Chương 6
Her phone stayed face down on the counter.
At noon Jess came over with coffee.
“You’re trending again.”
“I told you not to tell me that.”
“You asked me to monitor it.”
“I was a different person when I said that.”
“It was yesterday.”
“Exactly.”
Jess set down the coffee.
The public version of the story had separated into camps with remarkable speed.
Some viewers thought Claire was a monster.
Others believed the child had been planted.
Several strangers claimed Mia was an actress despite having no idea who she was.
One account had identified Elena’s neighborhood from a photograph outside the church.
Claire’s stomach turned.
“Can we stop that?”
“Your lawyer is trying.”
“My lawyer.”
“You have a lawyer now.”
“I hate this week.”
Jess handed her the coffee.
Claire took a sip and made a face.
“It’s cold.”
“I bought it twenty minutes ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I assumed betrayal had given you perspective.”
Claire laughed.
Then unexpectedly began crying.
Jess did not say anything.
She pulled out a chair and sat.
Claire cried for maybe three minutes.
Not beautifully.
Her nose ran.
Mascara from the previous day appeared somehow, despite two showers.
When it passed, she wiped her face with a dish towel because there were no tissues nearby.
“I loved him,” she said.
Jess looked at her.
“I know.”
“Love. Present tense.”
“I know.”
“That feels humiliating.”
“It shouldn’t.”
“I kicked a child’s backpack because I thought she was embarrassing me.”
“That should humiliate you.”
Claire stared at her.
Jess shrugged.
“You’re paying me in friendship, not public relations.”
Claire laughed again.
It hurt less.
That afternoon Claire called Elena.
The grandmother answered on the fourth ring.
“Yes?”
“It’s Claire.”
“I know.”
Claire looked at her kitchen.
“I wanted to ask if Mia is okay.”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
Claire appreciated it.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Probably not.”
“Okay.”
Silence.
Then Elena said, “She thinks she caused the wedding to stop.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“Can you tell her she didn’t?”
“You told the whole church that.”
“I know, but I want her to hear it without two hundred people around.”
“You can tell her yourself.”
Claire did not expect that.
“When?”
“Saturday.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
Claire smiled despite herself.
Elena continued.
“She wants her zipper fixed.”
Claire looked toward the front hall.
The backpack had gone home with Mia, of course.
“I can pay for that.”
“She doesn’t want you to pay.”
“Oh.”
“She wants you to fix it.”
Claire leaned against the counter.
“I don’t know how.”
“Neither did Nora.”
For the first time, Elena laughed with her.
Saturday morning, Claire drove to Elena’s apartment carrying a small sewing kit, two zipper repair videos saved on her phone, and no confidence whatsoever.
Mia opened the door.
She wore clean jeans and a purple T-shirt with a faded planet on it.
Without the dust and the church, she looked younger.
“Grandma says you’re bad at sewing.”
“I’ve never sewn anything.”
“That’s worse.”
“Probably.”
Mia considered her.
Then handed over the backpack.
Claire sat at the kitchen table.
Elena watched from the stove while making scrambled eggs.
The zipper damage was worse than Claire expected. Several teeth had torn from the fabric.
“I think this needs somebody who repairs bags.”
Mia frowned.
“You said you’d fix it.”
“I said I’d try.”
“That’s what grown-ups say before they don’t do something.”
Elena turned from the stove.
“Mia.”
“What?”
Claire ran her thumb along the torn seam.
“No, she’s right.”
Mia looked suspicious.
Claire took out her phone.
“There’s a shoe-repair place four blocks from here. It says they repair luggage and bags. We could walk there.”
“You’re not fixing it.”
“I’d be getting it fixed.”
“That’s cheating.”
Claire thought about it.
“Yes.”
Mia’s mouth twitched.
Elena set eggs on three plates.
“Go cheat after breakfast.”
Claire stayed.
That surprised her more than anyone.
The apartment was small and crowded with things that had accumulated without design: school drawings taped to cabinets, a broken umbrella in the corner, a ceramic rooster on the refrigerator, stacks of mail held down by a salt shaker.
There were photographs of Nora everywhere.
Nora holding Mia in a hospital bed.
Nora wearing a Halloween witch hat.
Nora asleep on a couch while toddler Mia had apparently covered her with stickers.
Claire found herself looking for Ethan’s face in every frame.
It never appeared.
Mia noticed.
“He’s not in any.”
Claire looked at her.
“I wasn’t—”
“You were.”
Claire put down her fork.
“You’re very direct.”
“Mom said it saves time.”
Elena snorted.
“Nora was not direct.”
“She said she was.”
“Nora also said she was five-five.”
“How tall was she?”
“Five-three on a generous morning.”
Mia smiled.
Claire watched her.
There was something around the eyes.
Not enough to prove anything.
Enough to make the waiting harder.
After breakfast, they walked to the repair shop.
A man named Sam examined the backpack.
“Sentimental?”
Mia said, “Yes.”
He nodded without asking why.
“Leave it with me until Tuesday.”
Mia’s face fell.
“I need it for school.”
Claire almost offered to buy another.
Then stopped herself.
Elena said, “You have your blue one.”
“I hate the blue one.”
“You hate everything blue this month.”
“It looks like a turtle shell.”
Sam said, “Tomorrow afternoon.”
Mia considered him.
“Promise?”
“No. But probably.”
That answer seemed to satisfy her.
Outside, Claire asked Elena if Ethan had contacted them.
“Through the lawyer.”
“Good.”
“Mia doesn’t want to see him.”
Claire glanced at the child walking six steps ahead, dragging her fingers along a wrought-iron fence.
“Does he know?”
“Yes.”
“How did he take it?”
“Ask him.”
“I’m not talking to him.”
Elena gave her a look.
“You’re asking about him.”
Claire stopped.
Fair.
They reached Elena’s building.
Mia ran ahead.
Before following, Elena touched Claire’s arm.
“She didn’t go to that church for money.”
May you like
“I know.”
“She found the photograph after Nora died. Found the copy of the letter too. Asked me who he was.”
