Three days later, Meredith sent Mara her address.
The message did not mention Caleb Rourke or the Willow Street fire.
Come for dinner tonight. This situation with you and Tori has gone far enough. We should sit down and clear the air.
I read it twice and decided I disliked the word dinner most.
“Don’t go.”
Mara typed:
Of course. Thank you.
Of course.
The Hale house stood in a quiet neighborhood above the river, large without being theatrical, hidden behind tall hedges and a black metal gate. Mara arrived exactly on time wearing one of my light-colored dresses, hair tied low.
Before she got out of the rideshare, her reflection in the window startled me.
For one instant, I was not sure which of us I was looking at.
She had worn me too long.
Meredith opened the front door herself.
“Claire?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Come in. It’s freezing out.”
Her voice was warm without being sugary. Under different circumstances, I might have liked her.
Mara stepped inside.
The lock clicked behind us.
She glanced back.
Meredith caught it.
“Habit,” she said.
Mara smiled. “Mine too.”
The first exchange between them was polite enough that no one could reasonably call it a threat.
“Is Mr. Hale home?” Mara asked.
“Work. He may be late.”
“Okay.”
Tori was in the living room.
She looked thinner than she had at school. No careful makeup. No crowd orbiting her. But the moment she saw Mara, her body went rigid.
She knew the girl in front of her was not me.
Meredith did not necessarily know.
“Tori,” Meredith said. “We have a guest.”
Tori did not stand.
“You’re calling her a guest?”
Meredith looked at her daughter.
Only looked.
Tori got up.
“Hi.”
Mara answered in my voice. “Hi.”
Tori’s mouth twitched.
Meredith rested one hand between her daughter’s shoulder blades. “Since Claire came over, apologize.”
Tori turned. “Mom?”
“You heard me.”
“You know she—”
Tori stopped.
Meredith’s smile remained. “I know what?”
“Nothing.”
Interesting.
Tori had not told her everything.
She approached Mara.
“I’m sorry.”
Mara asked, “For what?”
Tori’s face flushed. “You—”
Meredith set down a water glass with a soft clink.
Tori changed direction. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I just want to know which apology I’m accepting.”
The room went still.
Tori could not choose one offense without acknowledging another.
Meredith stepped in exactly when she needed to.
“Teenagers can spend all night relitigating each other. Tori knows she crossed lines. That’s enough for tonight.”
One sentence.
A clean cloth laid over something filthy.
Mara nodded. “I understand.”
Neither side pressed further.
The first round had ended without a clear winner.
Dinner began with ordinary questions.
How were classes?
Was our house far from school?
Who handled things after our parents died?
Meredith never rushed. She served food. Commented on the rain. Left comfortable spaces between questions. That made it difficult to point at any single one and call it an interrogation.
“You live alone?”
“Yes.”
“No relatives nearby?”
“No.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
Tori looked up.
So did I.
Mara kept her eyes on her plate.
“No.”
Necessary.
It still hurt.
Meredith nodded as if asking only out of politeness. “That must be difficult.”
“I’m used to it.”
She did not pursue the subject.
Tori looked at her mother again.
The fracture between them widened by a hair. Tori had not told Meredith that she had used a fake memory to prove “Claire” was an impostor.
Meredith changed topics.
“Daniel seems fond of you.”
Mara’s fork paused, then continued.
“He feels responsible for the accident.”
“My husband doesn’t become invested in strangers easily.” Meredith took a sip of water. “Especially strangers who remind him of the past.”
“I didn’t mean to remind him of anyone.”
Meredith looked at her.
“I didn’t say you meant to.”
Very light.
A paper cut.
Mara had denied an accusation Meredith had not made.
Their eyes met.
Dinner continued.
After that, Mara spoke less.
When the main course was cleared, Meredith went to the kitchen.
Tori leaned across the table immediately.
“What do you want?”
Mara looked at her. “Dinner.”
“Stop performing.”
“I’m actually eating.”
Tori’s teeth clenched. “You’re not her.”
The first time she had said it plainly.
Mara did not deny it.
“Not who?”
“Claire Mercer.”
“Then why haven’t you told your mother?”
Tori froze.
Mara did not need the answer.
Footsteps returned from the kitchen.
Meredith carried a tray with three bowls of chicken soup.
She placed one in front of Tori, one at her own seat, and the last before Mara.
“Made it this afternoon.”
Tori stared at Mara’s bowl.
Her face changed by barely anything.
“Mom…”
Meredith looked at her. “What?”
Tori opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Steam curled above the soup.
Meredith had not mentioned Rourke once.
She had not asked what Mara knew about the fire.
She had not told her to stop digging.
Maybe she had never planned to persuade her.
Meredith nudged the bowl closer.
“Eat while it’s hot.”
Mara reached for the spoon.
I stood beside her.
“Don’t.”
Tori was no longer watching her mother.
She was watching Mara.
And for the first time that evening, I realized the one person at the table who did not fully understand what dinner had been prepared for was Meredith Hale’s own daughter.
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