Her mother shook her head. “He’s not. He needed to get someone in there answering the phones and running the office. Since we didn’t have any idea how long you might be in the hospital…” Her mother shrugged. “I told him it was probably best for him to get someone else hired as soon as possible, so he did.”

The news didn’t upset Clare, only unsettled her even more. It was yet another tether come undone, disconnecting her from her places in this world. “So I don’t have a job.”

“Not right now. You should give it at least another month of healing anyway. Something else will come along. Maybe something down at the library. You always liked it there.” Clare watched out the windshield and wondered if she would ever like anywhere, anyone, or anything again in her life while pretending to not notice her mother driving two blocks out of their way to avoid passing the Collinses’ house on the way to their own.

Chapter 15

Eileen

Eileen found Simon in the kitchen, standing in front of the sink, staring out the window at the palm tree–lined driveway in front of the house. Barefoot, he wore a limp flannel robe; his dark hair was disheveled and slept on.

“Simon?” Afraid of startling him, she kept her voice soft.

When he turned to face her, his bloodshot eyes and sallow complexion told of a sleepless, tear-filled night. He looked down at the cup he held in both his hands and then back up at Eileen with some confusion, as if he had forgotten she was even in the house. Seconds passed. He nodded once, confirming some unspoken logic to himself, then turned back to the sink and dumped his coffee into it. “Would you like some coffee? Mine’s cold.”

“Yes…please.”

Simon walked around the large center island to a complicated contraption of levers and dials on the opposite side of the kitchen. He flipped a switch, and a loud whir of electric blades followed by the crush and grind of whole coffee beans filled the kitchen. The aroma, rich and robust, floated into the air and pulled Eileen’s senses beyond the semistupor she’d been hiding in. With the sound and the smell, the desolate white kitchen seemed more alive, and she could remember a time when this pristine space with its polished surfaces had been filled with family, food, sounds, voices, stacks of dishes, and a concoction of delicious aromas—the chaos of a Christmas shared.

Simon shut off the machine, and the silence swept in again.

“Here you go.” He carried a cup for her around to her side of the island and placed it with a clink onto the white marble in front of her. “Do you take anything in it?”