You really don't know?" she asks.
My eyebrows pull together.
"Know what?"
For a moment she just stares at me, then something in her expression shifts.
Not pity... but something close, that only makes my stomach twist harder.
"Claire," I say again, slower this time, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Stop being cryptic and just tell me what's going on."
Silence stretches between us, Margaret moves around quietly in the kitchen behind us, pretending she's busy but clearly listening.
Claire taps the fork lightly against the plate, then she sets it down.
Her eyes meet mine again directly.
"Is this about the club?" I ask quickly.
The words rush out before I can stop them.
Claire tilts her head slightly.
"That night," I continue.
"Did you come here because of that?"
My voice softens slightly.
"Are you… checking on me or something?"
Claire's expression doesn't change but she doesn't interrupt me either.
"That's the only explanation that makes sense," I go on.
