Claire’s been rubbing circles into her forearm with her fingers ever since she and Reece came inside, breath condensing like cigarette smoke. I don’t need to glance at her fingers to see exactly where she’s pressing, or to see the pale band of flesh where Sam’s ring used to sit so snugly. I do anyway, since vision is attuned to movement.

Reece goes upstairs to lure Dani out of the study. In his mind, the fact that she’s been writing all day means she should break for dinner. It actually means she’s in the zone.

“He asked me,” Claire says in a rush.

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t answer.”

Reece makes promises he won’t keep. I know he can’t keep them. I mean, Dani will never let him pre-read her novel, regardless of her current tone.

I click my tongue. “Why?”

Claire’s still rubbing her arm. I think—no memory here, hello, I was seven—about her first broken body part: Matty Shepard chased her across the schoolyard, and she fell on her arm on the concrete, head over heels. Well, it’s poetic to pretend she fell head over heels. I wonder if Matty carried her to the nurse.

“I don’t want to risk it?” Claire sighs. “People still break up even when they’ve been together for twenty-five years. Even if they only got married after eighteen years.”

“So the only way to win is not to play.”

“I didn’t say that,” Claire answers, which is technically true.

“Why don’t you break up right now, then?” I ask.

She shrugs by moving her hands apart, palms turning upwards, and then her mouth twists too, as if she’s in pain. I file the observation in the collection of evidence I’ve gathered to support the ‘Claire’s afraid to be single’ argument, and counter with the memory of an x-ray in the ER after a hockey match.

“Sorry, I feel like I should hug you now,” I say wryly. Claire chuckles. My mind counters again: what’s the likelihood of weakening your arm by breaking it multiple times in the same place? Healed fractures are stronger than the original bone. Also, there were two weeks between Tom and Reece. Two weeks.

I slap my hand against my shoulder. “Come on over here. I’ve got enough padding, these days.”

Claire laughs more genuinely as she moves over. The smell of smoke clings to her hair. Ash. I brush it away.

“Just because you made a mistake one time doesn’t mean you’ll make it again, you know?”

Because her cheek is resting against my shoulder, I feel her jaw contract. “Right.”

Did we learn the names of the jaw muscles in biology class? Most of my memories of biology revolve around Kyle. He used to loll his head against Claire’s shoulder. The rictus of the anatomical skeleton behind the teacher’s desk was a preferable expression.

“He was stupid,” I say. 

“He?” she repeats, sounding surprised. 

“Doesn’t really matter if it’s he or she. Sam was stupid too.”

“I’m not arguing with you about people I used to date.”

“That’d be a first.” Claire’s never thought of any of her partners as stupid. That’s the problem. Reece is a stupid name, too.

“Have you got any painkillers?” she asks.

“Are you going to off yourself to avoid me?”

“Obviously,” she says, smiling and shaking her head before indicating her arm.

Moments of silence pass.

I relent. “I think I’ve got a tube of Advil gel in the bathroom, actually. It’s called Ibuprofen, though. I got it in the UK.”

I should mention the placebo effect I’ve read is associated with Advil gel. I don’t.

Claire nods. “I’ll try it. Smoke first, though.” As she stands up she folds her arms, one of those thoughtless movements. She immediately unfolds them, and chuckles, biting her lip.

“Share with the group,” I say.

“I guess broken hearts and broken bones are similar, in a way.”

I wait for the explanation.

“They both ache in the cold.”

“That’s not true,” I say, although it’s still sort of eloquent, so I add, “Say it to Dani when you go up, though. She’ll like it.”

Claire steps outside, and flecks of snow bump together as they rush to fill her empty wake, like hands brushing past each other. I tuck my fingers into my palms to ward off the chill. The blemish on my own left hand, a pale band encircling my ring finger, catches my eye.

I wonder if Claire has a point.