Chapter 55
Claire
After Brandon left my life, I stopped rationing myself.
I started going to the Walker house every day after work.
Before, I had made rules. Limits. I told myself I was being respectful, that I didn’t want to confuse Lily or cross lines with Ethan.
I told myself distance was maturity. But distance had always been easier when there was someone else to go home to.
Someone waiting. Someone whose expectations gave me an excuse to leave.
Now there was only quiet waiting for me at my apartment, which, on a schoolteacher’s salary, I wouldn’t be able to afford for much longer anyway.
So instead, I drove past it.
Every afternoon, my car turned toward the familiar road without me thinking about it. I brought homework, worksheets and markers. Sometimes nothing at all except myself. Lily ran to the door every time like she hadn’t seen me in ages, and the way her arms wrapped around my waist made my heart full.
It felt right.
And that terrified me.
The day that broke me, started with a scarf.
I was running late for work, digging through my closet for something warmer, when my fingers closed around soft wool I didn’t remember buying. Pale blue. Frayed at one end. I pulled it free and immediately knew.
Jenny.
She had left it at my place years ago. One of those careless, intimate habits of best friends who never imagined an ending. I could see her clearly perched on my bed, legs crossed, talking too fast about something that mattered only to her. Laughing when I told her she’d forget it.
“Just give it back next time,” she’d said. “I’m basically here all the time anyway.”
The thought formed before I had time to think.
I’ll give it back the next time I see her.
My knees buckled.
I slid down the closet door and hit the floor, the scarf clutched to my chest like it could hold me together. The sound that came out of me was ugly, raw and broken. I cried the way I hadn’t since the funeral, sobbing so hard my ribs ached, my breath stuttering like I’d forgotten how to breathe.
She was gone.
My biggest cheerleader. The one who believed in me even when I didn’t. The one who never softened her truths but always wrapped them in love. She was gone forever, and the finality of it crashed into me all over again, sharp and merciless.
There would be no next time.
I wept like a little girl who had lost her anchor, pressing my face into the scarf until it smelled faintly of dust and memory and her.
By the time I made it to work, my eyes were swollen and my head throbbed. I smiled through it. Taught through it. But by the time the final bell rang, I was hollowed out.
I drove straight to the Walker house.
Lily answered the door before I could knock, barefoot and grinning, her hair in a crooked braid that made my chest ache.
I hugged her tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of soap and crayons. For one disorienting second, it felt like hugging Jenny when we were kids, too tight and fierce, like the world might steal her away if I loosened my grip.
“Hey, bug,” I said, forcing brightness into my voice. “Did you finish your math?”
She groaned dramatically. “Yes. But I hated it.”
“Shocker.”
She laughed, and there it was, Jenny’s laugh. The one that came from deep in the chest, unrestrained and fearless.
The breath left me in a rush.
I turned my face slightly, pressing my lips together until the wave passed. Lily didn’t notice. She was already tugging my hand, dragging me toward the kitchen.
Ethan was there, sleeves rolled up, hair damp like he’d just washed his hands. He looked up when he saw me, something soft and unreadable flickering across his face.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
Our voices landed in the same quiet register, like we were both instinctively careful not to disrupt the quiet that had settled over the house.
Bill and Emma still weren’t back. They had left for Emma’s sister’s place days ago, claiming they needed a change of scenery. I suspected the truth was heavier. Parents weren’t supposed to bury their children. I thought the loss of Matt had finally caught up with them once the shock wore off.
We didn’t talk about it. We all pretended not to notice the extra quiet.