“Marcus,” I said, and it came out as a sob before I could stop it, his name breaking apart in my mouth.

He froze.

For a moment he did not move at all, and then slowly, as though he were afraid of what he would see, he lifted his head and turned toward the sound of my voice, and his dark eyes found me standing there at the garden’s edge, holding a lunchbox and crying, and they went wide with a shock so total it was almost like fear.

“Clara,” he whispered.