“What the hell am I doing?” she whispered, backing farther away.

“Clare,” Adam said. “Wait…just—just wait a second.”

“No,” she said, suddenly finding her voice and the ability to move. “No.” She turned back toward the party and walked away. She made quick, long strides that turned into a jog until she reached the crowded living room, where she shoved her way past and between the other people.

“Hey! Watch it!” someone yelled after her.

She ignored them, raced out the door, down the front steps, through the still-crowded group of people dancing to the music that now blared from the enormous speakers, breaking into a sprint as soon as she was free of the tangled web of people. Her sandals slipped on the gravel road, but she kept the pace up as best she could.

Halfway back to the truck, she heard Adam’s voice. “Clare!” he shouted. “Stop!”

But she didn’t listen to him; she didn’t stop. She ran as fast as she could for the truck—and Adam, athletic and much, much faster than her, ran after her.

Chapter 27

Eileen

Clare’s funeral was elegant, well attended, and Eileen thought it a fitting way to honor the regal and talented woman her sister had become throughout her life. Regina and Katherine, as promised, had taken great care to ensure that both she and Simon could spend their time remembering and saying goodbye to Clare instead of being consumed by a multitude of minutia—like making sure there would be enough parking available for the two hundred attendees.

Eileen sat next to Simon in the front row, her mother in a wheelchair beside her. She worried about the potential reaction should a lightning bolt of understanding strike through the dense neural web of plaque most likely protecting her mother from comprehending what was happening here. Eileen was playing it smart this time, and when the Regency offered to send along both a nurse and a mental health counselor to help out, she reined in her She’s my mother and I can do this myself pride and said, “Yes, please. That would be a wonderful help.” Both the nurse and the counselor sat right behind Eileen, just like family, waiting for any sign that they might need to unlock the wheels on Ella’s chair and exit right back up the aisle.

It allowed Eileen the mental space to relax, just a little, and focus on exactly what was happening. Most people, actually everyone except Simon and her mother, were here to witness the burial of one of the most successful and well-loved authors in the world

Eileen stared at her older sister’s profile, surrounded by the white silk coffin liner she had picked out herself. Her big sister, Clare Eleanor Kaczanowski, was dead. The girl she had grown up with, fought with, played with, run from in fear, and toward for protection.