She closed her eyes, and she could almost believe that he was flying with her. She could almost forget that it was West who supported her as they soared through the clouds. She could almost pretend she was back in Odessa, or better yet, back in New York, only seventeen and everything still the same, except without the explosions or the running or the biological fathers. The wind blew into her face and danced in her hair, and she could almost feel his fingers wiping away her tears, his lips pressing lightly against the top of her head.
And then she heard the voice telling her that they were there now, she could open her eyes. Inwardly, Claire bristled. It was the wrong voice; it wasn't him. But try as she might to fix it, her fantasy was broken. He was gone; for all she knew, he was dead. She opened her eyes reluctantly, looking into West's eyes with a small, sad smile. Almosts weren't good enough for her anymore. Life was going on without her—like it or not, she was going to have to catch up eventually.
Might as well be now.