Her hair had been curled. Her nails were painted pale pink. She looked like the cover of a maternity magazine titled My Day Is Being Ruined.
“Holly,” my mother said, voice tight. “You’re awake.”
Gerald stood slowly from the chair beside my bed.
My father saw him and frowned.
Claire looked between us. “Who is that?”
My mother’s mouth thinned.
“No one,” she snapped.
Gerald did not move.
I had never seen my mother afraid before. Not really. I had seen her irritated, embarrassed, furious, offended. But fear? That was new.
It made her look smaller.
“He is not no one,” I said.
My voice was weak, but the room went still.
Mother’s eyes cut to me. “You need rest. We’ll discuss this when you’re thinking clearly.”
“I’m thinking clearly enough.”
Claire sighed. “Can we not do this right now? I have guests arriving tomorrow morning, and Mom has been crying all night.”
I looked at her.
“Crying?”
Claire blinked, annoyed. “Yes, Holly. This has been very stressful for everyone.”
A laugh escaped me.
It hurt so badly that tears sprang to my eyes, but I could not stop.
Stressful.
For everyone.
I had died on a table. My sister had been inconvenienced.
“Claire,” Gerald said quietly, “your sister nearly lost her life.”
Claire turned to him with the casual cruelty of someone who had never been denied anything. “And you are?”
Before he could answer, my mother stepped forward.
“He is a man from my past who has no business here.”
Gerald looked at her.
“Eleanor.”
Just her name.
But the way he said it cracked something in her polished surface.
My father stiffened.
“Ellie,” Gerald said.
