He did not tell his daughter the question was too personal. He only took the last cooling towel from the jug, crossed the room, and placed it beside Clare. She picked it up slowly and pressed it against the back of her neck. "I'm not sure anyone does, " she said. Sophie frowned.
"That sounds lonely, " Clare lowered her eyes. The child had not spoken with pity. "Only honesty. It landed more deeply because of that. " "Sometimes it is, " Clare admitted. Sophie pulled her knees beneath her blanket.
"Dad always knows when I am scared, even when I say I am not. " Marcus looked toward the window, giving Clare the privacy of not being watched. She noticed anyway. She noticed the way he let silence remain without rushing to cover it. Most people filled quiet because they feared what might surface. Marcus seemed to understand that some truths needed room.
"You did well tonight, " he said after a while. Clare gave a small, tired laugh. "You had to remind me that frightened people are not employees. You listened eventually. That is more than some people do. " Sophie leaned against the couch cushion, her eyelids growing heavy.
Miss Clare helped Evan get milk for his baby sister. She did, Marcus said. Sophie looked pleased with that answer. Within minutes, she was asleep again, one hand curled beneath her cheek. Marcus lifted her carefully and carried her toward the hallway.
Clare watched him adjust Sophie's head against his shoulder, his steps slow enough not to wake her. There was nothing remarkable in the movement. No grand gesture, no audience, just a father carrying his daughter through a dark house because she trusted him to bring her somewhere safe. When Marcus returned, Clare was still sitting on the floor. She asks difficult questions.
Clare said she gets that from her mother. His voice softened on the last word. Clare looked toward the family photograph near the lamp, barely visible in the darkness. She wanted to ask what had happened. She did not.
Instead, she picked up her phone and turned it completely off. Marcus noticed, but said nothing. Clare rested her back against the couch and closed her eyes. The house was hot. The night was unfinished.
Yet, for the first time in years, she did not feel the need to know what would happen next. Clare woke sometime after 3:00 in the morning to the sound of Marcus moving quietly in the kitchen. The power had not returned. Moonlight rested across the floor in pale strips, and the battery fan had finally stopped. Marcus stood near the sink, filling a bowl with the last of the cool water and folding another towel into it.
"You should be sleeping, " Clare said. "So should you. " He carried the bowl to the table and sat across from her. The room had grown warmer, but the night outside had softened slightly. Clare looked toward the hallway where Sophie slept. "She trusts you completely. " Marcus rung out the towel.
That is the job. You make it look simple. It is not. He placed the towel on the back of his neck and leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. Clare turned her phone in her hands, though it was still powered off.
When I was 12, my mother collapsed during a heat wave. Marcus did not move. He did not ask a question too quickly. Clare kept her eyes on the dark screen. The air conditioner had been broken for 2 days.