“I also liked the house.”
There it was.
Honesty.
“I liked having things we couldn’t quite afford.”
June nodded.
“So did Ethan.”
“Yes.”
“And I liked giving.”
Claire looked at her.
June continued.
“We all got something.”
Claire stared.
“You got something?”
“I got to feel necessary.”
The words were difficult to say.
June looked toward the hallway.
“When Malcolm died, Ethan was already grown.”
Claire listened.
“I went from being someone’s wife and someone’s mother every day to being alone in a house that was too quiet.”
She smiled faintly.
“When Ethan needed money, help, food, furniture…”
“You had a job.”
“Not the hotel.”
Claire looked at her.
June nodded.
“A different one.”
Claire was quiet.
Then she said, “That’s sad.”
June looked sharply at her.
Claire raised both hands.
“I don’t mean pathetic.”
“Good.”
“I mean…”
She struggled.
“That’s sad for all of us.”
June nodded.
“Yes.”
Claire took a breath.
“I still don’t want the quilt in the living room.”
June burst out laughing.
