Her father’s police uniform.
She didn’t hear me come in. She was staring at the zipper with her hands hovering near it, not touching.
Then she whispered, so softly I almost thought I imagined it, “What if he could still take me?”
I stood there for another second before I said, “Wren.”
She jumped and spun around.
Her father’s police uniform.
“I wasn’t—” she started.
“It’s okay.”
She looked back at the garment bag. “I had a crazy idea… I mean, I don’t want to go to prom, so it’s fine if you say no, but… but if I did go… I’d want him with me. And I thought, maybe, if I used his uniform…”
Wren had spent years pretending not to want what other girls wanted. Birthday parties, team trips, and father-daughter events at school.
She had turned disappointment into a personality so early that it scared me sometimes.
“I had a crazy idea.”
I stepped closer. “Open it. Let’s see what you have to work with.”
She looked at me. “What?”
“The bag. Open it.”
She took a breath, reached for the zipper, and pulled it down
