“Jason wouldn’t know that place,” Clara said loudly.
I looked at her.
“Are you sure?” Daniel asked through the phone.
Clara took the phone from me. “Jason never cared about anything before Iris became Mrs. Mitchell. He didn’t know our childhood stories unless Iris told him.”
I swallowed. Had I told Jason about the observatory? Once, perhaps. Early in our marriage, when I still believed sharing memories invited closeness.
Daniel spoke again. “We do this carefully. Public enough to be safe, private enough for him to approach. I’ll arrange for someone to be nearby. You do not go alone.”
“We,” Clara said firmly.
Daniel exhaled. “Both of you, then.”
The next morning arrived gray and cold.
The observatory road was narrower than I remembered, cracked in places where weeds had pushed through. Daniel drove ahead in his car. Clara and I followed behind in hers. Neither of us spoke much. She kept both hands on the wheel, her wedding ring from a brief, long-ended marriage glinting in the pale light whenever she turned.
