He says, “We’ll see, darling. Enjoy your sleepover, girls.”

Once he has gone, she does her best to stay happy. But we can see how deflated she is, so I change the subject, telling them I visited my old school to look for Clara.

“You don’t know she lives locally,” Hanna says. “What does ‘close’ even mean?”

“It was the way she said it. She sounded terrified. I think she knows something.”

Emily sighs. “I still think you’re focusing on the wrong person.” She’s convinced Mr. Humphries has something to do with it. “Next theology class, we should show him the newspaper articles and see how he reacts,” she says.

“And then what?” I ask.

“And then we’ll know more than we do now.”

If Hanna was pointing the finger at Mr. Humphries, I wouldn’t be so angry, but Emily knows what he’s been through.

“How can you accuse him?” I ask. “Have you forgotten what happened?”

Hanna looks confused, but Emily says, “I haven’t forgotten. I just don’t trust him.”

When Emily goes to the bathroom, Hanna whispers, “What was that about?”

I tell her about Mr. Humphries’s son, then think back to the prayer room and his face in the candlelight, the sorrow that crept out with every word until we wondered how we had never seen it before.

“Emily’s wrong,” I whisper. “I know what grief does, and it’s not that.”

“But it was someone at Mayfield,” Hanna says. “Someone there left the article.”

I nod, and just as Hanna is about to say something else, Emily bursts back in and says, “I’m starving.”

We eat downstairs, listening to Emily run through every second of her day with her dad, and when she tells us to cheer up, I think about leaving.

But I show her my best fake smile, and she grins and says, “What are you thinking?”

“It’s not Mr Humphries,” I say, just as Emily’s mom walks into the room.

I should hold my tongue, but I need them to believe me, so I move closer, then mumble, “Clara is important.”

“I used to have a Clara in my class,” Emily’s mom says, not looking at us.

She starts clearing the plates and is about to leave when I say, “When was that?”

She stares at me then, her eyes clearing like she was in a daydream, and says, “She’s in fifth grade now, so that would have been three years ago. Why?”

“No reason.”

No one says anything else. We all stare at one another, then back at Emily’s mom, who is a teacher’s aide at Harmony Elementary.

Clara does live close, just not as close as I thought.

Chapter 111

Her name is Clara Farrell. She probably looks a little different from the second-grade photo Emily’s mom showed us, but I finally have something solid, even though it might not be her.