“Nathan,” I said, my fingers finding the leather strap of my watch again. “If your mother asks about us, tell her we wanted to come.”
He rubbed his palms together, then opened the driver’s door. “She won’t ask, Claire. She knows the arrangement.”
“But did you actually ask her this year?” I repeated, keeping my voice low so Mrs. Gable wouldn’t hear.
“I need to beat the traffic through Grand Rapids,” he said, sliding into the beige leather seat. “I will call you when I get to the beach house.”
He started the engine, the quiet purr of the sedan filling the driveway. I stepped back onto the grass as the car began to back out.
Sophie stood on the front porch, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. She did not wave as her father turned the corner onto Shorewood Boulevard.
The house felt larger once the sedan was gone, the air conditioning hum louder in the empty rooms. By seven, the sun had dropped behind the maple trees, throwing long shadows across the living room carpet.
