She skipped ahead.”
“Also constantly.”
“I hated that.”
“She knew.”
I glanced over at Claire.
She smiled, but the smile wasn’t really for me.
It belonged to someone who wasn’t there anymore.
I hated how much that hurt.
“Was she sick?” I asked.
Claire looked briefly toward the doorway before answering.
“Yes.”
There it was.
The truth she’d apparently been carrying toward me for the past six months.
“How sick?”
“She had a chronic condition from childhood. That summer was one of the better stretches.”
“So she came here?”
“Every week she could.”
Claire came closer but stopped on the opposite side of the table.
“She hated people asking about her health before they asked her name.”
I looked at the empty chair beside me.
“I didn’t know.”
“That was why she liked you.”
I gave Claire a sharp look.
“Don’t turn me into some saintly eight-year-old.”
Claire almost smiled.
