Chương 11
"No."
The silence on the line changed.
Celia's voice, when it returned, was lower.
"Bring them here."
Julian looked toward Ellen.
"I need you to understand something first."
"I understand plenty."
"No, you don't."
Celia went quiet.
"If they come to your house, Corinne cannot come over."
"Julian."
"Not tonight."
"She's my daughter."
"And they're your grandchildren."
A long breath crossed the line.
He waited.
Celia said, "She called me crying."
"I know."
"She said you're making her sound like she's dangerous."
Julian looked through the open door at Wren's bruised cheek.
"I don't know what word you want me to use."
Celia did not answer.
Julian continued.
"If she shows up, you do not let her in."
Another pause.
Then Celia said, "All right."
"I need more than all right."
Her voice sharpened.
"Don't talk to me like I'm one of your employees."
Julian almost apologized.
Instead he said, "Then don't answer like this is negotiable."
Celia inhaled sharply.
For a moment he thought she would hang up.
Then she said, "She will not come into my house."
Julian closed his eyes.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet."
He opened them.
"What does that mean?"
"It means when you get here, you and I are going to have a very unpleasant conversation about how neither of you noticed this family was falling apart."
Julian looked at the floor.
"Fair."
Celia's anger faltered.
"Is Wren really okay?"
Julian watched his daughter lean against Desmond.
"No."
Celia made a small sound.
Julian swallowed.
"But she's safe."
This time, neither of them pretended those were the same thing.
Celia was waiting on the porch when Julian pulled into her driveway.
She had changed out of the linen dress she usually wore on Saturdays and into gray sweatpants, sneakers, and an old university sweatshirt Julian had never seen before.
Wren stayed buckled in after the engine stopped.
Desmond opened his door, then noticed she had not moved.
"You coming?"
Wren looked at the house.
"Is Grandma mad?"
Julian turned in his seat.
"Not at you."
"At Mom?"
He hesitated.
"I think Grandma has a lot of feelings right now."
Wren considered that with the seriousness she applied to unfamiliar vegetables.
"That's not an answer."
Desmond snorted.
Julian looked at him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Celia had reached the passenger side by then.
She opened Wren's door but did not reach for her.
"Hello, bug."
Wren stared at her.
Celia's eyes went immediately to the bruise.
Her face changed.
She gripped the top of the car door.
"Oh, honey."
Wren's shoulders rose.
Celia caught herself.
"No fussing."
She forced her voice lighter.
"I remember."
That seemed to help.
Wren unbuckled.
Celia stepped back and let her climb down alone.
Desmond came around the car carrying his backpack and the cardigan Wren had already abandoned.
Celia looked at his wrist.
He had pulled the sleeve down, but not quickly enough.
Her mouth tightened.
"Inside."
The house smelled like garlic and furniture polish.
A pot simmered on the stove, and the television in the den was tuned to a baseball game with the sound low.
Julian had spent eleven Christmas mornings there.
The familiarity made him feel almost dizzy.
Wren went straight to the kitchen table.
Celia opened the refrigerator.
"What can you eat?"
Wren froze.
Julian saw it happen.
So did Celia.
The older woman's hand remained on the refrigerator door.
She softened her voice.
"I mean what sounds good."
Wren looked at Julian.
He nodded.
"Anything?"
"Anything reasonable."
Desmond muttered, "Dad."
Julian exhaled.
"Anything."
Wren pointed at a plastic container.
"Macaroni."
Celia took it out without comment.
Then Wren pointed at grapes.
"And those."
"Done."
"And toast?"
Celia's eyes flickered.
"Also done."
Julian saw her swallow.
Wren sat down.
She watched every movement as Celia reheated the macaroni, washed the grapes, and put bread into the toaster.
Nobody spoke about how much food she had requested.
Nobody told her to slow down.
When Celia placed the plate in front of her, Wren touched the toast first.
Then she looked toward the hallway.
"Is Mom coming?"
Celia sat beside her.
"No."
Wren stared at her plate.
"Because I told?"
Julian felt something cold move through him.
Celia answered before he could.
"No."
Wren's eyes lifted.
"Because Mom did something wrong."
The child looked toward Julian.
He nodded.
"Yes."
Wren picked up a grape.
"Am I in trouble for telling?"
"No."
"Desmond said I wasn't."
"Desmond was right."
She glanced at her brother.
Desmond looked embarrassed.
Celia pushed a napkin toward Wren.
"You don't get in trouble for telling the truth about something that hurt you."
Wren chewed slowly.
"What if the truth gets someone else in trouble?"
Celia's face tightened.
Julian sat across from her.
"That's still not your fault."
Wren looked at him.
"Mom said families don't tell strangers family things."
Desmond's head snapped up.
Celia went still.
"When did she say that?"
Wren shrugged.
"A lot."
Julian tried to keep his voice even.
"What kind of family things?"
Wren looked at the macaroni.
"Stuff."
"What stuff?"
Her fork stopped.
Julian immediately regretted pressing.
Celia put one hand on the table between them.
"She doesn't have to answer right now."
Julian looked at her.
Celia held his gaze.
"Not everything has to be solved before bedtime."
He leaned back.
She was right.
He hated that she was right because every part of him wanted a complete inventory of what he had missed.
Wren resumed eating.
Desmond reached for a grape.
She slapped his hand away.
"Those are mine."
He stared at her.
"There are like forty."
"Mine."
Desmond looked at Celia.
"See?"
Celia almost smiled.
"Apparently trauma does not improve sharing."
Julian gave her a warning look.
Celia winced.
"Bad joke."
Wren did not seem bothered.
She pushed three grapes toward Desmond.
"Only three."
"Generous."
He took them.
For a few minutes, they listened to the toaster cool with tiny metallic clicks.
Celia finally looked at Julian.
May you like
"Come outside."
He did not want to leave the children.
