She waited, heart pounding.
Her dad exhaled slowly. “You know we only kept it that way because we thought it helped you,” he said. “We were afraid changing anything would erase her.”
“I know,” Bree said. “And I love you for that. But she’s not in the throw blanket on the couch or in the shoes by the door. She’s in us. And she’s in what we do with the fact that we’re still here.”
Her mom made a small, strangled sound.
“Mom?” Bree asked.
“I’m all right,” her mom said after a second. “Your father is patting my shoulder like I’m about to collapse, and I’m not. I’m just… hearing you.”
“I’m not running away from Bryn,” Bree said. “I’m trying to carry her somewhere new. I want to use some of the insurance money for the studio. For a series about her. I want people who never knew her to see pieces of her in my work.”
Her dad cleared his throat again, rougher this time. “She’d like that,” he said. “She hated that you hadn’t painted her yet.”
Bree laughed through the tightness in her throat. “She kept saying she wanted to sit for me when she ‘felt less like a raccoon.’ Her words.”
“She always stayed up too late,” her mom said, voice thick. “You really think you can be happy there?”
“I think I can try,” Bree said. “And if it turns out I was wrong, I’ll figure it out. But right now, when I picture the future, it’s not a cliff anymore. It’s a road. And Hank’s on it. And so are you, just... at a different mile marker.”
More silence. Not empty this time; full of things they were both turning over.
“Will we get to meet this Hank properly?” her mom asked at last.
“If you want to,” Bree said. “He’d like that.”
“Good,” her dad said. “If he’s keeping our girl in one piece, I want to shake his hand.”
Bree’s eyes burned. “He’s trying. So am I.”
“We know,” her mom said. “We just worry. It’s our hobby.”
Bree smiled, breath catching. “I’ll come back for a visit soon. Maybe after we know more about the lease and the timing. We're meeting with the mayor this morning to go over details. I can show you pictures of the warehouse.”
“Send some today,” her dad said. “I want to see this place where my daughter suddenly discovered gravity.”
“That’s not how gravity works,” Bree said reflexively.
“Art people,” he muttered to her mom. “Always nitpicking the metaphors.”
Her mom laughed, shaky but real. “We love you, Bree.”
“I love you too,” Bree said. “Tell Bryn hi for me at the cemetery. I know that’s not how it works, but… just do it.”
“We always do,” her mom said. “Call after your meeting with the mayor, okay? We want to hear.”
“I will. And I'd love for you to come here and see the place. Do you remember all the things Bryn used to say about Copper Moon?” She swallowed the knot in her throat. "She was right. It's all she said and more."
Her father's voice was gruff when he responded. "That's a good idea. That's probably why you feel you need to be there..." He took a deep breath. "She loved it so much, you can feel her there."
"I absolutely can. At every turn, I remember something she said about the area. I see and feel her everywhere here."
Her mom sobbed quietly, but she could still hear her. Her dad scoffed, "That's good. Yeah, good."
They disconnected. Bree stood there for a moment, phone pressed to her chest, letting the relief and the ache wrestle it out.
The bathroom door opened; Hank stepped out with a towel around his hips, hair damp, another towel slung over his shoulder. She appreciated, briefly and thoroughly, the way his muscles moved under his skin when he scrubbed at his hair.
