“She asked how long before I leave.”

“That’s how Lucy measures people now.”

Rebecca looked toward the curtain. “What happened to her mother?”

Matthew stayed silent long enough that Rebecca regretted asking. “Claire died in a highway accident,” he said. “A delivery truck crossed the median during a storm.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” There was no self-pity in his voice, only an old grief worn smooth by repetition.