Claire sat in business class, watching as she left Washington in a blur of lights from the runway and landing a few hours later in Dallas, where she had arranged a car to take her to her mother's home.
Highland Park was full of mansions and hers was no different; Claire's car pulled up to the portico and out she stepped, high heels and all in white while her heart beat in her chest to open the door but her mother's helper beat her to it.
"Is she here?" Claire asked, to the late-aged man who nodded and showed her through.
Passing by the ornate portrait of Daddy over the fireplace, Claire walked into the living room to see her mother in deep conversation with one of the men who ran the stables.
"Claire!" her mother, Elizabeth replied somewhat startled.
"Mother," Claire replied softly.
"I hadn't heard from you," Elizabeth rose, the jockey making himself a permanent fixture of the wallpaper until he could nod and make his disappearance discreet. "I saw it on the news."
"Yes," Claire nodded. "Francis - "
"Don't talk about him," Elizabeth poo-pooed the mention with a dismissive gesture. "My question is why did it take him dying to realise you had come back to Dallas?"
"I wanted," Claire paused. "To see how you were. To see how you're doing."
"Well, Ah-m fine," Elizabeth's Texas accent was as strong as ever. "What will you do without him, hmm? Stay in Washington?"
"I thought I might stay here a few days," Claire considered.
"You might grace me with your presence?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Very well. I have things to do, but your room's the way you left it."
"Thank you," Claire paused for a moment, not knowing what to say further and ascending the staircase to the upper levels of her home.
"Cuh-laire," Elizabeth enunciated with a sigh. "What did I tell you about wearing white?"
Claire's grip tightened on the railing as she made to the peaceful sanctity of the corridor.