Claire did not want it to, but that was hardly the point. As the days passed she realized that Lucy, in her subtle way, managed to be everywhere. The house reeked of her presence. Since no one mentioned it, Claire wondered if perhaps she was the only one who was aware of this phenomenon, the only one who felt that Lucy was still very much a part of the household. Ray and Helen barely spoke about their daughter, and when they did, it was in a quiet, off-hand manner. One night at dinner Helen murmured something about wanting to get rid of some boxes of old clothes that were taking up space in the garage. “They were our daughter’s,” Ray said quietly to Claire. “Oh,” she responded, looking down into her bowl of soup. “I see.” After a few moments of the silence that accompanied most meals at the Aschers’, Claire offered in as casual a voice as she could muster to take care of the clothing.
