Wren beamed.
Elowen watched us with a soft expression.
“I wanted you to see it,” she said.
I sat beside them.
For a few minutes, we admired the certificate like it was a royal document.
Then Wren ran inside to show a friend.
Elowen rubbed her palms on her jeans.
“I need to tell you something,” she said.
I braced myself.
She noticed.
A sad smile crossed her face.
“I deserve that.”
“I’m working on not bracing.”
“I’m working on not causing it.”
That was new.
She looked toward the playground.
“I used to be jealous of you.”
I blinked.
“Of me?”
“Yeah.”
“Elowen, I was sleeping in an attic because Mom emptied my school money for you.”
“I know,” she said. “And before that, you were Dad’s careful kid. The smart one. The one with a plan. Teachers loved you. Mom trusted you. Dad understood you.”
