It's a four hour ride home. There's not much talking. Sam's driving. Fi and Mike are in the back. She's got an arm around him, and he's holding her hand, rubbing his fingers along her palm from time to time.
She wishes they were home. Wishes for whiskey and tea, the way her family deals with tragedy.
"Does Madeline..." she lets the sentence trail off.
Michael nods. "She told me to leave."
She kisses his forehead. Her own mother didn't speak to anyone for three weeks after Claire died. Not even at the funeral. She just stood there, alternating between screaming tears and near catatonic silence.
Whiskey and tea didn't help much. There's only so much hurt they can numb, and that was too much. But eventually, gradually, very gradually, her mother came back. They held the wake a year to the day that Claire died, following the old tradition, and on that day, her mother did laugh, a little at least, at the funny stories.
She decides to visit Madeline tomorrow.