CLARA ♠️
I had been watching Scarlet Benson for twelve years and I knew every version of her.
I knew the version that arrived at my door at midnight with her mascara intact because she cried too carefully to let it run. I knew the version that laughed too loudly at parties when she wanted to leave.
I knew the version that said fine four times in one sentence and meant none of them, and the version that went very still and very quiet when something was happening underneath the surface that she had not decided to share yet.
I thought I knew all the versions.
The woman sitting across from me at lunch on Thursday was a version I had not seen in a very long time. Possibly ever, in quite this form.
She looked rested. That was the first thing, which was remarkable because three days ago sh
