The room changed before anyone understood why. Claire saw it happen row by row. A cousin stopped singing. A neighbor touched her husband’s sleeve. Her sister turned, frowned, and went white. Her mother made a sound Claire would remember longer than the crash.
At the pulpit, Colin gripped the lectern. For one second, his naked face showed not relief, not joy, but calculation. Then he tried to cover it with tears.
“Claire,” he said, stepping down. “Where have you been?” Elise Grant moved from the side aisle with two plain-clothed officers behind her. The priest stood very still beside the coffin. Claire looked at the polished lid and imagined how the man she loved had very nearly imprisoned her there.
“Well, you were in some hurry to dispatch me, it seems,” she said. Colin shook his head, but his eyes had begun searching for exits. “I thought you were gone, Claire.” “No,” Claire said. “You needed me to be.” The police officers reached him before he reached the aisle.