Chapter 8

The door closed behind him.

I held myself together until we reached the hallway.

Then my knees gave way.

Sophia’s hand caught my elbow.

Martin appeared on my other side.

I hadn’t asked either of them to.

They simply stood there.

Hours earlier, Martin had told me, “Do not leave with your husband.”

I hadn’t.

I walked out of the building between Dad’s lawyer and his forensic accountant into a parking lot flooded with ordinary afternoon light.

A little boy rode a scooter along the sidewalk.

A dog barked somewhere nearby.

The world felt absurd in its normalcy.

And I stood there crying aloud for my father, the marriage I thought I had, and the woman who entered that conference room believing she had only one loss to mourn.

Dad’s house smelled like coffee and pine cleaner.

I hadn’t returned since the funeral.

Everything remained where he had left it.

His reading glasses folded on the recliner.

The crossword open on the side table with three squares unfinished.

His wool cardigan hanging beside the kitchen door.

The house seemed to be waiting for him.

I stood there for a long time.

Then I sat in his chair, pulled the cardigan around my shoulders, and stayed until sunset.

That was where Dana found me.

She didn’t knock.

Dad had given her a key years ago, back when we were in college and she practically lived at our kitchen table.

She entered carrying two grocery bags, saw me, dropped both bags, and wrapped me in a hug so hard it stole my breath.

“Martin called me,” she said into my hair. “He said you shouldn’t be alone.”

“Dana.” My voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I stopped calling you. I let it just—”

“Claire.”

She pulled back and held my face between her hands.

Her eyes were red.

“I know exactly why you stopped calling me. And it was not your fault. It was never your fault.”

That sentence broke whatever I had left.

I had held myself together all day.

Now I collapsed against her.

Later, we sat at the kitchen table eating tomato soup made from her mother’s recipe.

I told her everything.

She listened without interrupting, flinching, or telling me what I should have noticed.

When I finished, she sat quietly for a while.

Then she said, “You know what I remember? The year you and Ethan got engaged, he told you that I was ‘a little jealous.’ He said it kindly, like he was protecting you.”