He could still remember feeding her at night when she was a baby. Pearl, Eiko, Lucille, and Carol Dyson had taught him how after Mom died. They’d known, somehow, that in all the ways that mattered, Clara was going to belong to Sawyer rather than to Charles, and so they’d shown him what to do. They’d rotated through when Charles was on nights at the packaging plant—back then he’d still been nominally employed. And once things had stabilized a bit, the whole town had pitched in. Fish from Art Ramsey. Hand-me-downs from neighbors. Free cleanings from the town dentist.

But Clara wasn’t a kid anymore.

He turned right at Sarnia Street and headed for the bridge. They lived on this side of it, but since it didn’t seem like they were going to be done talking anytime soon, he thought he’d keep driving.

“Where are we going?”

“You know what? I think it’s easier to talk about this stuff in the car.” He shot her a self-deprecating grin. “It gives me something to do with my hands.”

She smiled back, and his heart squeezed.

They wound through the forest toward the road that followed the shoreline on this part of the lake, and he took a deep breath. “I think they were going to get divorced. I think she was staying only until she had you.” He had never said those words out loud to anyone, not even Evie. And he’d told Evie so much.

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I’d hear them fight. And she would say these cryptic things to me sometimes. He’d be ranting, throwing things, and she’d say, ‘Next summer is going to be so peaceful.’ I mean, I was only a kid, but I remember the things she said, and as an adult I look back and wonder. It seems pretty clear she was gearing up to leave him.”

“Or to murder him.”

He looked over, alarmed. She winked. He chuckled. “Hey, if you change your mind about engineering, I think you have real potential as a homicide detective.”

He’d been aiming to make her laugh, but it didn’t work. She looked out the window. “Did he rant a lot?”

“Yeah.”

“About what?”

“You name it. What was for dinner. How they were going to afford a second kid.” She sucked in a breath and he examined her face, trying to decide if she was ready to hear more. Oddly, now that they’d started, he found himself wanting to lay everything out. He spoke gently, though. “And then, after Mom died, he got it in his mind that it was your fault.”

“Well, it kind of was.”

“No.” So much for gentle. But he couldn’t let that interpretation stand. “You can’t think that.”

“Well, if she never had me, she’d still be here. That’s just common sense.”