My younger sister, Claire, stood frozen in the threshold, staring at me like she’d seen a ghost.
I hadn’t spoken to Claire in eight years. Derek had told me, gently, over and over, that being around a newborn was too painful for her after she found out she couldn’t have kids of her own. I’d called. I’d emailed. I’d left voicemail after voicemail that never got answered. Derek would hold me while I cried about losing my sister on top of everything else, and tell me that grief does strange things to people — sometimes it makes them disappear.
Now she was standing three feet away from me, and the boy sitting by the filing cabinet was clearly, unmistakably, hers.
“Can the boys head back to class?” Claire said to the principal, her voice barely holding steady. “We need to talk. Just the two of us.”
