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"I didn't mean to upset you," Malcolm said from behind her. "Claire, believe me, I didn't."
Her voice came out harsher than she meant it to. "No. You never mean it, do you? Is that supposed to make it any better?"
She glared at him over her shoulder. He scrubbed at his face, then ran his hand through his hair. His accent thickened, and Claire remembered how the way he'd pronounced his words had once made her stomach tumble.
"Maybe--no. But it's all I can give you."
Fury ignited in her. She'd spent years being pleasant to this man, when the very sight of him had made her want to scream. She'd taken pride in never allowing him to get under her skin, in being the better person, in not succumbing to the waves of anger and grief that could have ruined every summer. Now, with nothing more than a few words, he'd broken her. She hated him for that, and hated herself for allowing him to do it.
"It's not enough!" The words dropped from her lips like toads, and she regretted them instantly for again having given away too much of herself.
He shrugged, then held up his hands. Silent in the face of her fury.
Claire shivered. Her feet and fingers were numb, icy despite the anger that should have brought heat to her cheeks. "It's been eight years. In all that time, I haven't ever raised my voice to you. I've never made it hard for us all to get together here--"
"You've never raised your voice because you don't talk to me!" He moved toward her again, but this time, Claire stood her ground. "I'd take your anger if it meant you spoke to me, not around me! But you don't even look at me, Claire. You don't see me, and you haven't in eight years!"
"It's easier that way!" Herthroat threatened to close on the words, but she forced them out. "Damn it, how do you think it is for me to spend a week every summer in this house with you? Sure, I could stomp and scream and gnash my teeth, but to what purpose? There are six other people who come to this house. Six other people I consider my very dearest friends. People I love, and who love me--"
"And who love me, too," he put in quietly.
"And who love you, too," Claire replied. "And because they love you, and they love me, I never wanted to make it hard for them. I never wanted to let what happened between us turn everything sour. I didn't want to ruin Nonesuch for everyone just because--just because it had been ruined for me."
Then, to her horror, tears slid in burning lines down her cheeks. A sob tore from her throat. Claire's hands flew to her mouth, startled, to hold back the cry, but only managed to muffle it.
"Damn you!" she croaked. "Damn you to hell and back again!"
"Believe me," Malcolm told her. "I swear I've been there already."
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