Dad closed his eyes.
Claire continued.
Mom understood.
Because she loved the parents who raised her.
She loved her husband.
She loved me.
None of those lives would have happened exactly the same way if the past changed.
“That,” Claire said, “was why she didn’t want anyone blamed.”
Dad touched the photograph.
“I wish I had met her.”
“I know.”
“I wasted too much time.”
Claire shook her head.
“You didn’t know where she was.”
“I could’ve looked harder.”
“Maybe.”
Dad looked at her.
Claire did not offer false comfort.
That was one reason I liked her.
“Maybe you could have,” she said. “Maybe Grandma could have. Maybe Mom could have called sooner.”
She sat beside him.
“But if everybody keeps calculating who should have moved first, nobody moves.”
Dad studied her face.
Then he nodded.
“All right.”
“All right what?”
“I’m moving.”
Claire smiled.
“Good.”
