Car crown and all.
Malik saw it and shook his head.
Claire only smiled.
Months passed.
Spring came to Montana in uneven pieces.
Mud first.
Then pale grass.
Then wildflowers along the road like the earth had forgiven winter.
The roof got fixed.
The furnace got replaced.
Nia got new sneakers with light-up soles and spent an entire evening stomping through the kitchen to make them flash.
Malik kept the old pickup, but now it started every morning without prayer.
The house did rest.
Not all at once.
But slowly.
The way tired things do when they finally believe they are safe.
Claire visited sometimes.
Never too much.
Never with a crowd.
She came for dinner on Sundays when work brought her near Helena.
She brought groceries without making a show of it, and Malik learned to accept them when they were offered as friendship, not rescue.
Nia taught her how to play Go Fish.
Claire lost often.
Malik suspected on purpose.
Once, in late May, they all sat on the porch eating grilled cheese sandwiches while rain tapped the roof.
Nia leaned against Claire’s side like she had always belonged there.
Malik watched them and felt the ache that came with gratitude.
Not grief exactly.
Not joy exactly.
Both sitting side by side.
Claire caught his look.
“You okay?”
He nodded.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
He looked out at the rain.
“How strange life is.”
Nia spoke with her mouth full.
“Daddy says that when he doesn’t know what to say.”
Claire laughed.
“He does?”
“All the time.”
Malik raised an eyebrow.
“You giving away my secrets?”
“Yes.”
“Any others?”
Nia thought hard.
“He sings when he fixes the sink.”
Claire turned to him.
“Does he?”
Malik stood.
“I’m going inside.”
They both laughed.
He let them.
Later that evening, after Nia fell asleep on the couch with her bear in one arm and Claire’s sleeve in the other, Malik walked Claire to her SUV.
The sky was purple at the edges.
The air smelled like wet earth and pine.
Claire paused by the driver’s door.
“I never asked you something,” she said.
“What?”
