Claire just wanted him to talk.
They'd been on the road for days. They were all alone. How was she supposed to keep from going crazy if no one talked? Sure, he was probably distracted by his loads of bad memories, but she had plenty of her own, too. She was alone, possibly never going to see her family again, and instead of thinking of this and despairing, she decided to distract herself with a mission. A mission was always good.
She started out by asking him questions. "So, what's your name again?" Har har. He just rolled his eyes. She tried for the shock factor a few minutes later. "Got any beer?" He just looked puzzled, and she almost giggled. Only almost. She tested out the honest approach. "Will you tell me where we're going yet?" He didn't even look at her. She decided to go all out.
She reached over to his hand on the steering wheel and covered it with hers. "I love you. Will you marry me?"
His head jerked to the side, his gaze leaving the road for once, eyebrows practically at the level where his hairline would have been. Then he realized the joke.
He didn't speak, but he laughed a little. He shook his head and chuckled and went back to driving, but it was still a start.
She moved on to distracting herself. She painted her nails. She sang with the radio, which earned her a reproving and amused stare, but no words. She played solitaire on the car dashboard. Finally, she ran out of things to do. She leaned her head against the car window, counting cacti. There were no cars going by for the license plate game. Anyway, she doubted the Haitian would play.
Finally, it caught up to her. She thought about her father's body crumpling on the bridge. She thought about her poor, frazzled mother, staying behind to protect her even when she didn't need it. She thought about Zach, her only real friend. Even thinking of Lyle or Mr. Muggles made her sad.
As the first sob welled up in her throat, she bowed her head and covered her face with her hands.
She felt his hand touch her head, the precursor to his horrible gift. She suddenly imagined him taking her memories to make her stop crying, to make her obey, to make her find a new home. He hadn't done it before, but who could she really trust now that she was alone?
Her head snapped up fiercely. "Don't take them! I want them!" She shrank away from him, shaking her tears out of her eyes, oddly protective of her pain.
"I wasn't going to," he said, his voice quiet, but still there. His first words since they'd left. She relaxed against her seat again, feeling foolish and drained by her sudden outburst—her first honest words since they'd left.
His hand rose to her head again, but she didn't shy away this time. His fingers stroked her hair, light as a breeze, just once, then returned to the steering wheel. No power in them. Just comfort.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.