Ruth studies me for a long moment. Then she touches my face, and I nearly jerk back, shocked by her gentleness. “It’s not, Claire. But most of life isn’t. Especially yours. We just need to make the most of whatever we’re given.” It’s classic Ruth. She never sugarcoats and she can always sense when I’m coming undone and says exactly what I need to hear to stop my emotional descent. She’s been that person for me since my mom first started drinking. There must have been a well-worn path in the hallway between Ruth’s apartment and my own when I was a kid. She was the first door I knocked on when Mom wouldn’t get out of bed, the first number I dialed when the vodka bottles collected in the bathroom trash, and the person to ground me when I was fourteen and got caught smoking pot with Tate in the school bathroom. She invited me to dinners, brought over breakfast, and helped Mom shower when she couldn’t walk a straight line. All those years, I was never alone when Dad went on the road, because I always had Ruth.

“Claire,” she says, evenly and with little emotion. “Look at me.”

“Yes?” My voice is an airless squeak.

“Your mom is sober, she lives in Whittier, and she loves you. Nobody is trying to keep anything from you. Okay?”

A cool breeze wraps around me, and a wave of goose bumps raises my skin. There is so much information: on my phone, in my notebook, from Ruth, from the way my heart beats too fast and I can’t connect the dots, can’t clear my head enough to think. My phone buzzes. Mom lives in Whittier, and Ruth knows but didn’t tell you. I back away from Ruth, fueled by a longing to see Dad and a need to get away from her.

“I have to go,” I say, and hurry away.

I pull open the lobby doors, chanting the plan in my head: Mom lives in Whittier and Ruth knows but didn’t tell you. Talk to Dad.

Dad’s office is just inside one of the lobbies and past a community board littered with flyers for game night and babysitting needs amid new building policies and parking issues. The door is closed. I knock, and when no one answers, I push it open to his small and cluttered office.