Then that's what it's going to look like, he said. She looked at him for a second. Then you're sure, Clare? He said, I've been sure since the night you came to my kitchen with that letter. She held his gaze.
I was afraid, she said. So was I. Are you still? He thought about it a little, but not of this. Not of you.
She looked at him for a long moment. Then she said, "Finish the fence." He picked up the hammer. She picked up his coffee, took a sip, made a face because she took hers with milk, and handed it back. He laughed.
She went inside. He finished the fence. It took another 20 minutes. And when he drove the last nail straight, clean, exactly right. This time he stepped back and looked at it the way he looked at everything he finished.
Making sure it would hold, making sure it was built to last. It was Christmas Eve. Marcus and Clare and Darius and Kesha and Miss June and Kesha's daughter Maya sat around the table in Marcus's house and the meal took 2 hours and the conversation took longer. And Miss June told a story about the year Aaliyah tried to make macaroni and cheese from scratch for Christmas dinner and got the proportions entirely wrong. And the story was funny and it was sad and it was full of love.
And Clare laughed in the right places and was quiet in the right places. And Miss June watched her the whole time. After dinner, when things were winding down and people were moving toward coats and keys, Miss June found her moment. She walked to where Clare was standing in the kitchen doorway and she took Clare's hand in both of hers. The way she had taken Marcus' hand at the funeral.
The way she had held Darius's face on Thanksgiving with the full deliberate weight of a woman who did not touch people carelessly. She held Clare's hand and looked at her and said, "My daughter would have liked you." Clare's eyes filled immediately. "I don't know about that," Clare said carefully. I do, Miss June said.
She liked people who were honest. Who didn't pretend? She paused. She would have liked that. You're good for her boys.
Clare pressed her lips together. Thank you, Miss June, she said. Miss June patted her hand once and let go and went to get her coat. Marcus was standing in the hallway. He had heard every word.
He looked at Clare. She looked at him. Her eyes were bright and full and honest. And right here, not in the past. Not managing anything, just here in his hallway on Christmas Eve, entirely present, he crossed the hallway and put his arms around her.