"No." Vivian looked at him. "I didn't know Claire had a son. I found out only recently that she'd died. A woman who used to be her friend answered one of the letters I sent after so many years. She told me your mother had married and that she had been happy for a long time. She didn't give me any other details. I came here hoping I might find where Claire was buried, and perhaps speak to someone who had loved her."
"Dad loved her," Noah said firmly.
"I can see that." Vivian paused. "And she loved you, didn't she?"
He nodded once. "A lot."
"I'm glad," she said, though the words hurt her to say.
Noah studied her face. She had the same high cheekbones as his mother, and something familiar in the way she pressed her lips together when she was trying not to cry. That resemblance made him want to move closer, which in turn made him angry at himself. He knew too little about this woman to trust her, and too much about his mother's absence to pretend nothing mattered.
At five twenty-three, his father's faded blue pickup rolled into the passenger loading lane. Marcus came through the doors in his work boots and dark green jacket, looking around until he found his son. The relief on his face lasted exactly long enough for him to put a hand on Noah's shoulder. Then he saw Vivian.
"Marcus," she said, standing.
"Mrs. Whitmore."
She flinched at the formal name. "Thank you for coming. I know this must be difficult."
"You don't need to thank me for coming to get my son." His tone was level, but Noah could feel the tension in his hand. "Noah, go stand near the doors for a minute. I need to speak with her."
"I'm not a little kid," Noah protested.
"I know. But I'm asking."
Noah moved a few steps away, close enough to hear. Marcus looked at the swallow on the backpack and seemed to understand immediately how Vivian had recognized it. He turned back to the old woman.
"Claire waited for you at our wedding," he said. "She kept looking toward the courthouse doors even after the ceremony started."
Vivian lowered her eyes.
"When Noah was born, she sent you a picture," Marcus continued. "When she got sick, she asked me one time to call. I called. Nobody answered. She wasn't asking for money. She wasn't asking you to approve of me. She wanted her mother."
"I know," Vivian whispered.
"No," he said. "You know what you lost. That's not the same as knowing what she lived through."
Vivian raised her head. "You're right. I won't argue with that."
Marcus had prepared himself for denial, Noah could tell. He looked briefly wrong-footed by her agreement. "Why are you here?"