“But you didn’t.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You hugged me at his funeral.”
My voice cracked.
“You looked me in the face and said, ‘I’m sorry.’”
“I was sorry.”
I laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“For what? His death? Or what you were doing to me?”
Andrew stepped closer.
“Mom didn’t want any part of this.”
Clementine looked at him sharply.
“Don’t.”
“No,” I said. “He should talk.”
Andrew rubbed both hands over his face.
The gesture was painfully familiar.
“There was an accident 12 days before the wedding.”
“I know there was an accident.”
“What you don’t know is that I wasn’t driving the car.”
I frowned.
Andrew swallowed.
“My friend Callum was.”
I had heard that name before. Callum had worked with Andrew years earlier. I had met him twice.
Andrew continued.
“We were together that night. I had been drinking. Callum offered to drive.”
