"You still could have Claudette." The name landed with the specific weight of a word that carries a long history inside it. The history of two sisters and whatever had happened between them and the two years of silence it had produced. "Why are you here?" Victoria said.
And this this was the moment Daniel almost excused himself. The space that clearly needed giving. But Claudette's eyes had filled. Not dramatically, just filled quietly. The way eyes fill when the thing you can to say is harder to say in person than it was in your head.
Because mom is sick, Claudette said really sick and she asked for you. The corridor was silent. Daniel watched Victoria's face watched the thing that moved through it fast and complicated. The way weather moves across a landscape. Shock first, then something older and deeper underneath it.
How sick, Victoria said. The kind you come home for, Claudette said. Three seconds of silence. Then Victoria turned to Daniel, not to ask what to do, not to ask permission. She turned to him the way she had been turning to imprint him for months now with the specific trust of someone who has decided that this is the person they let see them in the unmanaged moments.
I have to go, she said. She's in Detroit. I know. He said, "Go. The Milwaukee review is Friday.
I'll handle Milwaukee." And the vendor called Victoria. He looked at her steadily. Go. She looked at him.
I don't know how long. It doesn't matter how long. He said, "Go be with your mom." Her eyes were very bright. She turned to Ruthanne.
Reschedule Friday. Move the vendor call to the following week. Give Daniel access to the files he'll need for Milwaukee. Ruthanne nodded. Already moving.
Victoria looked at her sister. Something passed between them. Not forgiveness exactly. Not yet. But the specific acknowledgement of two people who have recognized that whatever was between them is smaller than what is in front of them right now.
I'll get my coat, Victoria said. Claudette exhaled. Thank you. They went. Daniel stood in the corridor.