Claire’s eyes lifted to mine.
Something passed between us.
Not surprise exactly.
Permission.
Owen nodded eagerly. “He said he wants to hear.”
“I do,” I said.
Claire looked back at the boys. “That’s wonderful.”
Lucas leaned close to her. “Can we tell him about the blue scarf?”
My breath caught.
Evelyn’s blue scarf.
I had not seen it in years.
Claire hesitated. “That’s your story to tell.”
Lucas turned to me. “We found Mommy’s scarf in the cedar chest.”
Owen added, “Claire said it smelled like lavender.”
“She didn’t take it,” Lucas said quickly, as if defending her. “We asked her to help us fold it.”
“I wasn’t angry,” I said.
But I might have been, once.
The thought made me ashamed.
Claire watched me carefully. “They wanted something that felt close to her.”
I nodded. “I should have given them that.”
“You were grieving too,” she said.
I almost laughed at the undeserved grace of it. “That doesn’t excuse disappearing while standing in the same house.”
“No,” Claire said quietly. “But it explains why you couldn’t see everything.”
Her words settled into me.
I wondered what else I had not seen.
A nurse came to check Claire’s vitals, and the boys reluctantly stepped back. The numbers seemed to satisfy her. She told us Claire would remain overnight for observation.
“Overnight?” Claire said, alarmed.
“Yes,” the nurse replied firmly. “Your body needs rest.”
Claire looked at me. “Mr. Whitmore, I can return tomorrow afternoon if—”