“You were worth it, Claire. Every single year.”
I didn’t know what he meant.
Not until Arthur Vance knocked on my door.
For illustrative purposes only
Part 5: The Second Line
Arthur caught my elbow before my head hit the doorframe.
I don’t remember how I ended up at my own kitchen table. I just remember Arthur filling a glass of water at my sink as if he’d done this before, and the letter lying flat in front of me.
I read the second line again.
Your mother, Diane Hale, did not die in a random accident. She died on the morning of October 12, 1995, because she pushed a nine-year-old boy out of the path of a car.
I was that boy.
I put my hand over my mouth.
Arthur sat down across from me and said nothing. He let me read.
She was the crossing guard at Kemp Elementary. Every morning, she said, “Good morning, Mr. Julian,” like I was somebody important. She sang “You Are My Sunshine” to the kids while we waited for the light. She sang it slow, with a little pause, because she said the pause was where the love went.
