Page 58

John

A s usual, it was late when I got home that night. The first thing I noticed was light pouring into the hallway from the living room. I frowned. Typically, everybody was asleep by now.

Claire was curled up on the recliner by the fireplace, a glass of wine in her hand.

The lamp was on beside her, and the fire burned low, in need of another log or two.

A half-empty bottle of wine from the cellar stood on the side table to her left.

I’d never known her to drink much, never mind by herself.

If that hadn’t tipped me off, her face would’ve. She looked lost, and her eyes were a little red, like she’d been crying.

“What’s wrong, beautiful? Why are you up?”

Her bottom lip trembled, and she drained her glass. “Sit with me.”

She moved to make room for me on the recliner. I sat and pulled her half onto my lap, enclosing her in my arms. It was a tight fit, but I didn’t care. She needed me. In my world, that overrode everything else .

Claire rested her head against the hollow of my collarbone and took a deep breath. As I stroked her hair, she told me about Neil’s last letter and the bombshells he’d dropped from beyond the grave. I listened quietly, letting her unload.

“And now I don’t know what to feel,” she finished. “I’ll still never know what happened to my father. And I’ll never be able to reconcile with Holly.”

She trembled a little in my arms. I held her tighter because it was all I could do. Grief was a wound you lived with forever, as much as I wished I could heal it for her.

“But the worst part is…about Holly’s father…”

Claire trailed off, like it was too hard to even get the sentence out. Somehow, though, I sensed her thoughts.

“You think it’s Jim J,” I finally said after a minute.

“Do you think I’m wrong?” she asked, her voice a squeak. The thought clearly scared her, and some part of her probably wanted me to disagree.

I sighed. “No. But I also don’t think it changes anything, baby.”

Her shoulder dropped and she sagged against me, defeated. I swallowed hard. I understood why this would haunt her, but I also knew that there was no way to get what she wanted: the truth.

“You’re right,” she said softly, and to my regret, she started to pull away. “I should head to bed. I have school in the morning.”

She was shutting down, keeping me at arm’s length. A sinking feeling took over me.

“Claire, baby, I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t,” she cut in, disentangling herself from me. “You’re right: there’s nothing I can do. My life is here now. I…need to be strong.”

“You don’t,” I murmured, sitting up as she stood. “Even if we can’t change anything…you’re allowed to grieve. You told me that, and you were right. I just…don’t want you to torture yourself forever with questions we can’t answer. Especially with everything we’re dealing with right now.”

She gave me what looked like a painful smile.

“Come to bed with me?” she asked, and I nodded. In bed, I held her close again, but she stayed rigid and quiet. I had only one thing left to offer her .

“Claire?”

“Yes?”

“I love you,” I murmured. “I know it doesn’t make anything better…but I do.”

At last, I felt the angles of her body soften against me.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, laying her head in the pocket of my shoulder. “It doesn’t make it better…but it makes it bearable.”