“Claire is one of the things she never forgets.”
We visited Evelyn the next morning.
She sat beside a sunny window wearing a lavender cardigan.
At eighty-two, she’d become smaller than I remembered.
But her eyes were alert.
She recognized me.
Then Daniel.
Then Stephen.
When I placed Claire’s photograph in her hands, she whispered, “Oh, honey.”
My throat tightened.
“You remember her?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know where she went?”
Evelyn looked toward Daniel.
“He doesn’t know?”
“No, Mom.”
She frowned.
“I told you.”
“You told me she left.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Evelyn looked at me.
“Home.”
I waited.
“Where was home?”
“Not here.”
She seemed irritated by the question.
“She couldn’t stay.”
“Why?”
Evelyn’s fingers moved over Claire’s photograph.
“Because she found out.”
Stephen and I exchanged a look.
“Found out what?” he asked.
Evelyn looked at him suspiciously.
“Who are you?”
“Stephen.”
“Family?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t need to know.”
