I tried not to slam the bathroom door while I stripped my clothes off and ripped the gauze off my cheek, tossing it haphazardly into the empty garbage can next to the toilet. I paused, scanning around the bathroom, letting the shower heat up.
Claire had even cleaned my bathroom. Gone were the crinkled toothpaste tubes scattered all over the countertop, the messy towels that hung all over the door in various states of drying, and the bathtub was spotless. I whispered a holy shit and climbed into the shower, letting the scalding water pound away at my sore muscles and headache. Wondering why in the hell would a Senator stoop so low to clean a drunk's house.
____________________
I left the silent confines of the shower when the hot water trickled down to a medium boil. I pulled on the sweatpants and the baggy shirt I discarded on the bathroom counter. And when I ran a towel through my hair, I frowned when the bright red drops of the fresh blood soaked into the pale blue terry cloth.
Looking in the mirror, I groaned. The heat mixed with steam, opened up my cut, just enough to let it bleed and ruin a towel. I threw the wet and bloody towel over my shoulder, holding a corner against the cut to stop up the minimal bleeding while I dug around the cabinets for my first aid kit.
When I found it, I carried the kit out into the living room and set it down on the coffee table. Claire was nowhere to be found and, for a second, I wondered if she had left. Given up on me, frustrated with the fact that I had taken a forty five minute shower, and left. I had taken the long shower half on purpose and half not on purpose. I wanted the woman to leave the house and leave my pink slip on the coffee table at the same time I was hoping the hot water would help relieve more of my hangover.
I felt there was no need for awkward goodbyes or delayed lectures of what I could be if only I made the choice. I had heard that speech too many times to take it seriously over the years, that it was nothing but white noise in my ears.
I flipped the lid to the first aid kit open, taking out gauze, tape and the tube of antibiotic ointment. When I pulled the towel away, I saw that the bleeding had gotten worse. Sighing at the sight of more blood, I shook my head. I would look for the pink slip later, first I had to decide if skimpy gauze pads were enough or if I would have to make a return trip to the hospital for more stitches.
As I tore at the edges of the gauze package, I heard the front door open again. Looking up I saw Claire walking back into the house. She was still looking outside as she held onto the door knob, focused on something out by the curb. Now that I was a bit clearer from the hot shower, I noticed she was back to her dressed down ways. Gone was the prim and proper business causal ways of Senator Avondale. Claire was back in a pale green V-neck and worn but fitted jeans. Her hair down and curly, obvious she had driven with the car windows open. Claire's blonde hair was perfectly messy and seemed to glow with the afternoon sun.
The woman was almost stunning if I wasn't so irritated she had broken into my house to clean it and then fire me. And maybe also irritated by the strange things I was feeling for her when she looked at me or brushed a limb across mine.
Claire closed the door and turned to me. Her eyes met mine, making the panic rise that she had caught me looking at her like I was. She threw on a tight half smile, tilting her head down to look at the floor, "I was taking the rest of the empty bottles and cans out to the curb for recycling." She raised her head up to look at me, when her eyes quickly dropped to my cheek and the bleeding cut, "Oh god Kit, you're bleeding." She walked quickly to the couch and sat down, reaching for my chin to look at the cut closer.
I waved her off and tried to lean away from her, "My stitches opened up in the shower. It's nothing."
Claire picked up the half opened gauze and began to dab at the cut gingerly, "The cut expanded from the heat, the stitches are still doing their job. But your skin around it swelled up." She squinted like my doctor would during an examination.
The first touch against my cheek hurt and I tried to pull back, "What are you? A doctor to? I said Leave it, its fine." I went to shove her hand away, but thought better of it. I didn’t want to touch her for some reason.
My protests didn’t get far with her. Claire's hand came up and gently grabbed the other side of my face. Holding me still with a warm hand and a firm grip, instantly reminding me of what it felt like when her hand was on mine in the copy room.
Safe.
Claire guided me to look at her as she looked directly in my eyes, "Stop it Kit. Let me look at it and dress it or you will have to go back to the hospital."
I gave in after the mini stare down between us grew to be awkward. I nodded and let her continue dabbing while I looked anywhere but at her. "And technically yes I am a doctor. I graduated with a medical degree in research medicine, but only did three months of a hospital rotation before I was accepted to Princeton." Claire smiled lightly at me, "It was in my personnel file. The one I know you read."
I had indeed read her file and I had a thousand questions to ask her. One in particular was if she really knew how to use the gun still tucked in her back waistband or if it was all for show. Second to that was why she wouldn't give up on me where so many had in the last two years. Including myself.
I chanced a look in her eyes and at how they smiled when she smiled, but only when it was a genuine, honest smile. A smile that she only seemed to reserve for me and Davey. Not Rebecca. These were some of the little things I noticed when I was sober for a minute in her company.
I took a sharp breath when she pressed a sore edge, my irritation suddenly flickering high, "Are you going to take all day to fire me? I find it's easier for both parties if we don't drag it out."
Claire's hand held onto the edge of my jaw, stilling it as I kept trying to move away from her. She paused her other hand and looked me dead in the eyes again, "I am not firing you, Kit."
"Why not? You can tell I’m drunk, hung over and by the amount of bottles you drug out to the curb. I clearly haven't stopped drinking." I looked away, focusing on her shoulder, "Breach of contract."
Her hand fell from my jaw, cool air flowing across the skin where her hand just was. Sending slight shivers through me. Claire ignored me and began applying antibiotic ointment to a clean gauze pad, "You did breach the contract we agreed on, but I am not firing you. You proved to me yesterday that you could do this job, do it better than anyone I have ever met." She held up the gauze, placing it over my cut, gently pressing down the tape to secure it to my cheek. "I did have an idea that you would have a minor slip up. That's why when you didn't show up for work this morning. When you didn’t, I came instead of sending Rebecca." Claire's hand returned to the now cool spot on my jaw, warming it in a way that I feared I would get accustomed too. She double checked her work, smiling at me again, "There, all set.” She dropped one her hands to her lap the other one sat on the edge of my jaw, “Before you say anything, I wanted to come here, to check on you. You had me worried yesterday, Kit. I wasn't about to send someone in my place when I care as much as I do myself."
I watched her swallow hard, her eyes drifting to my lips then back up to my eyes. The thumb on her hand that had steadied me began to move slightly across my cheek. I backed away from Claire’s hand, not because I didn't like the way her thumb was soft against my skin, but because I did.
I had to look away from Claire, "Did you tell Rebecca you aren't firing me? I am sure she will be ecstatic and I certainly won't hear a million more times how I am a failure." My words dripped with sarcasm as I stood up to get away from the couch, Claire, and the crazy feelings that were rushing in my body and around my heart. This was not good. "Your little girlfriend, if you haven't noticed, hates me. Sees me for the fuck up I really am."
"Rebecca has been instructed to put her personal opinions aside and focus on getting you up to date." Claire's tone shifted to that of the rigid Senator I had seen on TV over the years. Cold and unfaltering. "She is also not my girlfriend."
I nodded, folding my arms as I looked out
smudge free windows. I suddenly wanted to know from the horse's mouth about Claire and Rebecca. Maybe because I wanted a reason to point and tell Rebecca I was right the next time I saw her. Maybe I wanted to kill the minute feelings Claire brought out of me, or I wanted to pick at Claire again and kill the minute feelings she held in her eyes every time she looked at me over the last twenty four hours.
I took a breath, "But she was once." I turned to look at Claire, "What exactly is the deal with you two? I could see it a mile away and from day one that you two are more than just good old pals from college." My tone came out with more edge than I wanted and it hit Claire just right.
Her brow furrowed, her jaw twitching as her mind moved searching for the right answer to my invasive question. It didn't take her long, "We crossed lines, yes." Claire took in a slow breath, "But I ended that two years ago when I saved her life." Claire looked up in my eyes, hers swirling with mixed emotions, "We all make choices, Kit, ones that impact our lives and the lives of others. I don't regret doing what I did for Rebecca." She stood up, putting the first aid kit back together, "I regret many other things, but not that."
Claire shut the lid on the metal box when she was done perfectly reorganizing the first aid kit. I watched her, feeling my own regret creep up in picking at an obviously painful subject with the blonde. The same blonde who had shown me more kindness than anyone else outside of a liquor store owner in years. For Christ's sake she had cleaned my dumpster of a house better than it was when I bought it.
Claire straightened up and grabbed her leather jacket, sliding her arms in, "I will see you in the morning Kit." She sounded defeated and it bothered me.
I cut her off before she said anything else, I had to know one more thing, "Are you trying to save me like you saved Rebecca?" I blurted it out. I needed to know if I was the next great savior project of this enigma of a woman standing by my couch or if I was actually the new bodyguard.
Claire smiled lightly, tugging at the edge of her jacket, "Not unless you need a new heart, no."
I placed my hands on my hips, looking at the stubborn redhead. I knew at some point she would inquire about Rebecca and I. She was right that there was something there. I also knew her exceptional observation skills would pick up on Rebecca's cues and how I responded to her when we were in close proximity. I was caught off guard when Kit asked like it was nothing, and I looked in the still cloudy eyes of the woman, I felt like now would be the perfect time to tell her some of the truth.
Kit stood across from me; her arms still folded and face still flush from her scalding shower, "A new heart? Is that a metaphor for something?" Her brow furrowed in the way that it always did when she was mildly irritated with me.
I shook my head, dropping back down to sit on the couch, "No metaphor." I paused. I knew in time I would have to tell Kit the entire truth, but for now I would give her only bits and pieces until the time was right. I closed my eyes, letting the memories free. "About two years ago Rebecca and I were involved, and yes, we were involved on more than just a professional level. It was bound to happen since we had spent all of our time together since the first day we met. Attractions intensified and strong feelings developed over time."
I sighed, running a hand through my hair, "It was a quiet, private relationship. A relationship that we both did very well to keep out of the public eye and even out of our own private circles." I glanced up at Kit, her face had shifted from irritation to actively listening. I smiled and turned back to the coffee table, "About a year ago we went to France with the Secretary of State to attend a conference discussing the foreign policies between the two countries. I was selected as the Republican representative and the trip was only meant to be a dog and pony show for all parties involved."
I leaned on the back off the couch, staring at the photograph of the Mojave Desert on Kit's wall I had straightened out earlier, "After dinner the first night, Rebecca and I retired to our room. She went to take a shower before bed and when she took longer than normal, I went to check on her." My brow furrowed as my photographic memory laid that night out for me in perfect detail. Making me sigh deeply, "I found Rebecca crumpled up in a ball on the floor of the shower. Clutching at her chest and unable to tell me what was wrong because she was in so much pain. Then came all of the blood, out of her nose, her mouth." I paused, seeing the moment of that night perfectly as if it was happening in front of me all over again.
Hearing Rebecca struggling to gasp in breaths, digging her fingernails into my arm so deeply, I had marks for days. "I was certain she was having a heart attack and called hotel security for help. It was the only time I welcomed the Secret Service anywhere near me. They rushed Rebecca to the hospital and she immediately went into surgery for an aortic tear."
I looked over at Kit, she had moved to sit on the edge of the couch, staring at me still, but her face had softened completely, "Five hours of surgery and they did what they could, informing me as Rebecca stabilized that she had a rare condition that had come to a breaking point. An offspring of Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. Her aorta would never fully heal and in time she would face more tears, ruptures and eventually total heart failure. Sharing with me that Rebecca's genetics had dealt her this hand and this faulty heart."
I folded my arms and turned back to the desert, "I didn't waste time in making a decision. I called in any favors wherever I had them back in the states. All the hospitals and doctors I reached out to all said the same, there was very little they could do for her. Rebecca was written off as terminal and given a time limit to live." I tugged at the sleeve of my jacket, my stomach turning as I continued to tell the story, "I made another decision since it was the only one left for her. I had her transported with my own money to the Criterion Centre for privatized treatment." I stood up from the couch, "In time the doctors at Criterion found a treatment that gave Rebecca a second chance at life. A year later and she is now doing better than ever. A full recovery and a return to normal living on the horizon." I smiled tightly, looking down at the floor. It was harder than I thought to tell someone, a veritable stranger about Rebecca and how her almost dying changed both of our lives, and the courses our lives were now taking.
I dug around in my pocket for my car keys, "As a result of making the choices I did for her, I had to separate myself from what we had, end our relationship. Call it a patient doctor conflict, or a fear of watching someone I cared for dying in front of me, or whatever. It had to end." I smiled, looking up at Kit, hoping she would accept my vague explanation of why Rebecca and I could no longer continue an intimate relationship. It wasn't far from the truth, but Kit wasn't ready for the whole truth. The truth would come as my enemies moved closer, but for now the only enemy standing before me was the redhead and the things I felt about her I couldn't shake loose. "So no, Rebecca is not my girlfriend and will never be anything more than a trusted f close friend."
Palming the car keys, I suddenly wanted to leave Kit and the house. I felt embarrassed for the small lines I had crossed with her while I redressed her cut. Embarrassed that I should have fired the woman for blatant breach of contract and admitting to it drinking herself into a stupor, but I couldn't. Kit had a draw about her that dragged me to her like she a magnet and I was a cheap piece of tin. Her hazel eyes, whether they were cloudy or clear, would always pull me to look in them, look at her. There was something intrinsically special about this woman that I could not ignore on many levels. Maybe because I knew Kit would do her job better than anyone else I would find to replace her.
I cleared my throat after an awkward moment of silence passed. Only two or three people knew about Rebecca's heart and only two more beyond that carried with them the whole truth of how her new heart came to be. I was not surprised when Kit continued to sit in awkward silence. "I will see you in the morning, Kit." I turned to leave, pausing as I opened the front door, "Oh, bring some extra clothes with you. I have a spare bedroom you can use since the commute from here to Malibu can be brutal at rush hour."
I smiled and took a step out the door when I heard Kit, “I will be there at 0730, and Claire?” The tone in her voice made me look back at her, "Thank you." She waved her hand around the now spotless house, "For everything." She smiled tightly and I caught the tiniest glimpses of hidden dimples.
I nodded and left the house, closing the door quietly behind me as I slipped on my aviators and unlocked the Cadillac. Starting the car I knew that tomorrow would be day one of a complete change for both of us. What it was exactly, well, I would have to wait and see.
Chapter 7
The car radio kept achingly slow time, blinking 0705 at me over and over while I sat in the shade of a large willow tree across from Claire's house. I had parked on the side of the road at the edge of her street, hiding. I hadn't been able to rest or sleep after she left my house yesterday; leaving my house was so clean that it inspired me to try to clean out the garage while I cleaned out myself.
I dumped every hidden bottle of scotch I had tucked away, but left the bottle of Chivas untouched in its black velvet home. For some reason I couldn't dump it or pick it up, I just moved it from the floor to the top shelf of my closet. Piling sweaters and old pairs of sweatpants in front of it, cutting off the tempting edges of the box away from desperate eyes if the time came again, sadly knowing that a time would come again and soon if I wasn't careful.
Redemptio Animae Page 10