She held Wren for an hour.
Then told me the house looked terrible.
Suggested I put on makeup before Roland returned.
Warned me that I should get back into shape because “men notice.”
Then she left.
On Wednesday, our neighbor, Mrs. Adeyemi, placed a pot of chicken soup on the porch.
The note said:
For the new mama. Eat something.
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?”
