Not the brave smile she wore in physical therapy.
This was the smile I remembered from before the accident.
The smile she used to have when she beat me to the mailbox.
Wild.
Bright.
Unashamed.
Donna was shaking.
“That is completely inappropriate,” she snapped.
No one heard her over the applause.
She tried again.
“She’s ten years old!”
That time Claire heard.
Claire stepped forward.
“Yes,” she said.
The room slowly quieted.
My cousin walked across the dance floor in her wedding gown.
Her veil trailed behind her.
Her eyes were red from crying.
She stopped beside Mia.
Then she turned toward Donna.
“She’s ten,” Claire repeated.
“And somehow she behaved with more dignity in the last three minutes than you have all evening.”
Donna stared at her.
“Claire, don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m starting.”
Ben murmured something behind his wife.
Claire ignored him.
“That bouquet was meant for Mia.”
