Did you tell her about" "I have to go, Rach." "Ethan." He hung up and headed for his truck parked three blocks away. The rain had picked up again, soaking through his flannel, but he didn't really care. His phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
"This is Clara. Just making sure you didn't give me a fake number." He saved her contact and typed back, "Not fake. Drive safe. We're walking."
"But thanks." "Walking where?" "Home." "It's only a mile." Ethan looked up at the rain now coming down hard enough to sting.
He typed, "Let me drive you." The response took a minute. "You don't have to do that." "I know. Where are you?"
She sent her location. Ethan jogged to his truck. He found them two blocks north, huddled under a bus stop shelter that wasn't doing much to keep them dry. Lily saw his truck first and pointed, signing something to Clara. Clara looked simultaneously relieved and embarrassed when he pulled up.
"You really didn't have to." "Get in." Ethan said, leaning across to open the passenger door. She hesitated for exactly 2 seconds before helping Lily into the backseat and climbing in herself. The truck's interior was clean, but worn.
Tools rattling in the bed, an old jacket wadded up behind the seat, the faint smell of sawdust and coffee. Nothing fancy. Nothing that would give him away. Where to? He asked.
Clara gave him an address in one of the older neighborhoods, the kind where rent was cheap because everything was falling apart. They drove in comfortable silence. Lilly fell asleep almost immediately, her head resting against the window. Clara watched her for a moment, then turned to look at Ethan. You're a weird guy, she said softly.
Yeah? Yeah, good weird, I think, but weird. I'll take it. Most guys would have bailed the second I walked in with a kid. I'm not most guys.
Clearly. The address she'd given him led to a four-story apartment building that looked like it hadn't seen maintenance since the '90s. Peeling paint, cracked foundation, windows that probably leaked in every rainstorm. Clara saw him looking and bristled slightly. It's not much, but it's ours.
I wasn't Ethan stopped. I was just thinking you probably have terrible water pressure. She blinked. How did you know that? Building's old, galvanized pipes.
They corrode. Whole system probably needs replacing. Oh. Clara looked at the building with new eyes, like she'd never considered there might be a reason for all its problems. Yeah, the pressure is awful.
She unbuckled and gently shook Lilly awake. The girl signed something sleepy and confused. We're home, baby, Clara signed back. Come on. Ethan got out and came around to help, but Clara was already lifting Lilly out, the girl clinging to her like a koala.
Thanks for the ride, Clara said over Lilly's shoulder. And for everything, I guess. Anytime. She started toward the building, then stopped and turned back. Ethan?
Yeah? You meant it, right? About calling? Yeah, I meant it. She nodded, something uncertain but hopeful crossing her face.
Okay, good. He waited until they were inside before driving away. That night, Ethan stood in his own home, a sprawling estate in the hills south of the city that he mostly used for sleeping and ignoring, and thought about Clara's apartment building with its corroded pipes and broken foundation. His son was with his ex-wife for the weekend, so the house was empty except for him. Six bedrooms, four bathrooms, a kitchen he never cooked in, and a living room that looked like a furniture showroom because his decorator had insisted, "Minimalism is timeless."
He hated it here. Ethan pulled out his phone and looked at Clara's contact information. It would be easy to check her out properly, run a background search, see her financial situation, confirm the whole story about her sister and Lily. His assistant could have a full report on his desk by Monday morning. He deleted the thought as soon as it formed.
Whatever Clara was dealing with, she'd tell him when she was ready. Or she wouldn't. Either way, he wasn't going to treat her like a business deal that needed due diligence. His phone rang. Rachel again.
"Tell me everything," she demanded. "There's nothing to tell." "Liar. You drove her home, didn't you?" "How did you" "Because you're you.
So, what's she like, really?" Ethan thought about Clara signing with Lily in the cafe. The unconscious grace of it. The way she'd tried to smooth her wet hair and given up halfway through. The defensive set of her shoulders when he'd looked at her building, like she was bracing for judgment.
"She's real," he said finally. "Real how?" "Just real. She doesn't perform. She doesn't try to be anything except what she is.
"Which is" "Tired. Broke. Doing her best with a situation that's probably way harder than she makes it look. Rachel was quiet for a moment. You really like her?
Yeah, I do. Does she know about No, and I'm not telling her yet. Ethan, I mean it, Rachel. If this goes anywhere, I want it to be because she actually likes me, not because she Googled my net worth. His sister sighed.
You're going to make this so much harder than it needs to be. Probably. She's going to find out eventually. I know. And she's going to be pissed that you didn't tell her.
I know that, too. But you're doing it anyway. Yeah. Rachel laughed, but it wasn't unkind. You're an idiot.
Thanks. A well-meaning idiot, but still an idiot. They talked for a few more minutes before Rachel had to go deal with her own kids. Ethan hung up and walked through his empty house, room by room, trying to remember the last time it had felt like a home instead of just a place to store his stuff. He couldn't.
His phone buzzed. A text from Clara. Lilly wants me to tell you she's already planning where the bookshelf goes. Tell her I'll need measurements. You were serious about that?
Yeah. Why wouldn't I be? Because people say stuff they don't mean all the time. Ethan stared at that message for a long moment, trying to figure out what kind of people Clara had been dealing with that made her so surprised by basic follow-through. I meant it, he typed.