As the two set off on their daddy-daughter pizza run, Catherine disappears into the house. A few seconds later, she comes back holding two beers. She pops the caps like she’s done it a hundred times on this porch.
“I like your style,” Sara says, grabbing one and settling into the chair beside her.
Catherine takes a slow sip, then sighs. “Today was… a lot to take in.”
“I can only imagine. Probably feels like you’re walking through a dream. Or a memory you forgot you had.”
Catherine nods. “Probably. All of that aside—even though I never got the chance to know her—I’m really sorry about Claire.”
“Thank you,” Sara says, her voice softening. “Losing someone is never easy. But it wasn’t sudden. We had time to prepare… or at least we told ourselves we did.”
“I know that lie. We told it too, when we lost our mom.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well… grief’s a bitch. Doesn’t come in waves. It claws.”
Sara looks away, blinking fast. “Yeah. It does.”
Catherine sets her bottle down on the railing, leans back in her chair, and studies her. “So. Moving away from the heavy stuff—what’s going on with you and my brother?”
Sara lets out a nervous laugh. “Straight to the point. I like it.”
“I’m not big on sugarcoating. Makes things stickier than they need to be.”
“Well, there’s nothing going on. We’re friends.”
Catherine raises an eyebrow and tilts her head like she’s heard this song before. “That’s the first lie you’ve told since you walked out here.”
“I’m serious. There’s nothing going on.”
“Come on, Sara. Friends don’t look at each other like that. Like the whole damn world disappears when the other one walks in.”
Sara shifts in her seat. “Jaxon’s a great guy. Unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Mhm. And yet you keep saying nothing’s going on.”
“There are complications.”
“Like what? You’ve known each other for years. You’re raising his daughter. You live across the hall. That man would burn this place down if he thought it would make you smile. What exactly are you waiting on?”
Sara hesitates. “He had something with Claire.”
“And you think loving him would betray her memory.”
Sara doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.
Catherine leans forward, voice low but cutting. “Let me ask you something—and don’t lie. When you close your eyes at night, is it her you’re thinking about… or him?”
Sara swallows hard, the bottle suddenly heavy in her hand.
“Look,” Catherine says, softening just a little, “I get it. You feel guilty. But here’s the thing… Claire’s not the one across the hall. Claire’s not the one chasing Jaqueline through the yard. Claire’s not the one he looks at like she’s the only thing tethering him to this damn world.”
Sara looks down, voice barely a whisper. “It still feels wrong.”
“You want to know what would be wrong?” Catherine’s voice tightens. “Letting that man walk away again. Letting him go through life pretending like you’re just a friend when everything about the way he looks at you says he’s already yours. You’re scared of betraying the dead? Fine. But don’t betray the living too.”
They sit in silence for a few beats. The wind stirs the trees. Somewhere in the distance, a gull cries.
