Chương 3
Claire did not think that made him violent.
Not then.
She looked at her mother’s face again.
The bruise was not fresh.
“Did this happen today?”
Eleanor hesitated.
Ryan answered.
“Yesterday.”
Claire looked at him.
“Why did you say she just fell?”
“I said she falls.”
“No. You said, ‘She fell.’”
“You’re interrogating grammar now?”
“Mom?”
Eleanor’s hands began worrying at one another.
“It was yesterday.”
“How?”
“I bumped the cabinet.”
Claire looked toward the cabinet.
“Standing?”
Eleanor’s eyes lowered.
Ryan threw both hands up.
“This is insane.”
Claire turned to him.
“Then leave.”
His expression hardened.
“What?”
“Go somewhere else for an hour.”
“This is my house.”
The phrase landed strangely.
Claire glanced at Eleanor.
Her mother looked away.
Ryan caught it.
“What?”
“No one said anything.”
“You both looked at each other.”
Claire asked, “Why are you staying here?”
He stared at her as though the question itself were offensive.
“To take care of Mom.”
Eleanor’s fingers stopped moving.
Claire saw that too.
Ryan laughed without humor.
“Yeah, unbelievable. The son who actually lives within a hundred miles helps. The daughter with the medals drops in and opens an investigation.”
Claire looked down at her uniform.
For a moment, the ribbons embarrassed her.
Not because of what they represented.
Because he was right about one thing.
She was rarely there.
Eleven months since their father died, and Claire had spent perhaps seventeen nights in the house. Ryan had spent hundreds.
He had taken Eleanor to appointments.
He had fixed the leaking powder-room pipe.
He had replaced the garage-door motor.
He had sat with their mother on the first Christmas without their father while Claire was in Germany.
Those facts did not disappear because something else might also be true.
Claire hated that.
Clean facts were easier.
People were not.
“I’m not asking whether you’ve helped her,” she said. “I’m asking why you’re living here.”
“My apartment lease ended.”
“Three months ago.”
“So?”
“So you have money.”
Ryan smiled thinly.
“Do I?”
Claire waited.
He looked toward Eleanor.
Again.
Then opened a cabinet and took out a glass.
His hands were steady.
“Business is slow.”
“How slow?”
“Not your business.”
“Are you borrowing from Mom?”
“No.”
Eleanor said nothing.
Claire looked at her.
Ryan poured water.
“I’m not doing this.”
“Then don’t.”
“You show up once every few months, dressed like a recruiting poster, and suddenly you’re the expert on what’s happening in this house?”
Claire picked up her mother’s handbag.
“I’m taking her with me.”
Eleanor looked startled.
“Claire—”
“To a doctor first.”
“I don’t need—”
“You have a head injury.”
“It’s a bruise.”
“You’re on the floor.”
“My hip hurts.”
“Exactly.”
Ryan set the water down too hard.
“She doesn’t want to go.”
Claire turned to her mother.
“Do you?”
Eleanor opened her mouth.
Then looked at Ryan.
Claire’s skin went cold.
There were answers more important than words.
She walked across the kitchen and closed the distance between herself and Ryan until only the corner of the island separated them.
Her voice remained quiet.
“Go upstairs.”
He blinked.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Go upstairs.”
“You can’t order me around.”
“No.”
Claire held his gaze.
“But if you stay, I’ll keep asking questions.”
Ryan smiled.
He leaned closer.
“Maybe somebody should ask you some.”
Claire said nothing.
He continued.
“How many times did Mom call you after Dad died?”
Claire’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t know.”
“I do.”
Eleanor said, “Ryan.”
“Forty-seven.”
“Ryan, stop.”
“Forty-seven calls in two months.”
Claire looked at her mother.
Eleanor’s face reddened.
“How many did you answer?”
Claire’s silence was different now.
Ryan saw it.
He always did.
“Six.”
“That’s enough.”
Eleanor tried to push herself upright.
Claire moved toward her.
Ryan’s voice followed.
“I answered all of them.”
Claire knelt.
Her mother whispered, “Don’t listen.”
Claire slid one arm behind Eleanor carefully.
Ryan continued.
“I drove her to Dad’s grave when she couldn’t sleep. I fixed the upstairs shower. I dealt with the insurance company for two months. I cleaned out his closet because neither of you could do it.”
“I told you not to touch his closet,” Eleanor said.
“And it smelled like him for six months. You cried every time you walked past it.”
“I told you not to.”
“I was helping.”
“You threw away his brown shoes.”
Ryan stared at her.
“What?”
“The brown ones.”
“They were old.”
“They were his.”
“No one wore them.”
Eleanor looked at him as though he had said something unforgivable.
Claire almost smiled.
Not because it was funny.
Because families could be standing at the edge of violence and still argue about shoes.
She helped her mother shift until both of Eleanor’s legs were in front of her.
“Can you stand?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay.”
Ryan’s anger seemed to recede.
For two or three minutes, nothing dramatic happened.
Claire found a dish towel, folded it, and put it behind her mother’s lower back.
Eleanor complained that it was too thick.
Claire folded it again.
Ryan drank water.
A lawn mower started somewhere beyond the windows.
Claire noticed one of her uniform cuffs had come partly unbuttoned.
She fixed it.
Then she saw Eleanor’s right hand again.
Bare.
“Mom.”
Eleanor knew immediately what Claire meant.
“I lost it.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
Ryan looked at the ceiling.
Claire waited.
Eleanor pressed her lips together.
“It was in my jewelry box.”
“When did you last see it?”
“Last week.”
Ryan sighed loudly.
Claire turned.
“Do you need something?”
“I need this conversation to stop being stupid.”
“Then help.”
“I am helping.”
“Find the ring.”
His face changed so quickly Claire nearly missed it.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not tearing apart the house to participate in whatever this is.”
Claire stared at him.
Eleanor whispered, “Claire.”
“What?”
Her mother looked frightened now.
Not embarrassed.
Not confused.
Frightened.
“Don’t.”
Ryan put the glass into the sink.
“Good advice.”
Claire stood.
She took her phone from the inside pocket of her uniform jacket.
May you like
Ryan watched.
“What are you doing?”
