He was wearing the robe I had bought our father before Dad died.
Darren froze when he saw me.
“Claire?”
I smiled.
Barely.
He recovered quickly.
He always did.
“Well, look who finally remembered she has a family. The international superstar herself.”
“I called.”
“Once every few months.”
“I sent money every month.”
His smile tightened.
Then his wife, Brooke, appeared behind him holding a crystal wineglass.
At eleven in the morning.
She looked me over as though I were a delivery driver who had shown up at the wrong address.
“You should’ve told us you were coming,” she said. “The guest suite isn’t ready.”
I looked back at my mother.
“Why is Mom dressed like that?”
Darren laughed.
“She likes helping around the house. Gives her something to do.”
Mom lowered her head.
Then started scrubbing again.
I crouched beside her.
“Mom, it’s me. Claire.”
She flinched when I touched her shoulder.
