Chapter 26 - The Suitcase Test
Three years after the incident, Ivy was seven.
We were packing for a summer trip to Cape Cod.
Driving.
No passports.
Her purple suitcase lay open on bed.
She packed:
Three shirts.
Six stuffed animals.
One sock.
No underwear.
I corrected.
She complained.
Then found Nora’s Cape Cod photograph.
Same one.
“Bring?”
“Your choice.”
She put it inside suitcase.
Then paused.
Took it out.
Put it in backpack.
“Why?”
“Photo bends.”
Practical.
Then she looked at suitcase.
“Dad.”
“Yes?”
“Did Celeste think you not come?”
I sat.
“I think she thought I would be away until next day.”
“So she leave before?”
“Yes.”
“Would you find me?”
“I would have.”
“How?”
Police.
Airline.
Passport alerts? At that time maybe not immediate. I did not promise impossible.
“I would have called police and done everything I could. But I’m very glad I came home before you left.”
She nodded.
Then:
“Was suitcase punishment?”
“Yes.”
“Not travel?”
“No. She wasn’t going to take you inside the suitcase to airport.”
Important.
Ivy visibly relaxed.
Apparently part of her had wondered for three years.
Children create missing details.
I should have clarified sooner.
“She put you inside because you were screaming and refusing to go.”
“Bad.”
“Yes.”
“Really bad.”
“Yes.”
Then she zipped the suitcase.
Locked? No external lock.
We no longer used those on her luggage.
Not rule forever.
Preference.
She put luggage tag.
IVY W.
No secret.
No confinement.
Only belongings.
May you like
The object category became ordinary again.
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