"Mrs. Whitmore. Her daughter is Claire. Claire was decent."
"Good for Claire. Claire can live. Mrs. Whitmore can trip over her own manners in a public place and survive it, apparently. People like that usually do." June exhaled. "Two weeks?"
"Mr. Carter said a couple of weeks. He said the wait is awful and normal."
"I can do awful and normal. I do it at work before sunrise." She stood, already moving toward the refrigerator, because love in this apartment often took the form of food that did not ask permission. "You are going to eat real lunch. Then you are going to nap. Then, if you want, we can call Miss Alvarez. If you don't want, we can wait until your voice feels like yours again."
"I want to call her."
Alvarez listened on speaker while Nia ate a grilled cheese June had pressed too hard, the way she did when her feelings were larger than the bread. At the sticky-pedal confession, Alvarez made a sound that was almost a laugh. "I told you no one would die. Do you believe me now?"
"In that room, yes."
"And the woman?"
"She thought I was lost."