"I know," she said. Her phone buzzed. She looked at it, set it face down without answering. Your father, he said. Third time this hour.
She slid off the workbench and stood up straight. He's not going to stop. Then answer. If I answer, I'm going to have that conversation while I'm still standing in your garage, and that means he wins the setting. She picked up her coffee.
I'd rather have it on even ground. Marcus looked at her. You've been thinking about that? I've been thinking about a lot of things today. She turned the cup in her hands.
About what I'm going to say when I face them, about what order to say it in. She paused. About what I actually want. And she met his eyes. I want to be honest about where I was last night without making it into something it isn't, and without letting my family make it into something it isn't either.
She said it clear and without drama, like she'd been rehearsing the logic of it all morning. I stayed here because the road was flooded. That's the truth. But it's not the whole truth, and I'm not going to pretend the whole truth isn't in the room when it clearly is. Marcus held her gaze.
So, what is the whole truth? He said. Clare set her cup down on the workbench. She looked at her hands for a moment. The whole truth is that I've spent 6 years in the background of a life that was mostly decided for me.
And last night, I walked away from one more event where I was expected to perform contentment. And I came to the first place that felt like solid ground. She looked up at him and the whole truth is that solid ground is you and I don't know yet what to do with that, but I'm not willing to pretend it's just about a flood. The garage was very quiet. Okay, Marcus said that was all he said.
But the way he said it, not dismissing, not jumping forward, just receiving it and letting it sit made something ease slightly in her shoulders. Her phone buzzed again. This time she picked it up. I'm going to answer. Marcus nodded once and turned back to the motor, giving her the space of his back.
He heard her walk to the garage door. He heard her answer. Dad. Her voice shifted into the version of herself she used with her family. Not false, but managed.
Like a second gear, she kept ready. I know. Let me talk. A pause. I'm fine.
The road at Miller's Bend flooded and my car went in the ditch. I needed somewhere to stay. Marcus' house was the closest safe option. A pause. I understand that.