When he saw me, he froze.
The corkscrew slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the hardwood floor. The sound was sharp, shocking.
“Claire?” he stammered. His eyes darted to the window, looking for the car, looking for the wreckage, looking for the flames he had scripted. “You… you’re here?”
“I am,” I said, bending down to pick up the corkscrew. It was sharp. Cold. I held it in my hand, feeling the weight of it. “I decided to take an Uber. The brakes felt a little loose on the way over. I didn’t want to drive Mom and Sarah on those winding roads. You know how dangerous Route 9 is at night.”
Logan’s face went gray. The color drained out of him as if someone had pulled a plug. “Loose? Did you… did you check them?”
“Oh, I had someone look at them,” I said casually, walking past him to pour myself a glass of wine. My hand didn’t shake. I poured the red liquid, watching it swirl. “Carolyn actually.”
“My mother?” Logan’s voice cracked. It was high, thready. “Why would you take the car to my mother’s?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” I lied. “And Mr. Henderson was available. You know how much she trusts him. He’s the best.”
Logan leaned against the doorframe. He looked like he was going to be sick. He pulled out his phone, checking it frantically. He was waiting for a text from his mother. Or maybe a news alert about a crash that never happened. He was waiting for his plan to align with reality, but reality had gone off script.
“What did Henderson say?” Logan asked, his voice barely a whisper.
“He said it was interesting,” I took a sip of the wine. It was a deep red, rich and tannic. “He said he’d never seen wear and tear like that. Almost looked… deliberate.”
“That’s crazy,” Logan laughed. It was a high, thin sound, bordering on hysterical. “Cars break. It happens. Old lines snap.”
“True,” I agreed. “But usually not the day after you pay for a funeral.”
The room went dead silent. My mother stopped stirring the gravy. Sarah dropped her fork.
Logan stared at me. His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated with terror. He looked like a trapped animal.
“What did you say?” he hissed.
“I said,” I raised my voice slightly, ensuring everyone could hear, “that it’s very thoughtful of you to plan ahead, Logan. The casket? Mahogany? Classy choice. A bit expensive, but I suppose life insurance covers it. And the lilies? A nice touch. Sarah loves lilies.”
“Claire, stop,” he warned, taking a step toward me. His hands curled into fists. “You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you forwarded the confirmation email to your work address,” I said, meeting his gaze. “And I know I forwarded it to the cloud. And to Sarah. And to Mom.”
Sarah’s phone pinged. Then Mom’s. They looked down.
A siren wailed in the distance. Low at first, then rising. Closer.
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