Memories of a Ghost Ramp Up

‘Claire, you knew my car was in the shop,’ he said, as if talking to a small child. His nostrils flared and he stepped another foot closer. ‘What’s so important that you couldn’t show up at the goddamned airport? And why aren’t you wearing any makeup? I’m gone for four days, and I come home to find you looking like shit. What’s wrong with you?’