motel in town. I’ll stay there tonight and come out first thing.”

Nobody asked him to stay. There wasn’t room for him and Nash.

Wren supposed she could have offered her dad her cabin. She didn’t, though she didn’t know why.

Maybe . . . maybe it was because so much had happened at once. She just needed a little space to let her thoughts breathe.

Nash returned and Dad left, and everyone began to sort themselves out. There were three bedrooms upstairs, and Christian had one of them. Wren’s mother settled her things in the guest room. Marlowe put her bag in Nora’s room so they could share.

That left the living room.

Nash nodded toward a chair. “I’ll take the recliner. I don’t sleep much anyway.”

“Then I’ll take the couch.”

No one made a move to go to bed yet, however.

Christian sat at the kitchen table with a Coke, and everyone gathered around him.

Their mother stood at the counter, close enough to touch Christian, which she’d been doing every few minutes since the hospital. Right now, she reached over and put her hand on the back of his neck. He let her.

“You’re going to wear a hole in me,” he muttered.

Marlowe laughed, though the sound came out ragged. “That’s the first funny thing anybody’s said in this kitchen in ten years.”