Another pause.
Then, softly, “About your brother?”
“Yes.”
I heard her exhale.
“Michael, guilt can distort everything right after a funeral.”
“It’s not distortion.”
“Then what is it?”
I looked toward the porch.
Through the glass I could see Dave sitting on the top step, elbows on knees, staring out at the dead yard.
“It’s arithmetic,” I said. “And I’ve been doing it wrong for years.”
Claire didn’t answer immediately.
When she did, her voice had changed.
Less comfort.
More caution.
“What are you planning to do?”
There it was.
Not what happened.
Not what does Dave need.
What are you planning to do.
The question adults ask when they sense somebody is about to light a match near the life they built.
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