The words stung.
Hannah reached across the table.
I didn’t take her hand.
She pulled it back.
“Claire, I knew eventually you’d find out. I knew you might hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“You look like you might.”
“I haven’t decided.”
That earned a small laugh from David.
I glared at him.
He immediately became fascinated by the salt shaker.
“How did you find out?” I asked him.
David sighed.
“When Mason was twelve, Hannah had pneumonia. He still wanted to come here.”
“So you brought him.”
“Yes.”
“And you kept it from me.”
“He asked me to.”
“You’re his father.”
“Exactly.”
His voice was gentle.
“That was why I listened.”
I looked away.
I wanted to stay angry.
Anger was easier.
But then Diane appeared beside the booth.
“Mason?”
“Yes?”
“Are we doing it?”
Mason checked the clock.
“Eight minutes late.”
Diane smiled.
