Ellaner listened without interrupting, the particular stillness of a woman who had spent 41 years learning exactly when a person needed silence more than advice. When Ren finally finished, Elellanena reached over and took her hand. You know, she said, I always wondered what would finally bring you back out into the world. I hoped it would be something gentle. A kind man, maybe.
A good job you were proud of. Not this. She squeezed Ren's fingers. But I suppose the truth rarely waits for a convenient door to walk through. It just knocks on whichever one happens to be open.
I'm scared, Grandma. Ren admitted quiet enough that it barely carried past the two of them. Not of Colton. Not really. I'm scared of what it means if that name in the file really is Danny's family.
I'm scared of standing up in front of this whole town and finally saying who I was, what I did, what I lost. I've spent a year and a half making sure nobody had to look at any of that. I know, sweetheart. Eleanor's voice was gentle, but it carried the weight of somebody who had watched grief up close for four decades and never once flinched from it. But hiding a thing doesn't make it smaller.
It just makes it heavier to carry alone. You've been carrying Dany by yourself in that little apartment for a year and a half. Maybe it's time you let this town help you carry him instead. Ren wiped her eyes with the back of her hand quick, almost embarrassed by it. Since when did you get so wise?
Since about 1963, Eleanor said dryly. And for a moment, just a moment, they both laughed, soft and real. The kind of laugh that only happens between people who have earned the right to grieve and joke in the very same breath. Friday, Eleanor said sobering. Whatever happens Thursday night, I need you rested and steady for Friday morning.
Promise me that. I promise. Good. Elellanar settled back against her pillows. Now go home, get some sleep, and Ren.