I cried over that soup.
On the sixth evening, I was reheating it when Roland came downstairs wearing his navy dinner jacket.
Wren was sleeping against my chest.
My hospital bracelet was still around my wrist.
“Faye is hosting dinner,” Roland said. “Mom leaves for Savannah tomorrow.”
“What time are we leaving?”
He hesitated.
“It might be easier if you stayed here.”
I waited.
“The drive is a lot for Wren. Faye’s place will be crowded. You need rest.”
His SUV was being repaired.
So all week he had been driving my Camry.
The infant-seat base was installed in it.
Wren’s diaper bag was inside.
Her car seat was in the back.
Everything I would need if I had to take my newborn anywhere.
“You’re taking my car?”
“Only for a few hours.”
“And leaving us here?”
He looked at his phone.
“It’s just a family dinner, Simone. Please don’t make this difficult.”
