She was three years younger than her sister. Always quieter. Always standing just slightly to one side of whatever conversation Vanessa was having. Marcus had been engaged to Vanessa Bennett for 11 months. He'd walked away from that engagement 2 days before the wedding.
And he'd moved out of that world so completely afterward that he hadn't seen Clare in over 3 years. He knew the family had thought he left because Vanessa ended it. He never corrected them. He wasn't going to start tonight. When Clare came back down the hall, she was wearing his work shirt belted at the waist with what looked like a piece of baling twine she'd found somewhere and the sweatpants rolled at the ankle and the wool socks.
Her silver dress was draped over one arm wrapped around the heels. She looked nothing like a woman who'd just come from a $2,000 a plate engagement party. She looked better. There's a bag under the sink in the kitchen. Marcus said, "I found it."
She held up a gallon Ziploc bag. Not the most elegant solution for a Vera Wang, but here we are. She folded the dress efficiently and sealed it into the bag. There's food, he said. I don't know what you eat right now.
Anything that isn't finger food on a tray. She set the bag by her heels and walked into the kitchen without being invited. He heard her opening the refrigerator. You have eggs and about 16 types of hot sauce. I also have bread and butter and a gas range, so the power doesn't matter much.
Good. She came back to the doorway of the kitchen. Can I make us something? That stopped him again. The same way the sofa comment had, not what she said.
The naturalness of it, like this was a kitchen she'd been in before. Yeah, he said. Go ahead, she cooked. He secured the dock lines by flashlight. The water wasn't up to the dock yet, but it would be by morning and then went back inside and sat at the kitchen table while Clare made scrambled eggs and toast and didn't burn either one.
She found his coffee maker, found the coffee, and had it going before he'd even sat down. She put a plate in front of him and sat down across the table with one of her own and poured them both coffee. Black without asking how he took it. How do you know I take it black? He said.
She picked up a fork. I didn't. That's how I take it. And I wasn't going to open every cabinet in your kitchen at midnight looking for cream. He almost laughed.
The almost of it surprised him. They ate in the near dark with one lantern on the table between them and the sound of the storm filling the house. After a while, Marcus said, "Whose engagement party was it?" Clare set her fork down. "Vanessa's?"
The word landed in the room and stayed there. "She's getting married again," Marcus asked. Engaged. For the third time, Clare picked her fork back up to a man named Bradley Whitmore III. In case you were wondering, shipping family, old money.