“How are you alive?”
“Can we leave first?”
“No.”
She lowered her voice.
“I survived the crash.”
“We buried you.”
“It was an empty casket, Sarah.”
“Mom still puts flowers at your grave.”
Clara closed her eyes.
“Dad couldn’t drive that road for five years.”
“I know.”
That word stopped me.
“How do you know?”
Her face changed.
That was when I realized finding my sister alive might not be the hardest thing I was about to hear.
Outside, Clara asked me to drive her to her apartment.
For one ridiculous second, I thought she meant our parents’ house.
“I’ll call Mom and Dad.”
“No.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Please take me home first.”
“Your home?”
She gave me an address two towns away.
“You’ve been living that close?”
“For a few years.”
I pulled away from the curb.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes.
