"This is Claire Hollis," the voice said.
Natalie found she could not speak. She pressed her hand against her mouth.
"Mr. Mercer gave me your letter," Claire said. "I read it. I read it like a hundred times, actually." Another pause. "I'm not calling to—I don't know what I'm calling to do. I almost didn't. I've been sitting in my car for an hour."
"I'm in my car too," Natalie heard herself say.
There was a startled silence, and then, unbelievably, a small, rough sound that might have been a laugh.
"Okay," Claire said. "That's—okay." She drew a breath. "I want to meet you. I think. One time. I'm not promising anything after that. I want to ask you some things and I want you to answer them, and I don't want you to cry the whole time, because I don't think I can handle that. And I want to do it at the studio. Mr. Mercer said we could use it Sunday morning before he opens. He said he'd be there, but in the back. Is that—would you do that?"