When I reached the dentist’s office, a woman sitting in the corner stood.
I stopped walking.
She looked older.
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Of course she did.
So did I.
Her hair was shorter, and a pale scar ran along her jaw.
But she was twisting a silver ring around her finger exactly the way Clara used to twist bracelets whenever she was nervous.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Don’t just say hi.”
Her expression fell.
“Okay.”
I couldn’t bring myself to hug her.
Instead, I tested her.
“What did we call the dent in my bedroom wall?”
Her eyes filled.
“The moon.”
“Who broke Mom’s vase during the blizzard?”
“I did. You took the blame because Dad was going to ground me before Maisie’s birthday.”
My knees nearly weakened.
“It’s really you.”
Clara stepped closer.
I stepped back.
