June continued.
“We don’t.”
She folded the quilt once.
Then again.
Carefully.
Claire watched.
“So I’m going home.”
Ethan stepped forward.
“Mom.”
June looked at him.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Because Claire didn’t react the way you wanted?”
June studied his face.
The answer hurt because it showed how much work would be required before he understood anything.
“No.”
She tucked the quilt against her side.
“I’m leaving because I don’t like the way I feel in this room.”
Ethan looked embarrassed.
“Mom, nobody is trying to make you feel bad.”
June glanced toward Claire.
Claire said nothing.
Ethan followed her gaze.
Then added quickly, “She shouldn’t have said that.”
Claire’s head turned.
“Excuse me?”
“I said you shouldn’t have said the flea-market thing.”
“That’s what you’re upset about?”
“I didn’t say I was upset.”
June almost laughed.
There he was.
Her son.
Thirty-four years old and trying to negotiate truth until nobody could accuse him of choosing a side.
Claire stared at him.
“You told me the quilt didn’t go with the house.”
June went still.
Ethan’s face changed.
Claire saw it too late.
For one second, no one spoke.
June looked at her son.
