Chapter 7: Iris

Wren's mother had left behind, among the ordinary detritus of a life — the reading glasses Chapter47 had guessed at so precisely it still unsettled her, a closet of cardigans in exactly four colors, a recipe box with nothing written on the cards because Iris Calloway had believed recipes belonged in the body, not on paper — one hundred and sixteen voice notes on Wren's phone, sent over the last th...