at a little table.
My knees barely fit underneath.
Claire remained near the doorway.
I looked around the room.
Then I noticed a display filled with adventure books.
Another piece of memory returned.
Nora slamming a book shut.
Me accusing her of skipping three pages.
Her telling me I was just slow.
I laughed before I meant to.
Claire didn’t ask what was funny.
“She cheated,” I said.
“Oh, constantly.”
“She skipped ahead.”
“Also constantly.”
“I hated that.”
“She knew.”
I glanced over at Claire.
She smiled, but the smile wasn’t really for me.
It belonged to someone who wasn’t there anymore.
I hated how much that hurt.
“Was she sick?” I asked.
Claire looked briefly toward the doorway before answering.
“Yes.”
There it was.
The truth she’d apparently been carrying toward me for the past six months.
“How sick?”
“She had a chronic condition from childhood. That summer was
