On Saturday morning, Claire made pancakes.
I remember her standing at the kitchen island in one of my oversized sweatshirts, her hair tied loosely behind her head.
Ethan complained that the pancakes were too small.
Nia declared that he should be grateful because children in other families had to eat oatmeal.
Claire laughed.
“Both of you are welcome to cook tomorrow.”
They immediately became quiet.
I laughed so hard I spilled my coffee.
It was nothing special.
A family breakfast.
Four people arguing about pancakes.
Yet when I remembered that morning after Claire died, I would have given almost anything to experience it again.
Later that afternoon, I found her standing near the study window.
She was holding her phone.
Her expression was troubled.
“Claire?”
She turned.
For a moment, she looked startled.
Then she smiled.
“Hey.”
I approached.
“You okay?”
She nodded.
“Just work.”
I glanced toward the papers on her desk.
Several folders were open.
One carried the Harbor House Initiative's logo.
Another contained a list of payments and account references.
“Anything I can help with?”
She hesitated.
I noticed.
“Claire?”
She took a breath.
“James, do you remember the South Haven housing project?”
I nodded.
“Of course.”
It was the foundation's largest current initiative, involving the renovation of an old residential building into affordable transitional housing.
The work was being carried out through contractors selected under the nonprofit's oversight procedures.
Claire looked toward the paperwork.
“Some of the invoices don't match the work that's been completed.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
She considered.
“There are payments described as consulting services, site preparation, and administrative support. But I can't find the proper documentation for several of them.”
I moved closer.
“How much?”
She didn't answer immediately.
That frightened me.
Finally, she said, “Enough that I don't want to guess.”
I looked toward the folders.
“Have you spoken to the finance committee?”
“I'm arranging an independent review.”
I nodded.
“Good.”
She studied me.
Then asked, “James, have you authorized any foundation-related payments through your company?”
I frowned.
“Not personally. We occasionally provide technical support, but that goes through separate contracts.”
She nodded slowly.
I looked at her.
“Why?”
Claire hesitated.
Then shook her head.
“I'm still checking something.”
I wanted to ask more.
Instead, I trusted her.
I told her to let me know if she needed help.