And for the first time, that didn’t feel like a bad thing.
The next morning, Kimberly dragged the trunk to the garage. She dismantled it carefully, salvaging the wood, the hinges, the brass corners. Over the next week, she welded and bolted and hammered until something new stood in its place: a sculpture of a woman with wings made of trunk-wood and medal ribbons, arms wide open, face tilted toward the sun.
Val grinned. “Good. Fear makes interesting art.” kimberly brix
“Yeah,” she said. “She would have.”
Aunt Clara came out with two mugs of coffee. She looked at the sculpture for a long time. Then she nodded once, handed Kimberly a mug, and said, “Your mother would’ve hated it.” And for the first time, that didn’t feel like a bad thing
The irony was that she never did disappear. Not really.
Kimberly closed the notebook. She looked up at Val, who was watching her with steady, unwavering eyes. Over the next week, she welded and bolted
So Kimberly did.