by Abigail Grey
“What are you doing with it?” Claire stared into her past, remembering the sewing room and the library and Allison’s doll room that had filled some of the unused bedrooms.
“I don’t know.” Matt sipped his coffee. “I keep playing with it, changing this little thing and that room. I keep thinking when it’s perfect, I’ll see about buying the land and building it, but it was never right before.” He turned to face her and took her hand.
Claire froze. She could see the glow she had been feeling radiating from his features. His smile was so open and inviting. He wanted her to stay. He would ask, too.
“I have to go,” she blurted. She saw the question in his eyes as he leaned back. “I have—you know—work and appointments. I should really go. My car is still at the hotel.”
Matt nodded. “Right. Let me grab a shirt.” Once he was dressed, they walked silently to the truck.
The drive was quick, but when they stopped, Claire looked around in surprise. “Matt, what are you doing? I have to go. Where are we?”
Matt sighed. “I thought so.” Claire stared as he got out of the truck and walked a few feet away before he stopped.
She jumped down from the truck and followed, looking around at the well-manicured grounds and the stone markers. Pausing beside him, Claire stared down at the stone at her feet.
“You said you’d visited, but no one had seen you. You say we’ve all changed, Claire, but I couldn’t believe you’d changed so much that you wouldn’t tell someone you were back home, even just for a visit.”
The engraved ‘Mark and Sharon Wallace’ began to blur as Claire stared. The tears dripped down her cheeks and she saw droplets of water appear on the marble.
“Why didn’t you visit, Claire? Why couldn’t I call you?”
Something in Claire broke and the sobs brought her to her knees. Matt knelt beside her, rubbing her back and placing a supportive hand on hers. As she sniffled through the last halting breaths, she asked, “What happened? I know you were there.”
“I was,” Matt replied. “It was just an icy night. Your dad did everything right, from what everyone could tell, but the car was going too fast when they spun into the tree. I was the fourth person there, but your mom was already gone. We got your dad in the ambulance, but he didn’t make it to the ER.” At Claire’s silence, he continued.
“The funeral was supposed to be small. We didn’t announce anything because we hadn’t heard from you, but half the town showed up. Your parents were loved, Claire, a lot.”
Claire nodded. She laid a hand on the marker for her parents’ grave and sent up a silent apology for the pride that had kept her from coming home all those years ago. She ran a finger over the small bouquet that sat beside the gravesite. “Such a good guy, Matty,” Claire murmured, sniffling.
“What?” he asked, sounding confused.
Claire stood, blotting at the tears on her lower lashes. “The flowers. They’re hydrangeas. Mom’s favorite. No one else would have remembered.” Claire turned, walking back toward the truck. She had to finish cleaning up her mess, make them proud of her again, or it was all for nothing. She would have missed the funeral and every day before it for nothing.
“Claire!” he called after her.
Claire turned back, drawing every ounce of steel to her spine that she could muster. “What?”
Matt looked at her, his face painted with desperate disorientation. “Why won’t you talk to me? What happened is you were gone and I went out of my mind trying to get ahold of you. I called everywhere I could think of that would maybe, possibly, try to help find you. But you were nowhere!” His question became a tirade as Claire tried to keep her expression at the practiced cool serenity she had adopted.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here, Matt.”
“Fuck that!” Matt’s outburst rocked her. “I know you better than that, Claire. I know you, and you know it. You would have been here if you’d known. I know how much you loved your parents, and I know how much it hurt them when you never came back. Where were you? What was so important that you couldn’t be bothered to answer a fucking phone call, Claire? Where the fuck were you?” he demanded.
“Homeless!” she shouted back, shocking them both. She shook her head then stalked back toward him. “I was sleeping in my car while my parents died in theirs. I have fought and cried and died every day to fix my life, and I don’t need you telling me how I fucked it up!”
Claire’s venomous stare took in the horror in Matt’s eyes. “Fuck you, Matt Brannon. You don’t get to tell me you know me. You have no idea who I am.”
Claire turned, walking away from Matt and the truck with her head high and silent tears streaming. The muttered curse came from behind her then she heard him run to catch up. She slapped his hand away before he could catch her shoulder.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
Matt recoiled, the hurt plain in his gaze. “Claire—” he began.
“No.” Claire held up her hand, stopping whatever feeble, pitiable apology was on his tongue. “I have to leave. Just leave me alone and forget I was here.” She turned away again, dialing for a cab as she left the man she could have loved.
* * * *
Hours later, Claire trudged through the crowds on the Chicago streets. The extension on the car rental had emptied her available cash for a cab home, but the luggage she carried was nothing compared to the weight on her heart. She felt herself jostled by people who rushed by her and only marginally noted their frustrated, vicious shouts as they tripped on her rolling suitcase.
She checked the messages in the lobby of the condo she had bought and would lose everything on in less than a week. The elevator ride to the twenty-eighth floor seemed interminable. She unlocked the door and let it slam behind her. She looked around the open room. Her gaze traveled over the cream furnishings. The kitchen beckoned her, but she knew she would only find empty cupboards and takeout containers. She stared unseeingly at the neutral carpet and walls, and she felt trapped in a prison of beige. The ceilings were too low, the walls too close, and the floor-to-ceiling windows faced the building next door, cutting off the view of the distant horizon over the lake that separated her from West Haven.
Claire dropped her suitcase and garment bag to the floor in the entry, not able to bring herself to care about the inevitable wrinkles in her coveted business suits. She kicked out of her shoes and left a trail of travel-stained clothes as she trudged to the condo’s saving grace. Standing in the center of the six-headed shower, Claire let the sobs rack her body again in a place that could never be home.
The water turned cold before she crawled out. Wrapped in a towel, she sat on the edge of the bathtub, numb until the shivering forced her to move. She laid the towel to protect a pillow on the king-size bed from her damp hair and she cocooned herself in the duvet, shivering herself to sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Matt pounded on the door again. The last time he’d heard movement in the apartment, so he knew someone was home. In the middle of the fourth round of knocking, the door was yanked open to reveal a very pissed off-looking Nick Marcus.
“Matt, what the hell, man?”
“I need your help.” Matt pushed by, stopping short to find Taryn sitting on the couch wrapped in what appeared to be only one of Nick’s dress shirts. “Shit.”
“Yeah, ‘shit’. Thanks a lot.” Nick waved it off. “But talk. What’s going on?”
Matt took a deep breath to calm himself, then opened his eyes to Taryn again. “I’m sorry, Taryn. Are you okay? Do you need me to go or…?” He trailed off, knowing he was an ass for interrupting a scene, and he was unsure how to continue.
Taryn smiled slightly. “Well, it’s not okay, but it’s okay. Talk.”
“All right.” Matt turned to Nick. “I need your help.”
“You said that. So I’m guessing you need a lawyer?” Nick sat at the dining table, pulling a notepad over. “What’d you do?”
Matt stared, feeling his
jaw drop. “What?”
Nick shrugged. “I figured the good boy would snap eventually. What was it?”
“God, Nick, no! I need your contacts.” Matt shook his head, totally thrown. “You said you had friends from the military in Chicago. I need to do some digging and figure out what happened to Claire.”
“Oh.” Nick put his pen down. “Um… Sorry? I just figured it was legal.”
Taryn piped up from the couch. “Maybe it is, sort of. You should check court records or licenses or something.”
“Yes!” Matt pointed at Taryn. “That’s great. Right there… I need ideas like that.”
Taryn rested her chin on the back of the futon. “Do you know anything? She didn’t seem like much of a talker. Might be hard to find anything if there isn’t a paper trail.”
Matt sat across from Nick at the table. “She talked about a Korean grocer in Chinatown. And a club near Logan Square. And she’s living somewhere near Michigan Ave, by the Magnificent Mile, where she has a property for sale. But that’s it.”
“Hmm. It’s a good start, actually. I’ll see what I can find on her real estate license.” Nick walked to his desk in the other room.
Matt turned to Taryn, seeing the speculative look on her face. “Hey, Nick,” she called.
“Yeah, hon?” he responded.
“Is that what it looks like?”
Matt heard Nick laugh and he frowned at Taryn. “What what looks like?”
She gave him a cheeky smile. “Love. Nick said that’s how he knew he loved me. He kept doing stupid stuff.”
Matt felt dumbfounded. “Like researching someone’s background,” he observed with a heavy sigh.
Taryn nodded. “Yeah. Stalking would be included.”
Matt let his forehead fall into his hands. “You’re right. What am I doing? She’s going to hate me if I dig all this up.” With his brow furrowed, he looked back to Taryn. “The only thing I could think of was looking her up online and her realty site is good, but she only has one address listed and it’s the place for sale. She doesn’t list an office, just a broker affiliate. She has a P.O. box, and the phone number is the same one I have—and she isn’t answering.”
“Hmmm.” Taryn’s assessing noise was hardly encouraging. “So you need to figure out how to get her to answer your call?”
“Or get her to see me.”
“How about both?” Taryn asked.
* * * *
Claire smiled wanly, accepting the counted-out cash from her favorite consignment shop. The corset had gotten her a bonus, as had the Ralph Lauren formal. She had her eye on a new suit, something modern, to help boost her image for the new client coming in. She would just have to replace the rest of it after the place sold.
The call had been a surprise, sandwiched between the calls she was dodging from Matt. Another realtor from the area had called to arrange a showing for his client, who was selling their lakefront property. Several times in the conversation, he’d mentioned his client’s desire to be closer to the fashionable part of downtown for the seasonal shopping.
Claire didn’t dare to hope. The payment was due in three days and she had to do everything she could to close this sale and make the showing everything it could be. She had spent every moment since receiving the call cleaning the condo top to bottom and erasing every hint of her presence from it. The bedsheets and towels were freshly laundered, no trace of her breakdown from days ago to be found. The tile floors gleamed, and every surface had been polished to perfection.
If—Claire hated to jinx herself with more than a hope for an ‘if’—this sale happened, Claire knew she had to be done. She couldn’t stay in the city with its constant demand for new and fashionable and expensive. Her years here had left her tired and cold, something she hadn’t realized until the blast of warmth she’d experienced from West Haven. She couldn’t go back, though. Maybe if—again, she prayed for an ‘if’—she got out from under this place, she would look for somewhere similar, a small town with people to develop friendships with and to keep her busy enough to forget.
At Yves Saint Laurent, Claire requested the size she would need to fit. The associate eyed her last-season Louboutins, but fulfilled the request, setting Claire up in a fitting room. The brown tweed was classic, but Claire knew the asymmetrical buttoning of the jacket would add the fashion-forward interest that would get a buyer’s attention. The fit was flawless, of course, and Claire quickly paid for her find and rushed back to prepare for the showing.
Her hand shook slightly, forcing her to reapply her makeup multiple times before she decreed it good enough. She dried her hair, smoothing it into the straight, sharp style that was favored now. She laid her suit out with a simple high-necked silk shell and the cream flats that she wore for showings to decrease the high heel tracks in the carpet. After gathering her accessories, she closed her small rolling suitcase and stashed it under the bed, thankful she didn’t have to hide the garment bag as well.
Claire dressed carefully, smoothing the jacket over the blouse and critiquing in the mirror until she was satisfied. A final wipe down of the bathroom ensured there was no lingering fog on the mirror or toothpaste in the sink.
In the entry she made sure to have the brochures standing ready and her facts sheet at hand. The lobby bell rang, letting her know that her new client had just checked in at the desk. She waited nervously for a few minutes until she heard the knock on the door. She walked calmly, reminding herself not to scurry. With a deep breath, she pasted her smile in place and turned the handle, drawing the door open wide.
Claire felt her smile drop at the sight of Matt on the other side of the door. They stared at each other, her gaze horrified and his features showing more than a little hope. Claire noticed the rumpled state of his shirt and slacks, as well as the disheveled tracks from his fingers in his hair. Behind him, adding more shock to Claire’s day, Cherise Baxter walked sedately toward them.
“Mrs. Baxter, how lovely to see you.” Claire looked past Matt and stepped into the apartment, gesturing them in.
“You see? She’s perfectly fine.” Cherise tapped Matt on the shoulder as she glided by him. “I told you she would be here. My company confirmed it.”
“Y-your company?” Claire stammered.
“Well, of course, sweetheart,” the woman said matter-of-factly. “You told me you were going to sell me a condo in town. Matthew here just had to remind me.”
Claire refused to look his way. He hadn’t said a word yet. She knew he was looking at her and hadn’t stopped since she’d opened the door.
“Then let’s get to it, Mrs. Baxter. I think you’ll enjoy the property.” Claire swept her arm to the windows. “The windows give a magnificent view and are high enough from the street to take all the noise out of downtown living. If you look just there, you get a glimpse of the boats coming in to dock.”
“Oh, I don’t need the boats. We had plenty of that out at the beach house.” Cherise continued walking through the room.
Claire nearly stumbled in her prepared speech. “This first bedroom is fantastically placed. With the French doors, it can be closed off and used for sleep or opened and included in the living area as a sitting room or office.”
Silently Mrs. Baxter continued walking through, poking into closets and alcoves as Claire extolled the virtues of the apartment in a voice that got shakier as they went. All the while Matt followed, a silent specter at her heel.
As the tour completed and she left Cherise to take a call in the room Claire had been sleeping in, she turned on Matt.
“Fine. Let me have it. Tell me what you had to say so badly that you had to come all the way out here.” At his continued silence, Claire exploded, her voice hissing in lowered tones to ensure she wasn’t heard. “What are you doing here? Are you gloating? Making sure I wasn’t lying? Why are you here, Matt?”
Gingerly he stepped closer. He put his arms around her and he rested his cheek on her hair, pulling her in and squeezing her tightly.
“I love you,” he whispered into her hair.
Claire didn’t dare move. She couldn’t breathe for fear the warm, spicy scent of him would set her to tears once again. She pushed him away then turned her back, drawing in a breath that still smelled faintly of Matt. She heard Cherise approach and replaced the smile to greet her.
“Well, Mrs. Baxter? Is there anything else I can do to convince you I’ve found the perfect second home for you?”
“No, dear. I hadn’t really expected to be looking, but someone”—Cherise raised an eyebrow in Matt’s direction—“someone bought the land I had been looking at previously. Something about rebuilding an old Victorian.” Claire’s heart fluttered, understanding what Mrs. Baxter was telling her. Matt was building the house he’d designed.
“There’s nothing more I need to see.” The continued response was curt and short, and Claire felt her composure cracking. “My realtor has already started the paperwork. He’ll be in touch.” With the short announcement, Cherise walked out the front door.
Claire felt her jaw drop just before her knees gave out and she sank to the floor. The dragon lady was buying it? She was done? It was finally over? Claire could hardly trust her own mind. “What just happened?”
“She was pretty convinced when I talked to her yesterday. I told her you were really working hard and that you needed a good sale. Chas said she fell in love with it when she looked at the pictures you posted on your site. So maybe coming back was good for something after all, huh?”
Claire heard the dejection in his voice. “Yes,” she responded, “for a couple things.”
She stood, turning to face him. He stood in front of one of the tall windows, hands in his pockets and staring at her with a hopeful expression. “Like what?” he asked, with a hint of desperation.
“Well,” Claire began, taking a step closer. “I remembered I had friends a long time ago, pretty good ones, friends I could tell anything to.” Her mouth went a little dry as she explained, “Like how I got duped when I got here. Taken advantage of because I was a starry-eyed small town girl with big dreams. How I was too ashamed to come home. How hard I’ve been working, hoping to make them all proud of me. And how much I’ve missed them.”