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“Did you find her?” Willa asks.
“Yeah, she’s in her room, packing.”
“Packing?” Trudy repeats.
“Yep. She booked on the next flight back to Vegas.”
“No. She can’t leave. What about the ball?” Trudy asks.
“I don’t think she’s coming to the ball, Trudy.”
“I’ll go talk to her,” she says and moves to scoot around us.
Willa reaches out and grasps her hand. “Don’t. I think you should wait. She’s not going to hear anything you have to say right now.”
Trudy looks up the stairway. “I caused this. I was just trying to talk to her.”
“Let me take you to Mom’s, Aunt Trudy. You can get a good night’s sleep and talk to her in the morning.”
“What if she’s gone come morning?” she asks.
“Then, you’ll fly to Vegas to see her. You’re her mom. She won’t stay upset with you long.”
She nods. “Okay.”
Keller leads her out to his truck.
“I hate this. I don’t know if I should go talk to her or leave her alone,” Willa says.
“She’s gonna do what she wants to do. I wouldn’t worry over it,” I tell her.
She looks at me. “I liked having her around.”
“So did I,” I say.
“This sucks.”
It does.
“I’m going to go. Lock up behind me.”
She grins. “I don’t think everyone has made it in from the market yet, Bran.”
“So, lock it in between arrivals,” I say.
“Okay, if it will make you feel better,” she agrees.
Instead of going home, I end up at the studio. I spend the night there, finishing up something I have been working on this past week.
Working with my hands helps me navigate my emotions. It always has. When I was a ragey teenager, it was as if I could open myself up and bleed onto a blank canvas.
It calms and centers me.
By the time sunlight begins to peek around the mountaintops and flow into the windows, acceptance has settled into my soul.
I scribble out a quick note and drop it into the box I have packed and ready to deliver.
I leave the wrapped package on the steps of the old house and head home to get some sleep.
