Clara. Ethan could see the panic in her eyes. She's just being Lily, stop. But Ethan was already nodding. Sure, if your aunt says it's okay.
The panic in Clara's face intensified. You don't have to do that. I know. We can't pay you. I didn't ask you to.
Clara looked like she wanted to argue more, but Lily was beaming now, signing enthusiastically about where the bookshelf should go and how many shelves it needed. They stayed at the cafe for another hour. Ethan learned that Clara was 30, originally from Seattle, and had moved to Spokane two years ago for cheaper rent. That she drank her coffee black, but her hot chocolate needed extra marshmallows. That she'd been teaching herself sign language since Lily was three, when her younger sister first got the diagnosis, and then promptly started avoiding dealing with any of it.
He learned that Lily loved art, but hated math. That she wanted a dog, but they weren't allowed pets in the apartment. And that she had opinions about everything from pizza toppings to what color notebook was objectively superior. He didn't learn much about why Clara was raising Lily instead of her sister, and he didn't push. When they finally stood to leave, the rain had softened to a drizzle.
Clara tried to pay for their food, but Ethan had already handed cash to the waitress while she was in the bathroom with Lily. "You didn't have to do that." Clara said, but her protest sounded automatic rather than genuine. "I know." Outside the sidewalk gleamed with reflected streetlights.
Lily jumped in a puddle, and Clara didn't even try to stop her. "So," Clara said, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets, "this was probably the weirdest first date in human history. Top five at least." She laughed, and this time it sounded real. "Thanks for not running away screaming."
"Thanks for showing up." "45 minutes late with a wet child." "Better late than never." They stood there awkwardly for a moment, neither quite ready to leave, but both unsure how to extend the evening. Lily signed something, looking between them with exaggerated innocence.
Clara's face went pink. "She wants to know if you're going to kiss me goodbye." "Clara." Ethan couldn't tell if he was more amused or mortified. "I'm going to die."
Clara muttered. "I'm actually going to die right here on this sidewalk." Lily giggled and grabbed Clara's hand, tugging her toward the street. "I should go." Clara said quickly, "before she embarrasses me further.
Can I call you?" The question came out before Ethan could second-guess it. Clara looked surprised. "Seriously?" "Yeah."
"Even after all this?" She gestured vaguely at herself, at Lily, at the general chaos of the evening. "Especially after all this." She studied his face like she was trying to figure out if he was messing with her. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her because she nodded slowly.
"Okay." "Yeah." "Call me." They exchanged numbers. Lily waved goodbye with both hands, and then they were gone, disappearing around the corner into the rainy Spokane night.
Ethan stood there for a moment longer, his phone in his hand, watching the empty street. His sister called exactly 90 seconds later. "Well?" Rachel demanded before he even said hello. "How was she?
Did you like her? Was it awful? Are you going to see her again?" "It was fine." "Fine?
What does that mean? Ethan, I need details. She showed up late with her niece. We had coffee and fries. I'm seeing her again."
Silence on the other end, then "Wait. You're seeing her again?" "Yeah." "You never see them again." "Well, this time I am."
"Oh my god," Rachel breathed. "You actually like her." Ethan didn't answer, which was answer enough. "What's she like? What does she do?
Did you tell her about" "I have to go, Rach." "Ethan." He hung up and headed for his truck parked three blocks away. The rain had picked up again, soaking through his flannel, but he didn't really care. His phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
"This is Clara. Just making sure you didn't give me a fake number." He saved her contact and typed back, "Not fake. Drive safe. We're walking."
"But thanks." "Walking where?" "Home." "It's only a mile." Ethan looked up at the rain now coming down hard enough to sting.
He typed, "Let me drive you." The response took a minute. "You don't have to do that." "I know. Where are you?"
She sent her location. Ethan jogged to his truck. He found them two blocks north, huddled under a bus stop shelter that wasn't doing much to keep them dry. Lily saw his truck first and pointed, signing something to Clara. Clara looked simultaneously relieved and embarrassed when he pulled up.
"You really didn't have to." "Get in." Ethan said, leaning across to open the passenger door. She hesitated for exactly 2 seconds before helping Lily into the backseat and climbing in herself. The truck's interior was clean, but worn.
Tools rattling in the bed, an old jacket wadded up behind the seat, the faint smell of sawdust and coffee. Nothing fancy. Nothing that would give him away. Where to? He asked.
Clara gave him an address in one of the older neighborhoods, the kind where rent was cheap because everything was falling apart. They drove in comfortable silence. Lilly fell asleep almost immediately, her head resting against the window. Clara watched her for a moment, then turned to look at Ethan. You're a weird guy, she said softly.
Yeah? Yeah, good weird, I think, but weird. I'll take it. Most guys would have bailed the second I walked in with a kid. I'm not most guys.
Clearly. The address she'd given him led to a four-story apartment building that looked like it hadn't seen maintenance since the '90s. Peeling paint, cracked foundation, windows that probably leaked in every rainstorm. Clara saw him looking and bristled slightly. It's not much, but it's ours.
I wasn't Ethan stopped. I was just thinking you probably have terrible water pressure. She blinked. How did you know that? Building's old, galvanized pipes.
They corrode. Whole system probably needs replacing. Oh. Clara looked at the building with new eyes, like she'd never considered there might be a reason for all its problems. Yeah, the pressure is awful.
She unbuckled and gently shook Lilly awake. The girl signed something sleepy and confused. We're home, baby, Clara signed back. Come on. Ethan got out and came around to help, but Clara was already lifting Lilly out, the girl clinging to her like a koala.
Thanks for the ride, Clara said over Lilly's shoulder. And for everything, I guess. Anytime. She started toward the building, then stopped and turned back. Ethan?
Yeah? You meant it, right? About calling? Yeah, I meant it. She nodded, something uncertain but hopeful crossing her face.
Okay, good. He waited until they were inside before driving away. That night, Ethan stood in his own home, a sprawling estate in the hills south of the city that he mostly used for sleeping and ignoring, and thought about Clara's apartment building with its corroded pipes and broken foundation. His son was with his ex-wife for the weekend, so the house was empty except for him. Six bedrooms, four bathrooms, a kitchen he never cooked in, and a living room that looked like a furniture showroom because his decorator had insisted, "Minimalism is timeless."
He hated it here. Ethan pulled out his phone and looked at Clara's contact information. It would be easy to check her out properly, run a background search, see her financial situation, confirm the whole story about her sister and Lily. His assistant could have a full report on his desk by Monday morning. He deleted the thought as soon as it formed.
Whatever Clara was dealing with, she'd tell him when she was ready. Or she wouldn't. Either way, he wasn't going to treat her like a business deal that needed due diligence. His phone rang. Rachel again.
"Tell me everything," she demanded. "There's nothing to tell." "Liar. You drove her home, didn't you?" "How did you" "Because you're you.
So, what's she like, really?" Ethan thought about Clara signing with Lily in the cafe. The unconscious grace of it. The way she'd tried to smooth her wet hair and given up halfway through. The defensive set of her shoulders when he'd looked at her building, like she was bracing for judgment.
"She's real," he said finally. "Real how?" "Just real. She doesn't perform. She doesn't try to be anything except what she is.
"Which is" "Tired. Broke. Doing her best with a situation that's probably way harder than she makes it look. Rachel was quiet for a moment. You really like her?