FORTY-THREE
Monica’s voice trembled. “I—I just think maybe… we should consider stepping back.”
“No,” Miranda shot back, sharper than she meant. “Not now.”
The words hung heavy between them.
“Clara’s coming,” Elina whispered quickly.
Monica swiped her sleeve across her face, sniffled, then forced her shoulders straight. “Okay. Normal. Just act normal.”
Clara turned from the counter, tray in hand. She still looked pale, but when her eyes found them, she managed a faint smile and started toward the table.
Miranda’s chest tightened. She kept her lips pressed shut, disbelief burning in her. How could Annalise and Monica keep this from Clara, their best friend?
“Hey, Clara!” Annalise said too brightly, her smile stretched almost painfully wide.
Clara slowed, her smile thinning. The tabl
