Chapter 185 - Claire Never Came Home
The woman opened the door.
Cold air reached Roxie first.
The room was smaller than she expected. Bright lights covered every corner, and a metal table stood beneath them.
Claire lay under a white sheet.
Only her head and one arm were visible.
Roxie stopped several feet inside the room.
Zac stopped beside her.
The woman in dark scrubs moved toward the table. "You can take your time."
Roxie barely heard her.
She stared at Claire’s face.
Her skin looked pale beneath the lights. Her lips were parted slightly. The line that usually sat between her eyebrows had disappeared.
Someone had brushed her hair away from her face.
That was wrong.
Claire always wore it parted on the left. Even when it was dirty or tangled, one section fell across her cheek. She pushed it back while smoking, then it slipped forward again.
Now it had been combed straight away from her forehead.
Roxie stared at it.
She wanted to reach down and fix the part. She wanted to pull the front section loose and place it where Claire always wore it.
Her hand remained at her side.
Her eyes moved to the sheet.
Claire’s chest stayed still beneath it.
Roxie waited.
Maybe the movement was too small to see.
She watched longer.
Nothing changed.
"Are you certain?" she asked.
The woman’s expression softened. "Yes."
"Did someone check again?"
"Emergency responders attempted to revive her before she was brought here."
"But you checked when she arrived?"
"Yes."
Roxie looked at Claire’s face again.
There should have been movement somewhere.
A twitch near her mouth.
A shift beneath her eyelids.
A breath lifting the sheet.
Claire had never stayed still for long. Even while sleeping, she moved, scratched at her face, or muttered when the television became too loud.
Roxie stepped closer.
The woman looked toward Zac. "I can give you both a moment."
Zac started to move away.
Roxie caught his hand.
His fingers stopped inside hers.
"Stay."
Zac stayed.
He said nothing.
Roxie held his hand as she moved closer to the table.
Claire’s nails were short and uneven. Red polish remained on two of them. The silver ring she always wore still sat on her middle finger.
Roxie knew that ring.
Steve bought it months ago and claimed it was real until the metal began turning Claire’s finger green.
Shitty Steve.
Claire kept wearing it anyway.
Roxie looked back at her hair.
It bothered her more than the cold room, the sheet, or Claire’s pale face.
Someone had touched it.
Someone who had never watched Claire stand in front of the bathroom mirror and pull the same section across her cheek.
Someone who had never heard her complain that the other side made her face look fat.
Roxie lifted her hand.
She stopped before touching Claire’s hair.
The woman waited near the foot of the table.
"Can I touch her?" Roxie asked.
"Yes."
Roxie placed two fingers against the back of Claire’s hand.
Her skin was cold.
Roxie pulled away immediately.
Then she touched her again.
She pressed her fingers down as though warmth might still be underneath.
Claire stayed cold.
Roxie swallowed.
"That’s her."
The woman took a small step closer. "You’re confirming that this is Claire Woods?"
Roxie looked at Claire’s face.
The hair was still wrong.
"Yes."
Her voice sounded steady.
"That’s Claire."
She looked down at their hands.
"That’s my mom."
Her eyes burned, but only one tear slipped free.
Roxie wiped it away before it reached her jaw.
The woman studied her for a moment. "Would you like more time?"
"What happens next?"
"We’ll finish the identification paperwork. The medical examiner will complete the examination, and toxicology results may take several weeks."
"When can she be released?"
"That depends on the examination. The office will contact the next of kin once she is cleared."
"I’m the next of kin."
The woman hesitated. "Is there another family member coming?"
"No."
"A father, aunt, uncle, or grandparent?"
"No."
The woman’s gaze moved over Roxie’s practice clothes, the jacket Coach Miller had given her, and the athletic tape still wrapped around two of her fingers.
"How old are you?"
"Eighteen."
Something changed in the woman’s face.
Her voice became quieter. "Are you handling the arrangements by yourself?"
Roxie glanced at Zac.
"He’s with me."
The woman looked at their joined hands.
"I meant an older family member."
"There isn’t one."
"I’m sorry."
Roxie looked back at Claire. "What documents do I need?"
"We’ll need your identification and any documents confirming your relationship. A birth certificate can help. Officer Mercer said you brought some paperwork from home."
"I have her birth certificate and social security card."
"That should be enough for tonight."
"What about a funeral home?"
"You’ll need to choose one before she is released."
"What happens if I can’t afford one?"
"There are county programs that may be able to assist. We can give you the contact information."
"Will they cover everything?"
"I’m unsure how much they provide, but someone can help you review the options."
Roxie nodded.
The woman’s face softened further. "You only need to finish the identification tonight. The rest can wait until morning."
Roxie looked at Claire’s hair again.
She wanted to fix it before leaving.
The urge grew stronger the longer she stared.
Claire would hate it pushed back like that.
She would complain that her forehead looked huge.
Roxie almost smiled.
The feeling disappeared before it reached her mouth.
"Can they leave her hair alone?" Roxie asked.
The woman looked confused for a second. "Her hair?"
"She wears it parted on the left."
The woman glanced at Claire.
"I can make a note."
Roxie nodded.
She wanted to correct it herself.
Her hand stayed wrapped around Zac’s.
"I’m ready to go."
The woman led them back into the hallway.
Roxie kept holding Zac’s hand until they reached the private office.
Coach Miller stood as soon as they entered.
Officer Mercer sat behind the table with several forms arranged in front of him.
Coach Miller looked at Roxie’s face. "Are you okay?"
"I need to sign papers."
His mouth tightened, but he moved aside.
Officer Mercer pulled out a chair for her. "We can take this slowly."
Roxie sat.
Zac took the chair beside her.
His knee touched hers beneath the table.
Officer Mercer began explaining the forms.
Roxie read the first page three times.
The words stayed separate.
Identification.
Personal property.
Release.
Next of kin.
She signed where Officer Mercer pointed.
He slid another form toward her.
"When will the body be released?" Roxie asked.
"We’ll contact you once the examination is complete."
"What if I miss the call?"
"We’ll call again."
"What documents will the funeral home need?"
"Your identification, your mother’s information, and the release paperwork from this office. The funeral home will guide you through the process."
"How much does it cost?"
"That depends on what you choose. Direct cremation is usually less expensive than a full service and burial."
"Can the county pay for it?"
"There may be assistance available. I’ll give you the number."
Roxie picked up the pen again. "Where else do I sign?"
Officer Mercer watched her for a moment.
Then he pointed to the next line.
When the forms were complete, he left the room and returned with a clear plastic bag.
Claire’s wallet sat inside it with a motel key card, a lighter, three loose cigarettes, a cracked phone, and several folded bills.
Roxie looked at the bag.
"How much money?"
Officer Mercer checked the inventory sheet. "Thirty seven dollars."
Roxie nodded.
That was more than one shift at the grill.
Officer Mercer held the bag toward her.
Roxie reached for it.
"She’ll need her phone."
The words came out before she understood them.
Nobody moved.
Roxie looked at the cracked phone through the plastic.
Then she took the bag.
"Never mind."
Officer Mercer handed her an envelope containing the forms and several phone numbers.
"I circled the medical examiner’s office and the county assistance line."
Roxie placed the envelope inside her bag.
"Did she suffer?"
Officer Mercer went quiet.
"I can’t answer that yet."
"Was anyone with her?"
"She was alone when the housekeeper found her."
"That doesn’t mean she was alone before."
"No," he said gently. "It doesn’t."
"Can you find out?"
"We’re still reviewing what happened."
"When will you tell me?"
"I’ll contact you if we learn anything relevant."
Roxie nodded.
Coach Miller moved closer. "Let’s get you home."
"I need to call funeral homes."
"Tomorrow."
"What if I pick the wrong place?"
Coach Miller crouched beside her chair.
"You have time to choose."
"You keep saying that."
"Because you have time."
Roxie stared at the plastic bag on her lap.
Claire’s lighter pressed against one side.
"I don’t know what I’m doing."
Coach Miller’s face tightened. "Most people wouldn’t."
"I’m supposed to."
"No one expects you to know how to handle this."
"The officer does."
Officer Mercer shook his head. "I expect you to answer what you can and ask questions when you need help. That’s all."
Roxie looked away.
Coach Miller stood. "I’ll drive you home."
"I’ll take her," Zac said.
Coach Miller looked at him.
Zac’s phone vibrated inside his pocket.
He pulled it out.
Dad.
He silenced the call.
Coach Miller watched him. "Do your parents know where you are?"
"They know I left school."
"Do they know why?"
"I sent my mother a message."
His phone vibrated again.
He ignored it.
Coach Miller looked at Roxie. "Who do you want to go with?"
"Zac."
The answer came immediately.
Coach Miller nodded. "I’ll follow you."
"You can go home," Roxie said.
"I can."
He picked up his coat.
"I’m following you."
The drive back to the bungalow passed in silence.
Roxie held Claire’s belongings on her lap.
The plastic bag moved every time the truck turned.
Zac kept both hands on the steering wheel.
His phone vibrated twice in the cup holder.
He left it there.
"You can answer," Roxie said.
"They can wait."
"They’re angry."
"They’re always angry."
"You’ll get in trouble."
Zac glanced at her. "I’m staying with you."
Roxie looked out the window.
Coach Miller’s car remained behind them.
The porch light was off when they reached the bungalow.
Roxie unlocked the door.
Claire’s mug sat beside the sink.
Her cigarette pack remained beside it.
The gray sweater hung over the back of a dining chair.
Everything looked the same.
Roxie placed the plastic bag and envelope on the table.
Coach Miller came inside.
He checked the windows, the back door, and the lock on the front door.
"Is there anyone you want me to call?" he asked.
"No."
"Karen or Angela?"
"No." Her voice rose.
Coach Miller paused. "Okay. No one needs to know until you’re ready."
Roxie nodded.
Coach Miller took a card from his wallet and handed it to Zac.
"My number is on there."
"I can get it from Roxie."
"Take the card."
Zac accepted it.
"If anything feels wrong, call me. If she gets sick or you become worried about her, call for help."
"I will."
Coach Miller looked toward Roxie. "You’re excused from school and practice tomorrow."
"I can go."
"You’re staying home."
"I have assignments."
"They can wait. I’ll speak with your teachers."
Roxie turned toward him quickly. "They don’t need to know."
His expression softened. "Okay. I’ll make sure no one says anything."
Roxie lowered her eyes.
Coach Miller moved toward the door.
"I’ll call in the morning."
"You don’t have to."
"I know."
He left.
Zac locked the door after him.
The bungalow became quiet.
Roxie stood beside the dining table and stared at Claire’s belongings.
"Are you hungry?" Zac asked.
"No."
"You should eat something."
"I’m tired."
"Then lie down."
Roxie walked toward her bedroom.
Zac followed her to the doorway and stopped.
"You can take the bed," he said. "I’ll stay on the couch."
Roxie looked past him toward the living room.
The front door stood across from the couch.
She could see the lock from where she was.
"Stay in here."
Zac entered the room.
Roxie left the bedroom door open.
From her bed, she could see part of the living room and the front door beyond it.
She climbed beneath the blanket without changing.
Zac removed his shoes and sat against the wall near the foot of the bed.
"You can lie down," Roxie said.
"I’m fine."
"You’re acting like you’ve never been here."
His mouth moved slightly.
Roxie shifted toward the wall, leaving space beside her.
Zac hesitated before lying down on top of the blanket.
He stayed near the edge.
His phone vibrated again.
He silenced it without checking the screen.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
The heater switched on.
Water moved through the pipes.
A car passed outside.
Roxie watched the front door through the open bedroom door.
Zac had come as soon as she called. His clothes were still wrinkled from school, and his hair had dried unevenly from the cold outside. One hand rested near Roxie’s without touching it.
Eventually, he fell asleep.
Roxie stayed awake.
Every sound pulled her attention toward the door.
Claire had disappeared before.
She had stayed in motel rooms, slept in cars, and vanished for days. She always returned eventually, usually hungry, angry, or high.
Part of Roxie still expected the lock to turn.
The front door remained closed.
Roxie watched it until the darkness outside the windows began to fade.
Morning reached the bungalow.
Claire never came home.