"Still impossible."
"You loved impossible."
"Nine years ago."
She leaned closer.
"And now?"
Dean looked at her mouth.
Then immediately at the car.
"Start the engine."
Clare grinned.
Coward.
She climbed into the sedan.
Dean stood beside the open hood.
"Foot off brake."
"Okay."
"Start."
Engine turned over.
Steering warning cleared.
Dean watched.
"Turn wheel slowly."
Clare did.
Left.
Right.
Smooth.
He closed the hood.
She stepped out.
"Fixed?"
"For now."
"For now?"
"Connector was loose and wet."
"Needs replacement seal."
"I'll follow you into town."
"You don't trust my car?"
"I don't trust the repair yet."
Clare looked toward him.
"Or you want an excuse not to say goodbye."
Dean walked toward the truck.
"Follow me."
She laughed.
He did not deny it.
The diner in Bellweather had six booths, a pie case older than Dean, and coffee that tasted like it had been filtered through roofing shingles.
Evan loved it.
He ordered pancakes shaped like a bear.
Clare ordered black coffee.
Dean ordered eggs and regretted every decision that led to sitting across from his former first love while his son watched them both like a detective.
Evan pointed his fork at Clare.
"So you were Dad's girlfriend."
Dean closed his eyes.
Clare answered calmly.
"Yes."
"Before Mom?"
"Yes."
"Did you know Mom?"
"No."
"Did Dad love you?"
Dean nearly choked.
Clare's face turned red.
"Evan."
"What?"
"We do not ask people that."
"Why?"
"Because it's private."
"Mom said private is sometimes what adults say when they don't want to answer."
Dean stared.
Clare covered a smile.
"Your mother said that?"
"Yes."
"She was correct," Clare said.
Dean looked at her.
"Do not encourage him."
Evan ate pancake.
"So did he?"
Clare looked at Dean.
Then at Evan.
"Yes."
Dean went still.
Clare continued gently.
"Your dad and I loved each other when we were younger."
Evan considered.
"Do you still?"
Silence.
The waitress arrived with coffee at exactly the wrong moment.
Dean nearly thanked God.
She poured.
Left.
Evan waited.
Clare asked, "Do you always ask this many questions?"
"Yes."
"Good."
She looked toward Dean.
"Your father and I haven't seen each other in nine years."
"That's long."
"It is."
"How old were you?"
"Twenty-five."
Evan looked at Dean.
"You had hair like now?"
Dean frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Evan shrugged.
Clare laughed.
"I have pictures."
Dean snapped toward her.
"You kept pictures?"
Oops.
Clare stared into her coffee.
Evan grinned.
"You still love him."
Dean put his fork down.
"Bathroom."
"I'm not done."
"Bathroom."
"I don't have to go."
"You do now."
Evan slid from booth with theatrical suffering.
After he disappeared, Dean looked at Clare.
"You kept pictures?"
"Some."
"Why?"
She raised eyebrows.
"Why do you think?"