“And her mother?”
The question was gentle enough that I did not mind it.
“She died four years ago.”
Laurel’s expression changed.
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
“Do you have help?”
“My sister. A few neighbors. Sophie’s best friend’s parents when I’m desperate.”
“But mostly you.”
“Mostly me.”
She nodded slowly.
“That explains some things.”
“What things?”
“You watch the clock every afternoon around three.”
“School gets out at three-fifteen.”
“And every time your phone rings, you check it like you’re expecting the building to be on fire.”
“That is called parenting.”
“That is called anxiety.”
“They overlap.”
She smiled.
Then she glanced toward the brace on her leg.
“I moved here for the job five months ago.”
“From where?”
“Arizona.”
That explained part of the empty room.
“Your family is still there.”
“My parents are outside Tucson.”
“Do they know you’re in the hospital?”
“They know I broke my leg.”
I waited.
Laurel noticed.
“They don’t know how complicated it was.”
“Why not?”
“My father had bypass surgery six weeks ago. My mother is helping him recover. If they knew everything, my mother would be on the next flight. My father would insist on coming with her even though he still gets tired walking across the house.”
“So you told them less.”
“I told them enough to know I’m safe.”
It was not exactly a lie, but it had required careful construction.
“What about people here?”
“My supervisor offered to visit.”
“But you said no.”
“I barely know her.”
“That is usually how knowing someone starts.”
Laurel gave me a patient look.
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“My sister says unanswered questions become projects for me.”
“She sounds sensible.”
“She is deeply irritating.”
At that moment, Clare appeared behind me carrying a paper bag.
“I heard that.”
Beside her stood Sophie, backpack still hanging from one shoulder.
Laurel looked from Clare to me.
“My older sister,” I said. “The deeply irritating one.”
Clare stepped into the room.
“You must be Laurel.”
I turned.
“How do you know her name?”
“You mentioned it twice on the phone last night.”
“I did not.”
“You asked whether hospital coffee could cause permanent damage and whether someone who had just moved to a city would know where to buy groceries.”
Laurel’s eyebrows rose.
Sophie grinned.
“Dad talks about people when he likes them.”
“Sophie.”
“What?”
I decided not to defend myself.
Clare placed the bag on the table.