Nora cut in before I could answer.
“You never came looking.”
She didn’t raise her voice.
That made it hit harder.
“Dad never kept us from you,” she said. “You never came looking.”
Clarissa opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Looked away.
“You don’t know anything about our lives at all.”
“That isn’t fair,” she said finally. “You don’t know what those years were like for me.”
Nora answered, calm as ever.
“You don’t know anything about our lives at all.”
The mask slipped after that.
Not all at once.
Just enough.
Then she told us the truth.
Clarissa sat down on the bench across from us and rubbed her hands together. For the first time all day she looked less polished than tired.
Then she told us the truth.
When the girls were seven, she drove past our house one afternoon. She had not planned to stop. She just wanted to see. She saw me in the driveway teaching the girls to ride the tandem bikes my brother had helped me modify. Lily was yelling directions. Nora kept demanding more speed. Gabriella laughed so hard she got hiccups.
