My throat tightened.
She took my hand.
“And the woman who remembers that no one gets to decide her worth for her.”
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then my mother smiled.
“Besides, I know exactly what you should wear.”
I began laughing.
“Mom.”
She raised one eyebrow.
“The gold dress.”
I looked away.
For several seconds, I didn't answer.
Then whispered, “I haven't worn it since.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
The kitchen became quiet.
My mother squeezed my hand.
“Renee, that man didn't buy the dress.”
I looked toward her.
“He didn't make you beautiful.”
My eyes filled.
“And he certainly doesn't get to decide what memories you attach to something you loved.”
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then my mother smiled gently.
“If you want to wear something else, wear something else. But don't let fear make the decision for you.”
I closed my eyes.
For several seconds, I remembered the highway.
Mercer's finger in my face.
Barrett's hand against my shoulder.
The polished hood beneath my palms.
The way the sunlight reflected off my gold gown while I stood there trying to understand why two deputies were so determined to silence me.
Then I remembered Adrian stepping from the federal SUV.
The frightened look on Mercer's face.
And the investigation that followed.
I opened my eyes.
Then smiled.
“I think I'll wear it.”
My mother nodded.
“Good.”
Then she turned toward the stove.
“And now you can help me with dinner.”
I laughed.
“Of course.”
The afternoon of the luncheon arrived bright and clear.
I stood before the mirror in my bedroom, wearing the champagne-gold gown.
The fabric fell beautifully across my shoulders.
The structured bodice reflected the light.
The long skirt moved smoothly around my feet.
My black hair was styled in an elegant updo, and my earrings glittered against my skin.
For a moment, I felt the old fear return.
Not panic.
Just a tightening in my chest.
An awareness of what the dress had witnessed.
I looked toward the mirror.
Then took a slow breath.
The woman looking back at me was the same woman who had stood beside the SUV.
But she was also the investigator who spent months listening to Nora, Iris, Evelyn, Jordan, Daniel, and LaToya.
The daughter who called her mother after difficult days.
The colleague who trusted Adrian and Leah to challenge her assumptions.
And the Black woman who had learned that a frightening experience didn't have to become the only story people told about her.
I straightened my shoulders.
Then smiled.