Clare turned back around. A gummy white paste had formed at the corners of her mother’s mouth. Clare couldn’t deal with Ella or her disease right now. She needed to leave. “It’s not 1993,” she stated. “No one is coming for me. No one knows what I’ve done…or what you have done.” She picked up her purse from the floor. “I’ll let them know you need to change your clothes.”

“But the legal paperwork,” her mother hissed.

Clare resisted the very strong urge to scream. “It’s not about the accident. It’s not about anything. You don’t have to worry.”

Her mother’s shoulders slumped several inches. “You’re sure? It could be a trick. Always read the document first.” She raised a single arthritic finger. “The whole document.”

“Goodbye, Mother.”

Ella nodded. “I’ll be home in a bit. Just a few things to finish up around here.” She gazed around herself at nonexistent piles of work that didn’t need doing.

Speechless, Clare watched her mother scan the room for several seconds, then closed the door behind her.

She left the Regency in a haze. Barely registering anything on her way to the door, she scrawled her name on some papers for Winston and declined to sit through a lengthy explanation of what exactly happened in the game room between Ella and the other resident who “must remain nameless for confidentiality purposes.”

“I’m sure your staff handled it appropriately. Please have the valet bring my car right away.”

The director sputtered a few words, but when Clare turned away from him midsentence, dug her sunglasses out of her purse, and proceeded to leave, he picked up his phone and called for her car. “Ms. Collins’s Bentley. Straight away, James…run.”

She pulled out of the Regency’s drive too fast, her tires squealing against the concrete. She barely missed sideswiping a white Prius with the right of way. Clare’s heart thundered in her chest as the driver of the small car laid into their horn and rolled down their window to yell at her.

“I’m sorry.” She raised one hand, the other shaking on the wheel in front of her. “I’m sorry.” She felt the tears, hot and wanting to tear loose from the back of her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said again, even though the Prius had sped away in front of her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.”

The drive out of the city and over the bridge was a blur, her mind filled with her mother’s confession.