“I wish he’d told me.”
“So do I.”
We reached the car, but neither of us opened a door.
“My father asked me to look after you because he knew your mother,” Alexander said. “I thought it was
just something he said because he liked you.”
“Maybe it was.”
“Maybe.”
He looked toward the road, where the winter light rested on the roofs of passing cars.
“I used to think the people who gave the most help were the ones who wanted everyone to know they had helped.”
“My mother didn’t like owing people.”
“Neither did my father.”
I watched him carefully.
“You don’t owe him anything, Claire,” he said. “And neither do I.”
“I know.”
“I’m not telling you this to make what happened between us mean something different.”
“Good.”
He nodded, accepting the answer without trying to soften it.
“That auction was my choice,” he said. “Whatever else we find out, I did that.”
