Chapter 2

Clara returned the next day at 6:00 a.m., and she did not come alone. A young man in a white windbreaker trailed behind her, pulling a suitcase that had never made it onto the flight.

Well, well. Logan Pearce. Clara's longtime lab partner from university and the crush she could never bring herself to admit.

Logan placed a container of warm broth on the bedside table.

"I was literally one step onto the airport shuttle when she insisted I get off!" he said. "I heard about your parents. I don't even know what to say... I'm sorry for your loss, Darren."

I shot a glance at Clara.

She had one hand resting on his suitcase. Morning dew still glistened on her shoulders, and she even seemed to be in high spirits. Who would have thought getting a guy to stay could make her this happy?

"It's got nothing to do with you," I said, pulling the bowl closer and opening the lid. "Since you're back now, you might as well cancel your plans to go abroad. Don't you guys have some college entrepreneurship competition to work on?"

A shadow crossed Clara's face. "Are you insinuating something, Darren?"

"Why would I? I don't have time for that," I replied.

"Hey, now! I only delayed my exchange program. I might not even stay here that long!" Logan said in an attempt to defuse the tension. "Please, don't fight over me."

I took a sip. "There's nothing to fight about."

Since Logan's computer was in his checked baggage, which had already departed on the flight, he asked if he could borrow mine. He said he needed to report his delay or something along those lines.

Before I could respond, Clara had already picked up my laptop from beside the bed and handed it to him.

"He just needs it for a moment. We'll get it back to you," she said.

I did not argue.

…

By 9:00 a.m., the funeral parlor had called and asked me to select an urn for my parents' cremated remains.

Clara said she would come with me immediately, but then Logan's phone rang.

The computer system they used for their project had apparently crashed. Their investor would only be staying in the city for another two hours or so. If they could not fix the problem in time, they would very likely lose their eligibility to compete.

Clara's hesitation was palpable. "Can we... pick another time to choose your parents' urn?"

"Sure. The dead don't have anywhere else to be," I replied.

Her face paled. "That's not what I meant, Darren."

"I know." I eased myself into my wheelchair. "Go do what you have to do."

…

The funeral home felt cold.

An employee bombarded me with questions about personalization as he flipped through package booklets. What were my parents' favorite colors? Would they have wanted an inion on the urn?

I answered each question one by one.

When we were finished, he glanced past me and asked, "Hmm. Is your wife not coming?"

"I don't have a wife."

"What about a girlfriend?"

I checked my parents' names on the form. "Don't have one."

…

Clara was already waiting in my hospital room by the time I returned. She had brought me lasagna, something I had always liked, but it was already cold.

When she noticed that only the nurse had accompanied me, her expression darkened slightly. "Why didn't you call me? I could've gone with you."

"You were busy."

"I could still make time for you, Darren."

I looked at her. "But you didn't."

She fell silent for a moment. Then her gaze landed on my packed luggage and the acceptance letter for the mural restoration project lying on top of it.

"You're really going to Seabeck?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm."

"But your leg hasn't healed yet. Are you sure you should be heading into the desert to work on historical restoration in this condition? This is crazy!"

"The doctor said I should be able to walk in a month. Until then, I'll go over and organize the data we already have. I can start the fieldwork once I'm able to walk again," I said.

She raked a hand through her hair in frustration. "Are you doing all of this because you're upset that I went to the airport?"

I chuckled. "Clara, you're not even remotely that important to me."

She seemed hurt by that.

A painful silence stretched between us.

Then she picked up the patient record hanging from the foot of my bed.

When she saw the changes to my emergency contact information, her expression darkened completely. "You removed me?"

"Why not? You're not a member of my family," I replied flatly.

"Well, who else do you have in your family?"

"No one."

Her phone suddenly rang. Logan was calling to ask about their progress fixing the program.

In the past, she would never have hesitated to answer a call like that. This time, though, she stared at me for a long moment before finally picking up.