Chapter 14 — CLAIRE
Claire got home Saturday at four in the afternoon.
She came into Room 212 with her bag still on her shoulder and she put her face into Sophia's hair and stayed there for a long time and I stood by the window and let her.
Then she straightened up and she said:
Claire: What did Sarah do.
And there it is. The first three words out of her mouth were not *what happened* and they were not *how bad is it.* They were *what did Sarah do.*
I told her. All of it. The patio, the two hours and eleven minutes, the bucket, the balcony, the sentence.
She cried in the way people cry when they are also doing arithmetic.
Claire: She's out of the house. Tonight. I'll call her myself.
Mark: Ray's already moved her stuff to the garage.
Claire: Good. Good.
Mark: Claire. Did you know about Lucas?
She was picking up her bag. She stopped with her hand on the strap.
Claire: Know what about Lucas?
Mark: The transplant.
Claire: I knew he'd been ill.
That is not a lie. I want to be fair, and I have had to be fair about this for a long time now. It is not a lie.
It is a sentence built specifically so that it would not be one.