It was not Grant.
It was Clara. She was wearing a floral dress, and her eyes were red from crying.
The moment she saw me, she hurried over.
"Evelyn," Her voice was hoarse. "Grant deleted the wish board from his computer."
I blinked.
"The Hundred-Point Wish Board," she said, her voice growing smaller. "The one we shared."
Clara lowered her eyes. "Yesterday, after he came back from Willowmere, he locked himself in his study all night. This morning, I called him. He picked up, said one thing, and hung up."
I asked, "What did he say?"
Clara raised her eyes to me. "He said, 'Clara, I think I lost someone.'"
A gust of wind swept through, and the leaves of the locust tree rustled overhead.
I looked at Clara and felt no satisfaction, no vengeful pleasure, only a hollow, dull emptiness in
