What Her Family Left Behind

"How many got out?" Damian asked.

"Two confirmed. Martin and Reed's father. Rescue's still there."

Clara's handbag slipped from her fingers.

Damian caught her by the elbow before she bent to pick it up.

"Who was in the van?" she asked.

Vince named them. Martin's wife. His children. Two relatives from her mother's side. Audrey's mother-in-law and her husband's younger brother.

Clara knew every face.

"Where's my aunt?"

"I'll find her," Vince said.

Damian took her coat from the chair and put it around her shoulders.

"Come on."

She looked at him without understanding.

"You want to go, don't you?"

She nodded.

"Then let me drive."

By the time they reached Quarry Road, the van was beneath black water and floodlights were reflecting off the pond.

A deputy stopped them behind the tape.

Clara gave her name. He asked whose relative she was, and she couldn't decide which name to give first.

Damian answered for her.

He didn't try to cross the barrier. He asked clear questions, listened to the answers, and made calls with his back to the wind.

Somebody brought Clara a paper cup of tea.

She held it until it went cold.

Over the next three days, hope was reduced by inches, then taken away altogether.

Seven people had died.

Martin had gone for help and never returned. The roads were searched, then the towns where he had friends. His phone stayed off.

Clara sat beside Shelby at the county office while a woman explained the next arrangements. Shelby's teeth chattered so hard she couldn't answer.

Clara answered instead.

She wrote down names, dates, numbers. Her handwriting remained neat. That seemed obscene.

When they finally found Lorraine, she was playing poker in the back room of a bar.

"You need to come," Clara said.

"I already told them. Martin was driving."

"His children are dead."

Lorraine's fingers paused over her cards.

For a moment Clara thought the words had reached her.

Then her aunt put down a chip.

"And what can I do about that?"

Shelby started crying.

"Audrey's husband won't let her leave. He's blaming all of us."

"They're grieving."

"He's hit her."

"Married people fight."

Clara stared at her aunt's carefully painted nails.

"We're going to the sheriff's office."

"Don't make a spectacle of the family."

"Then come with us."

Lorraine looked at the cards in her hand.

"After this game."

Clara took Shelby's wrist and walked out.

Two deputies accompanied them to the Reed house the next morning. The family had moved from grief into a fury that needed somewhere to go.

One man shouted that the Bennetts owed them money. Another shouted that Martin had been drunk. Someone said the van had bad tires. Someone else shoved a chair against a wall.

Clara stood so still her knees hurt.

A deputy positioned himself between her and the men.

Shelby went upstairs with the other deputy.

When they brought Audrey down, Clara barely recognized her.

Her cousin had a split lip and one eye swollen nearly shut. She held her right arm against her ribs, looking at the floor.

"We're taking her for treatment," the deputy said.

Audrey's husband stepped forward.

Then Damian came through the doorway.

He wasn't loud. He didn't need to be.

He looked at Audrey, then at the man blocking her way.

"Move."

The man moved.

Outside, Clara tried to help Audrey into the car. Her cousin flinched when Clara touched her sleeve.

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Audrey whispered.

It was not all right. It had not been all right for a long time.

At the hospital, Clara stayed until the doctor told her there was nothing more to do that night. Then she fell asleep in a waiting-room chair with her handbag trapped beneath both arms.

When she woke, a man's jacket covered her.

Damian stood beside the vending machines, speaking to Vince.

He saw her looking and raised two fingers in a small acknowledgment.

She pulled the jacket closer.

It smelled of clean wool, smoke, and something warm she was beginning to recognize against her will.

***

November came before Martin returned.

By then, his wife's relatives had buried their daughter and grandchildren. He visited their graves, made promises, and carried his grief around town like something that should excuse the rest.

There were insurance claims, arguments over the van, demands, legal appointments. Clara had stopped expecting any of the adults to tell her the whole truth.

Then she heard Lorraine yelling at him through the kitchen door.

"Sell one of the shops!"

"There aren't any shops to sell."

Clara stopped in the hallway.

"What?" Lorraine said.

Martin's voice cracked.

"I borrowed against them. Last year."

"Against Clara's property?"

"The company held it. I had authority."

"Where's the money?"

"Gone."

Clara opened the door.

Neither looked surprised to see her. They were too busy being frightened for themselves.

"What do you mean, gone?"

Martin rubbed both hands over his face.

"A quarry investment. It was supposed to pay out."

"Bennett Row?"

He didn't answer.

"The house too?"

Lorraine turned on him, hitting his shoulder with her fist. He let her.

Clara walked upstairs before either remembered to explain why this, too, was somehow her fault.

She sat on the edge of the bed she shared with Shelby and took off her shoes.

One had a split sole. She had been meaning to glue it.

For a long time she looked at the dark line across the leather.

***

When Audrey was discharged, the three cousins ate dinner together at Lorraine's kitchen table.

Clara made eggs and toast because there wasn't much else.

Audrey ate slowly, using her left hand.

"I can't go back," she said.

Neither of the others pretended not to understand.

"Then don't," Clara told her.

"My mother will make me."

"You're an adult."

Audrey gave her a tired look.

Clara knew. Being an adult was more useful when you had money, somewhere to live, and people who believed you were allowed to say no.

"You could go to your friend in Chicago," she said.

"I haven't talked to him in years."

"Call him."

Shelby pulled at the sleeve of her sweater.

"What would she do there?"

"Work. In a store. A kitchen. At a front desk. Anything while she figures it out."

Audrey looked toward the dark kitchen window.

"He said he needed someone to help at his restaurant. Last time we spoke."

"Then call him tonight."

They counted their cash on the table.

Clara emptied the small envelope she kept for her university debt. Shelby contributed folded bills from her purse. Audrey had sixty-three dollars hidden in the lining of her handbag.

Enough for a bus ticket and a little breathing room.

At the station, Audrey hugged them both.

"Don't tell Mom where I went."

"We won't," Clara said.

She watched the bus leave until the red lights disappeared.

For once, helping somebody had produced an actual result.

She held on to that feeling all the way home.

***

Julian didn't call.

At first Clara thought she was waiting for an apology. Later, she wasn't sure what she was waiting for.

Their future apartment stood in Westbridge, finished exactly as she had planned it. She had chosen every tile, argued over the placement of every light, spent weekends checking measurements instead of sleeping.

The thought of it hurt more than the silence on her phone.

On the last Friday before Christmas, Julian's mother called.

"Clara, would you come over tonight? We should talk."

Her tone was unusually kind.

Clara looked at the unfinished report on her screen.

"Will Julian be there?"

"We'll sort everything out when you arrive."

After work, Clara changed into the camel coat he had given her and drove to Westbridge.

Snow began as she reached the apartment building.

Upstairs, she opened the door with her own key.

The room was warm. The lamps she had chosen glowed over the sofa.

Julian's mother sat beside a young woman dressed in white.

The woman looked up and smiled.

On her feet were Clara's pink slippers.