Page 61 of The Souls of Lost Lake

“Troy was there too,” Wren said, feeling like she shouldn’t forget about him.

“Yes,” Patty acknowledged. “Eddie said the doll has your name on its foot?”

“Creepy, huh?” Wren lifted her eyes. “And that’s the thing! Whymyname? Now they’re pretty sure they found Trina Nesbitt’s remains. I’m scared, Patty. She was just a child!”

Patty’s face furrowed into concern. “Do you feel that maybe thisdoesinclude you?”

“I do.” Wren hated to admit it. Hated to make all the trauma about herself, but she couldn’t address it if she couldn’t be honest about it. And who better to be honest with than Patty? She would take Wren’s emotional secrets to the grave—literally.

“Why?”

Wren shook her head at Patty’s simple question. “I keep asking myself the same thing. Why? Why me? You want to know what’s really weird?”

Patty nodded.

“I feel like I relate,” Wren admitted, epiphany taking over the urge to cry. “I feel like I relate to Jasmine. Lost and everyone’s looking for me, but no one is finding me. I feel like I relate to Trina. I’m just—out here. Lying here. Alone. Dead.”

“You’re not dead.”

“I know that, but—” Wren squeezed her eyes shut and wrinkled her nose in frustration. “Why do I feel lost?”

A knowing covered Patty’s face. She offered a soft smile. The kind that Wren wanted to somehow bottle up and preserve. “Do you realize the first day Eddie brought you home to play when you both were, what, ten? Eleven? I took one look at you and thought you reminded me of a lost little girl.”

Wren sighed. “My mom hadn’t even died yet.”

“No.” Patty shook her head. “She hadn’t.”

“Did you—did you and Mom ever talk? You know, about me?”

Patty winced as she adjusted her position against her pillows. “All moms talk about their kids. Yours was no different. She went on and on about Pippin, how smart he was. She was so proud of him.”

“Wonder if she still would be, considering he lives in the basement and is almost forty.”

Patty’s laugh was muted but filled with humor. “Well, knowing your mom, she would’ve enjoyed having her boy with her. Being his top girl was always her pride and joy.”

Wren noticed Patty hadn’t mentioned her. “And me?”

Patty’s expression grew soft. “Your mom loved you, Wren, you know that. She treasured you. Having lost a few pregnancies between you and your brother, I think when you finally arrived, you were, for all sakes and purposes, her miracle. At least that’s what she told me.”

“So, my feelings of being misplaced wouldn’t be from her.” Wren’s musing wasn’t meant to criticize her family or shed doubts. But she couldn’t place it. A quality, albeit a tad too Tolkien-obsessed, family unit should not leave a person feeling dysfunctional.

Patty hesitated, but Wren couldn’t tell if it was because of the conversation or the cancer. She waited while Patty closed her eyes for a long moment. Finally they opened, a sadness in them that Wren hadn’t seen before.

“I’m going to be honest with you, honey.”

Those were never the opening words to something good. Wren grabbed the blanket that hung over the back of the chair and covered her lap with it. Like a shield, the blanket made her feel protected against whatever Patty was going to share.

“A few times, when your mom and I were together, she—she alluded to your father in a way that made me wonder.”

“Wonder what?” Dread coiled in Wren’s stomach.

Patty winced, then admitted, “Wonder if he was your biological father.”

The words were out. They’d been spoken, and Wren knew Patty couldn’t take them back if she’d tried.

“You think my mom had an affair?” Wren’s voice shook. She wasn’t angry or hurt, just confused and, frankly, terrified.

Patty pulled her own blanket up so that it covered her chest. “I don’t want to speculate. I neverdidwant to. But you—”