Page 89 of Weight of Guilt

“At first, I wasn’t sure,” Luke said. “She said we could go see her place. So we did. There’s nothing out there but a woman and a dog and about forty years of junk.”

“So Roy’s clear?” Wren muttered.

“Roy’s clear.” Luke’s voice sounded professional. “Which means we’re back to square one.”

Wren gave up on sleep a little before six.

Her mother had been in the kitchen since before five, trying to be quiet but failing.

It wasn’t the sound of her cooking that got to Wren. It was the humming.

“Softly and Tenderly.” Their mother had hummed the song doing dishes for as long as Wren could remember, and the girls had sung it at more funerals than Wren could count. She hadn’t heard it in years.

Hearing the song brought back a flood of memories.

Finally, she threw the blanket off and sat up.

Nash had left a little after five. She’d heard him go out the door.

Her mother stood at the stove with a dish towel over her shoulder. She’d already done the dishes from last night. She’d already wiped the counters. The coffee was made. She was making muffins now.

“You didn’t sleep,” Wren said.

“I slept fine.” Her mother didn’t turn around. “Sit down. I’ll fix you something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Sit down anyway.”

Wren sat at the breakfast bar. Her mother put a cup of coffee in front of her, and Wren thanked her.

“I want to talk to you about this afternoon,” her mother said.

“Okay.”

“I’d like you to call that FBI agent and ask her to come Thursday.”

Wren set the fork down. “What?”

“Or Friday. Friday would be better. Christian has been through so much. I don’t want to put him through more than he can handle.”

“But she needs to talk to him.”

“She needs to wait.” Her mother’s chin came up. “He’s not ready to answer the FBI’s questions.”

“He’s never going to be ready. There’s no day where he wakes up ready.” Wren kept her voice even, though her apprehension flared. “Waiting doesn’t make it easier. It just makes it later.”

Her mom’s stubborn expression remained. “He just needs a few more days.”

“It isn’t our decision to make. Luke called the FBI. The agent is coming.”

Her mother turned back to the stove, clearly not happy.

More guilt flooded Wren—it was her go-to emotion. But she ignored it. Her emotions were not going to call the shots right now. The decision had already been made.

She cleared her throat before saying, “I have to be at the shop at eight.”

“On a day like this?” Her mom turned back to her, judgment in her gaze.