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TATUM
“You okay, Little Bird?” I asked as I cupped her cheeks and pressed my lips to her forehead. “Want me to give you a minute?”
“I’m good.” Wren shook her head, furiously swiping at the glimmering trails left by her tears. “Sorry. I just… I was having a moment.”
“Hey. You don’t need to apologize to me.”
Her gaze turned to the photo propped up against the decorative mirror. “I was just missing her today is all.”
“That’s your mom?”
She nodded, the corner of her mouth quivering.
I picked up the picture frame and studied it. The resemblance was uncanny. Even though the photo was in black and white, I could tell that Wren and her mom shared the same blonde hair and light blue eyes. They had the same smile. “You look just like her.”
Her eyes welled up again. I put the photo back in its place and held Wren instead.
“I just… Need a moment to compose myself,” she whispered. “I don’t like my dad seeing me like this. I don’t want him to worry about me.”
“One of your dad’s neighbors stopped by to check on him. I just came to make sure you were okay.” I wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “You want me to give you some time alone in here or do you want me to stay?” Maybe springing a surprise stop by her dad’s place on her wasn’t a good idea.
“Stay,” she said, holding onto my arm like a lifeline. “Please.”
I kneeled in front of her, rubbing her back as she sat, surrounded by her mother’s memory. “Remember when I told you that I’d catch you?”
A caustic laugh slipped from her mouth. “Yeah.” Wren swiped a tear away. She hadn’t known it back then, but when I said I’d catch her because it’s what I did, it was very literal.
I cradled her head against my chest. “I’m very good at what I do, Little Bird. I’ve got you.”
Ambient voices floated down the hallway from where Ralph was talking to one of his neighbors. Wren’s hands were tucked between us. I trailed my palm down her arm, chasing away her goosebumps before hooking my pinky around hers and giving it a squeeze. A silent promise of support. No matter what happened when we got back to real life, we were on the same team.
Wren said a tearful goodbye to her dad, who promised to watch her dance at the game from the comfort of his recliner. He offered me a slap on the shoulder, a good luck for Sunday’s game, and an open invitation to come back anytime—to talk football or just to talk.
“Do we have time for one more stop?” Wren asked as I backed out of the driveway. I had one arm slung across the back of her seat as I craned my head around to look out the back. Sure, I could have just used the backup camera, but locker-room speculation among the team agreed that this was one of those things that women found inexplicably sexy. I wasn’t above using it to my advantage.
“Where?”
“Not far. Just up the road and hang a right at the stop sign. It’s about three miles down the road.”
I started in the direction she had pointed out. “You doing okay in there?” I tapped the top of her head.
Wren leaned over the console and rested it on my shoulder. “Yeah. I just wanna show you something.” She stared out the window at the passing houses as I weaved through the neighborhood and down a backroad. There was an introspective aura radiating from her body. Her normally perky demeanor was softer. More subdued. Her brows were creased and her lips were pursed as she watched the landscape fly by.
We broke free of the residential area and cruised down a service road along the shoreline. The sun was a vivid orange as it sank low in an early December sunset.
“Here,” Wren said quietly, pointing at the entrance to a long drive, shrouded by overgrown vines and barren trees. Brick pillars were cracked and crumbling from decades of coastal New England weather.
I gave her a wary look as the SUV bumped down the pothole-riddled drive. “Where are you taking me, Little Bird?”
A coy smile curled at the corner of her mouth as we rounded a bend marked by a naked weeping willow. “The house.”
I stomped on the brakes the moment the house came into view. I remembered her telling me about the Victorian on the coast that she dreamed of renovating. What she had failed to tell me was that the house was actually a lighthouse.
Wren was already unbuckling her seatbelt. “What are you doing?” I asked.
She looked at me, then at the house. “I wanna go in. We’re already down here. Might as well.”
I held out a finger, ceasing any oncoming arguments. “You want to go inside that?” I pointed at the condemned structure that was nearly caving in on itself. It was probably stunning in its day. But that day was not today.
