She won't be driving in this. How old is she? Eight. Her name's Dileia. Clare wrapped both hands around her coffee cup.
You don't talk about her publicly. I don't talk about much publicly. I know. I looked. She met his eyes across the lantern.
I'm not going to apologize for that. I looked because I wanted to know you were okay. After everything, Marcus was quiet. You left so completely, Clare said. From all of it.
From Vanessa, from my parents' house, from everyone in that whole circle. You just went and nobody in my family talked about it because Vanessa controlled the narrative. The narrative was that it was mutual and clean and you were grateful for the time you'd had. She paused. I didn't believe that.
What did you believe? She watched him. That she did something that made you leave and that you didn't say what it was because you were protecting her reputation even after she'd used a might up every reason you should have. The accuracy of it moved through Marcus like cold water. He made himself hold still.
That's a lot of reading between the lines. He said, "I was reading her face the night you ended it. She wasn't sad." Marcus. She was relieved and then immediately calculating.
I watched her go from one to the other in about 30 seconds. Clare's voice was level. Not cruel, just exact. And I never said that to anyone. Because she was still my sister and it wasn't my story to tell.
So why are you telling me now? Clare looked at the table for a moment. Then she looked up. Because I walked a mile and a half in the rain to get here and I'm sitting in your kitchen wearing your clothes and I'm tired of being careful about things that deserve to be said. The storm hit the windows again hard.
Something cracked outside a branch aboard. Something and then there was only the rain. Marcus got up and found the whiskey in the cabinet above the refrigerator, poured two fingers in each of their cups, and sat back down. Clare looked at her cup. I didn't say I wanted whiskey.
You didn't say you didn't. She picked up the cup. They drank. Outside. The river was climbing inside.
The lantern burned between them. And the storm pressed itself against the walls like it was trying to get in. And Marcus Reed sat across the table from Clare Bennett and understood somewhere underneath all the things he wasn't saying. That this night was already different from any night he'd spent in this house before. Can I ask you something?"