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“I did. And, um, this one is done.” He held it out to her. “It’s for you. To remember her.”
For a moment she didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Just stared at Mr.McK’s outstretched hand holding the small bird.
She could see it clearly now, delicate and beautiful. Like Wren had been.
Mr.McK was still holding the carving on the flat of his palm, so that she could take it without touching him. They knew that she didn’t like to touch anyone.
Wren had been the exception. Her sister, even though they’d shared no blood.
Katherine’s hand crept forward, one finger extended. She stroked the little bird, expecting a rough surface but feeling only smooth wood. Mr.McK simply stood there, the bird on his palm.
She gingerly picked it up and held it tightly against her chest. “To remember her,” she whispered. Like she’d ever forget. Wren was all the good, sweet things.
Everything that Kit was not.
Mr.McK smiled down at her, so sadly. “We’ll always remember her, Kit. She was so special and deserved to have the best life.”
“But now she’s dead,” Kit choked out, clutching the little bird so tightly that even the smooth edges cut into her hand. “Someone killed her and no one cares.”
“We care,” Mr.McK whispered back fiercely.
“Nobody else does,” she snapped, her voice echoing off the barn walls. “None of those cops who came and asked questions. None of them cared.”
“I don’t know. I can’t see their hearts. I only know my own and Mrs.McK’s.”
Now the rage was back. Now the rage was building. She wanted to throw something, but the only thing she could throw was the little bird and she clutched it even tighter. She’d never throw the bird away.
She’d never throw Wren away.
“They said she was a runaway. That she’d come back!” Katherine was shouting now and couldn’t stop herself. The horses shifted in their stalls, one whinnying in dismay, but Katherine couldn’t stop herself. “They said she wanted to go. They said she was probably on the streets, taking drugs. They didn’t care!”
Katherine took a step back, then another.
Mr.McK continued to stand there, watching her with eyes so brokenhearted that she wanted to scream at that, too.
“Then they found her body in a dumpster and didn’t even tell us for five days!” she screamed. “Like she was trash and it was okay that she’s dead!”
“They said,” he said calmly, “that it took them five days to ID her.”
“That was five days too long! Five days that she lay there in the cold morgue all alone.” Her shouts became choked and finally, finally the tears came. Like a dam had burst and she couldn’t stop the flow. “They said they were busy. That they were backed up. That they were sorry for our goddamn loss.”
Mr.McK wiped his eyes again. “I know, Kit.”
“They’re not even looking for who did this. No clues. Case has gone cold. It’s been a week since they found her, and they’re not even pretending to look.” She dropped her gaze to the little wooden bird in her hand. “Well, I’m going to look. I’m going to find out who did this. Who took her from us.” From me.
Mr.McK opened his mouth, then closed it, saying nothing.
She stared up at him defiantly. “What? Not gonna tell me it’s too dangerous? Not gonna tell me that I’m too young? That I’m only fifteen? Not gonna tell me it could be me next?”
He exhaled quietly. “Why should I tell you any of those things? You already know them.”
She looked away, knowing that he was right and hating it. “I should have watched her better. It should have been me.”
He sucked in a harsh breath. “No, Kit. No. It shouldn’t have been either of you. It should never be anyone’s child. Please. It should never have been you.”
She shook her head, all of her words gone now. All used up.
“You’re ours,” he said, his voice ringing so true that she almost didn’t doubt him. She didn’t want to doubt him. “You might not think so or you might not want it official on paper, but you are ours, Kit Matthews. You are ours to protect. Ours to love. Whether you want that love or not. That we didn’t protect Wren will haunt me until the day I die. Please don’t make me mourn you, too. I can’t do this again.”
