“What? No, sorry. I was talking to myself. Come in.” I soften my grumpy tone for her.
Seren stands in the doorway with her right hand holding her left elbow tightly to her body, a serious expression on her face, and the little black furball Lucky sneaks past her and jumps on my bed. Like I need any more bad luck in the bedroom.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She nods, but I’m not convinced.
“You can always talk to me if something’s up, about anything, okay?”
Her shoulders roll forward, and she takes a seat on the floor, so I mimic her crisscross position and sit in the silence. She’ll talk when she’s ready.
Seren picks at her fingernails and chews on her lip.
“I’m trying to write a song,” she whispers.
My heart pitter-patters. I have no doubt this is what her soul needs.
“That’s amazing, Seren. How’s it going?”
She lifts one tiny eyebrow and peers up at me. “Not well,” she grumbles. “The chorus is crap and there’s something wrong with the melody that I can’t figure out.”
“Would you…do you want me to take a look at it? Maybe we can brainstorm something that will knock loose whatever creative block you have right now.”
Skepticism feels too familiar on her face, but eventually, she straightens her shoulders and stops picking at her fingers.
“You’d help me with it?”
“Yes.”
She nods, and her cheeks flush pink. Did she think I’d tell her no?
“I don’t think it’s very good,” she admits quietly.
“That’s why there are drafts for all things in life. Very few things are right the first time.”
Silence settles around us. I wish I knew what she was thinking.
“Maybe tomorrow?” she asks.
“Absolutely. I’ve been meaning to spend some time in the music room anyway. It might be time I put some of my old ghosts to bed too.”
Seren’s eyes blow wide enough for me to see white all around her irises.
“Memories can haunt like ghosts sometimes,” I explain. “The only way to exorcise them is to face them head-on.”
“There was a dance at school,” she says softly.
The sudden topic change should give me whiplash, but something tells me she’s about to face one of her ghosts too.
“Oh yeah? Want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t get to go. I had a dress. It was really pretty, and my mom said we could get my hair and nails done. She even let me get shoes Daddy would hate.”
I have a feeling I know where this is going, and my heart drops into my belly.
“What happened?” I ask gently.
“My mom ruined my life,” she says. The lack of emotion in her tone covers the room in an arctic frost.
