Chapter 7 - Ione’s Room
Back at my parents’ house, Ione’s room had been partially emptied.
Not everything.
Enough.
Summer clothes packed.
Books sorted.
Some toys boxed.
Marjorie told Vaughn:
“Fletcher’s house will be ready soon.”
Reasonable explanation.
But labels:
KEEP HERE.
DONATE.
ENGLAND.
There.
Ione saw.
“Grandma said I have too much.”
I crouched.
“Did she tell you about England?”
“She said surprise.”
“What surprise?”
“Aunt Eleanor.”
“Did she say how long?”
Ione shook head.
“School.”
My chest tightened.
“You knew school?”
“She said maybe.”
“Did she say I said yes?”
I stopped after asking.
Leading.
Too late.
Ione nodded.
“Grandma said you need quiet.”
That line nearly broke me.
“What?”
“She says Daddy works better if I’m not making mess.”
I closed my eyes.
Ione immediately looked worried.
“I make mess.”
“No.”
“Sometimes.”
“You are allowed to make normal kid messes.”
She looked unconvinced.
Then:
“Grandma says Mom died and you have too much.”
I had to sit.
Marjorie had turned my grief into an eviction notice.
Then Dr. Anita Feldman, child therapist, joined case.
She warned:
“Do not counter-message with ‘I need you every second.’”
Right.
Ione did not need to become responsible for my emotional survival either.
So I said:
“I love living with you. I am your parent. Adults are responsible for making our home work.”
Good.
Then she asked:
“Do I have to sleep laundry?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
“Even bad?”
“No.”
May you like
There.
Belonging again.
