“You don’t think he’s going to get remarried, do you?” Bridget asked, turning to face Claire with horror. “To that lady from church that has had her eye on him?”
“Absolutely not.” But Claire couldn’t shake the feeling whatever he had to say wasn’t good news.
The Depot was teeming with customers. Reporters with camera bags, Army National Guard and Red Cross workers, and tourists waiting for trains out of town.
Helen and Tom Eagle were at a table filled with locals. “Hello, Claire,” Helen said with a friendly smile.
Claire. Not Mrs. Wilder. Would wonders never cease?
Helen’s eyes lit with interest on Bridget. “This must be the sister we read so much about.” Helen introduced herself to Bridget and told her how much she admired what she’d done with Red—“Isn’t he a local hero?”—while Claire searched the tables for their father.
“There he is.” She took Bridget’s elbow and dragged her away from Helen Eagle.
“Isn’t she the one you said didn’t like you?” Bridget whispered as they veered through the room.
“Yes,” Claire said. The earthquake had changed more than the landscape of Gallatin County, it had turned Red from an outsider to a hero. Red had a new job starting next week in the park, and Claire had an invitation to Helen Eagle’s bridge club. Claire was glad about the job, but would rather go fishing than play bridge. She veered through the crowded room, stopping where a waitress blocked the aisle.
“I woke up and didn’t know what was happening, but I knew I had to get out of the house.” Grace Miller’s rough voice cut through the rattle of cutlery and the clink of coffee cups. She sat among a bevy of reporters, all staring in rapt attention at the silver-haired woman. “I had to kick the door open, and Sandy, that’s my dog”—she leaned down to pat a furry malamute at her feet—“Sandy was right with me. I got the door open and then I saw a big crevice opening up in frontof me. I jumped, and so did Sandy and then the house dropped right into the lake.”
“Excuse us,” Claire said to the waitress.
As they moved away, she heard Grace Miller cackle. “I hope they find my house, because I left my teeth right beside the sink and I’d sure like to get them back.”
They reached the corner booth where Dad and Frannie sat. She slid into the booth and raised her brows at Frannie. Her little sister shrugged to say she didn’t know what was going on either.
“What is it, Dad?” Bridget said in her imperative tone. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Frannie said. “What’s up?”
Dad picked up a paper napkin and folded it into a square. “I have some things that need to be said.”
Claire felt like she might be starting to get sick. Could something really be wrong with Dad?
“About what?” Frannie said with a frown.
“You’re scaring us,” Bridget said, all her bluster gone.
Dad cleared his throat, looking down at the napkin that was now a crumpled ball in his hand. “It’s about your mother.”
Claire’s mouth went dry. She glanced at Frannie, and then at Bridget. No one said a word. What on Earth had got into Dad?
“I realize—well, I mean—I know we don’t talk about her.” He cleared his throat. “And I’m sorry about that.”
“Dad,” Bridget said, “You don’t have to—”
“Let me finish.” He held up a hand. “I wasn’t an easy man to live with,” he said quickly. “When you girls were born, things were tough. The Depression was on, and I’d just started the store. I worked too much.” His voice cracked. He leaned an elbow on the table and pinched the bridge of his nose like he did when he was tired.
Claire’s heart twisted. Her father shouldn’t have to go through this, but now that he’d started, she wanted to hear the rest. She needed to hear it.
Dad went on. “I thought making money was what I had to do—all I had to do—to be a good husband and a good father. It was hard work, keeping the store afloat in those early years.”
Claire remembered. Dad would sometimes come home late at night, too tired to help her with her spelling list. He’d spread papers out on the kitchen table and tell Mother to turn the radio down. Dad went on. “Your mother told me—when she left—that I was married to the store, not to her.”
Bridget’s hand searched for Claire’s and they locked fingers together. “But she’s the one who left us,” Bridget said, always the one to defend Dad.
Dad stared down at his coffee. “She made the decision to leave,” he said. “But it’s my fault she didn’t come back.”
Claire’s throat suddenly felt thick and swollen.I’ll come back to visit.But she never did. She’d hoped for so long, because of that promise. Until hoping hurt too much, and she gave up not only on Mother, but on hope itself. “What do you mean?” Claire managed to get the words out.
