Chapter 16
Wren
To say the last few days have been weird is an understatement. I’ve done my best to avoid the main house when Dad would be around, but today, I’m not so lucky.
After my morning matcha run, I spent a few hours in Mom’s office, working on Hannah’s Haven.
While digging through her files, I found a loose piece of paper torn from one of her journals.
It was a list of manifestations she had for her business.
The one she underlined and highlighted was about turning one of the old barns into a party barn—a place to host wedding receptions, showers, and any other events someone wanted to rent it out for.
On the back side of the paper were steps on how she would accomplish this goal.
As I read over her words, I fell in love with her idea, which brought me to the main house, where I’ve been working for the past hour.
The smell of spring filters in through the half-open windows—fresh-cut grass, lilacs from the flowerbeds, and the sweet tang of the strawberries Grams cut up for her pie.
The late-May air hums with the promise of hot summer days right around the corner.
With Memorial Day passing, it feels like the unofficial start of summer.
It won’t be long before the air will be too thick with humidity to have the windows open.
My laptop is open to Pinterest as I sit hunched over my sketchpad.
The outside of my hand is covered in lead from scratching the pencil across the page.
I’ve been redrawing the barn for what feels like hours, even though it’s barely been one.
Mom wanted to see the old barn come to life, the one tucked behind her apple orchard.
It’s one of the original barns on the property, but we haven’t used it in years.
The barn might be weathered, but the bones are good.
When I think of its transformation, I can almost picture what Mom would do.
Add a fresh coat of stain to the wood beams before stringing Edison lights from the rafters.
Instead of plastic tables, she’d want the space to be filled with custom farmhouse tables.
She’d add Mason jars and vintage milk glass filled with flowers cut from her garden everywhere she could.
I tap the pencil against the page, my brain swirling.
It feels too big and ambitious, but it also feels right.
My lawyer has everything handled in LA, the farmhands have started work on the Haven’s planting, and I’ve managed to get the emails and calendars in order.
This seems like the perfect time to take on this project.
“Did you have any idea she wanted to host events?” I ask Grams, who's rolling out the pie dough.
She hums along to the radio before answering. “She always talked about making this farm feel like hers, too. I guess I thought she scratched that itch when she opened the Haven.”
“Her plans are so detailed.” I skim the pages before reading off her list. “Stain the wooden beams with a dark walnut color. Sand and stain the floors to a lighter color. Create a dance floor in the middle. Reach out to local vendors to see if they’d like to partner.
Offer three free weddings as trials. She thought of everything. ”
“Of course she did. Your mom was one of a kind.” Her voice is somber, and it breaks my heart to know she’s hurting.
“She was,” I say softly. The ache of missing her hasn’t dwindled in the few months since losing her. There’s a black cloud hanging over the farm, and it’s because she’s no longer here. No one could’ve imagined she’d pass from a heart attack at fifty-four.
I turn back to the sketch, refusing to trudge up the guilt I’ve been carrying since Nate called me to tell me about Mom in January.
The screen door creaks open, and nerves swirl in my stomach when heavy boot steps echo from the breezeway. Glancing up, our eyes connect, and I watch the same brown eyes I have widen in surprise.
Dad’s in the doorway separating the kitchen from the breezeway.
He looks like a caged animal ready to make a break for it, and I feel the same.
Dad scratches the nape of his neck, his signature nervous tic.
His gaze flicks from me at the table to Grams behind the island, who’s observing the interaction with a quirked eyebrow.
His throat works as he clears his throat. “Hi, Wren.”
“Hi, Dad,” I squeak out, my voice is too high.
Grams squints. “I know things aren’t great, but this is different. What’s gotten into you two?”
Dad clears his throat again as I swallow the ball of panic that’s formed in mine. Please, don’t tell her.
He scratches the back of his neck harder, eyes looking anywhere but at me before settling on his feet.
“I—I— Uh…” he stammers. Right when I think I'm safe, he blurts, “I didn’t mean to barge in. You-you weren’t answering your phone, and I was worried.
I-I didn’t realize you and Jett would be…
would be naked on your living room floor. ”
I feel the color drain from my face as a wave of mortification crashes over me like a tsunami.
“Dad!” I shout, voice cracking.
Grams drops the spatula she was holding. The handle clinks against the glass. “Naked? On the floor?”
Heat rushes up my neck so rapidly I think I might combust. I bury my face in my hands, groaning. “Oh my god. Please. Can we not?”
Dad’s still standing frozen in place while Grams leans against the counter, eyes wide. “Well, it’s no wonder you wanted to stay in that old cottage. Can’t imagine finding you and Jett sprawled together in the living room here.”
“Lord, come take me,” I mumble in my hands.
“Oh, Pumpkin,” she says, chuckling. “It’s like history repeating itself.”
“Mary,” Dad warns, which only sparks my curiosity.
“Oh, please, Mark. You’re not going to embarrass the girl when I’ve seen worse.”
“What?” I gasp.
Grams smiles. “That’s right, Pumpkin. Your Mom and Dad never could keep their hands off each other.”
“I’m not sure I want to hear this…”
“Your grandpa always caught your dad sneaking in her window, but I was the unfortunate soul to walk in on the two of them. They were supposed to be cleaning out the storage shed at our house. I don’t imagine you’d get much cleaning done with your pants around your waist and your hands on my daughter’s hips. Huh, Mark?”
“Oh, God.” I gag as Dad groans. The tips of his ears are as red as a tomato. I’m begging the floors to split open and swallow me whole.
“Now you’re both privy to each other’s sexual encounters.”
“I could’ve gone the rest of my life without my daughter knowing that.” Dad walks deeper into the kitchen, reaching for a cup in the cabinet.
“You’re telling me.” I drop my head and groan.
Grams winks, stirring the pie filling—or the metaphorical pot. “You’re young and single. Nothing wrong with letting off steam in a storm. Maybe next time, lock your door so your daddy can’t walk in.”
I want to melt into the table.
I turn my attention back to the sketchbook, zoning out whatever conversation Dad and Grams are having.
I don’t notice Dad sitting next to me until he clears his throat.
His large, weathered hand reaches for the sketchbook.
The air is sucked from my lungs as he drags the book closer, tracing the dark lead lines with careful fingers.
“What’s this, Pumpkin?”
My pulse stutters as my palms begin to sweat. “It’s…nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me.” He studies the lines, his eyebrows knitting as the rough image of the barn fills the page. “Looks like the old barn behind the orchard.”
“That’s exactly what it is.” I swallow. “I-I found a piece of paper in Mom’s office.
” I pause, watching Dad’s reaction. When there isn’t one, I continue.
“It was a list of manifestations she had for Drummond Farms and Hannah’s Haven.
She… She wanted to turn the old barn into an event space to bring people here to celebrate life’s moments.
” My voice wavers. “I thought maybe I could do it…for her.”
He doesn’t say anything, only stares at the paper. I’m worried I’ve bitten off more than I can chew and should’ve put my foot in my mouth sooner.
“Your mom would’ve loved seeing her vision come to life,” he says, exhaling slowly. “I can’t imagine anyone else taking on this project, Wren.”
His voice is thick with emotion as he pushes the sketchbook back toward me.
His movements are slow, as if the book is a piece of glass and he doesn’t want to break it.
As his eyes meet mine, they’re softer than I’ve seen them in years.
“I’m proud of you. For coming home, for taking on Hannah’s Haven, and for even trying to see your mom’s dreams come true. ”
The burn of tears floods my eyes, making my nose tingle.
“Thanks, Dad,” I whisper.
He reaches out, gently gripping my forearm and giving it a squeeze.
“While you’re busy making Hannah’s dreams come true, don’t forget to chase your own dreams. Don’t be afraid to live life, Wren. We know how fragile and short life can be.”
I nod, blinking back my tears. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too, Pumpkin.”
Taking a breath, I gather my laptop, sketchbook, and the rest of my supplies. “I need to take off for a bit.”
Dread and anxiety pool in my stomach as reality starts to set in. Waking up and being reminded of the date, I knew I needed to keep myself busy, but the urge to forget has scared away any remaining creativity.
Grams eyes me skeptically, as if she can tell there’s a shift in my mood. The woman has always had a sixth sense. I used to think she could read minds. She doesn’t press the matter, simply waves me off as Dad tells me to enjoy my night.
I’m not sure how much I’ll enjoy this night.
I never do.
But at least I can forget for a little while.
The Spillway on a Wednesday night isn't where I was expecting to be. But the smell of spilled beer, fried food, and nostalgia greets me like a warm hug.