“Tell me who she is.”

The woman pressed a hand to her mouth.

“Claire Elizabeth?”

Nobody had called me that in years.

My mother used my middle name when I was frightened.

It was part of a private ritual.

She would say both names, then tell me to count the things in the room that weren’t going anywhere.

“Your father told me you were gone,” she whispered.

Lucas tried to intervene.

“We should go inside.

This isn’t—”

“Don’t tell me where to go.” My voice sounded sharper than I intended.

“You told me you were at work.

For a week.”