“He fixed children’s hearts.”
“He must have been proud of you.”
“Yes.”
Then her expression changed.
“He died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Two years ago.”
She touched the frame and then turned away.
We sat at the small kitchen table. Clara cut two uneven slices of chocolate cake.
“Your mother is worried,” she said.
“She is.”
“Your father is angry.”
“Yes.”
“Are you angry?”
“I don’t know.”
“That means yes, but not all the way.”
I looked at her.
Clara ate a bite of cake.
She did not speak like someone trying to impress me. Her sentences were short. She paused before answering difficult questions. Sometimes she repeated part of what I said to make sure she understood.
But she understood more than people expected.
“Why are you marrying Ethan?” I asked.