TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT~CLAIRE'S POV~The coffee in the hospital waiting room vending machine was terrible, but it was hot, and that was all that mattered.I sat on the vinyl chair, staring into the dark liquid. My mother was sleeping. The doctors said she was improving, but every time the monitors beeped, my heart skipped a beat. I felt stretched thin, like a rubber band ready to snap."Claire?"I looked up. Standing near the elevators, looking unusually shabby, was Annette.She was wearing a trench coat that was buttoned wrong, and there was a smudge of something dark—dirt? grease?—on her cheek. She looked like she had been through a war."Annette," I said, standing up. "What are you doing here?"She walked over to me, her movements jerky and nervous. She kept glancing down the hallway as if she expected someone to jump out at her."My father," she said, her voice raspy. "He... he had an accident. A fall at home. I had to bring him in.""Oh my god," I said, my earlier suspicion soft
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