I know nothing of loss. I’ve never lost anything or anyone important to me. But I know, without a doubt, that if I lost Wren, I’d be like a kite without a string. I’d be lost myself. But can you lose a person you never really had?
Wren looks up and her eyes meet mine. The song stops in her mouth, and she stares into my eyes. In them, I see that while she’s happy to be helping these children, she’s also still mourning the loss of something special. She’s mourning the loss of her own child, and I worry that these moments will serve as a painful reminder.
Wren gets up and comes to take the stack of clothes from me.
“Thank you,” I say, because I know this is a trial for her.
She nods. “You’re welcome.”
She goes back into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. The soft snick of the door catching sounds like the loudest shout. Almost like she screamed at me to get out of her private moment.
I’m out, but I’m not going to stay out for long.
No way in hell.
Wren
I hate that he caught me doing that. It sounds stupid, but as long as I kept that song to myself, it remained mine. The pain stayed with me, within me, and it remained a part of me. But when I found myself humming “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” I found myself feeling hopeful.
A knock sounds on the bathroom door, just as Anna pulls the plug on the tub and wraps herself up in a towel.
“Can you get dressed by yourself?” I ask Anna.
She nods, and I open the door. In my bedroom, my mother, Marta, sits gingerly on the edge of my bed, kind of like a bird about to take flight. “When did you get here?” I ask.
“Just now. Lots of kids here.” She stares at me. “But it looks like your sisters took care of everything.”
I smile. “They’re good like that.”
She draws in a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks in a rush.
I rock my head back and forth. “Sorta kinda,” I say.
“Why?”
I shrug. “I had the space.”
“Are you going to let the baby use the crib?”
“It’s just a crib. I don’t see why not.” I look everywhere but at her.
“It’s not just a crib. It’s a lot more than that.”
“It’s really not. It has never even been slept in before. Someone should get some use out of it.”
She nods. “Mija,” she says quietly, “I worry about you.”
I worry about me too. “You shouldn’t. I’m fine. They’re not staying long. Just long enough for Patsy, their mother, to get back on her feet.”
“You know that the purpose of foster care is always to reunite the children with the parents.”
“They’re not foster children. They’re Mick’s family and he wants to help them.”
“Can I tell you what I think?” Marta asks. She narrows her eyes at me.
I scoff. “Like I could stop you.”
“I think you’re going to get attached to these kids, and then they’re going to go back to their mom, and you’re going to be heartbroken.”