by JM Dragon
Claire nodded. “I’ll check on Shirley. What have you got in store for me this afternoon?”
Kris smiled. “You are wonderful, Claire, thank you. Sorry I can’t be so generous. It’s the bathrooms for you to scrub.”
Claire groaned. “Maybe I’ll take a sick day.”
Kris laughed, and Claire realized she liked that sound. It made her feel good and she’d missed it yesterday.
“Okay, slave driver.” As Claire turned to walk away, she lifted her good arm and mock growled in her best Terminator impersonation. “Bathrooms don’t go away…I’ll be back!” Kris’s laughter followed her up the road toward the main house, and her whole body was lighter for it.
†
Claire loudly cleared her throat as she entered the kitchen area. Shirley hadn’t been in any of the main formal rooms downstairs. The kitchen area was the best bet, she figured. She felt as if she were taking a step back in time as she entered through the swing door, just like she felt in the cottage. Though this room was more fifties style. Bright yellow greeted her like the morning sun, and she frowned.
I wonder if I ever noticed this before. When I was a kid.
A large refrigerator dwarfed all other equipment, except for the range. It was similar to the one in the cottage.
“Kris must have fallen in love with this first.” She shook her head, smiling. Cabinets of all sizes filled the outer walls. A breakfast bar, which probably was more a preparation area back in the day, took center stage. Claire glanced around but saw no sign of Shirley. “Hmm, I wonder where she is. Not sure I want to go to her room.”
A flicker of movement from the window leading to the kitchen garden caught her eye. She headed in that direction and opened the door. Shielding her eyes from the sun shining directly at her, she furrowed her brow to make out if Shirley was there. A large tree drew her attention. It was twice the size of her tree near the cottage and had a wooden seat encompassing the trunk. Shirley sat there, her head in her hands.
Damn, Kris was right, she is upset. Maybe I should leave. What can I do?
Then Shirley’s sticklike figure moved. She looked up and she headed toward Claire.
“Claire, did you need something?”
Claire was certain the hand that whipped across Shirley’s eyes brushed away tears.
“No, not really. Actually, Kris thought you were upset and she was worried about you…so am I. Can we help?” Claire wanted to turn away and go back to cleaning the bathrooms. It was so much easier than personal problems.
Shirley sniffled.
“I can’t call myself a good listener, Shirley, but over the last few days actually I’ve found I have hidden depths. Besides, if you don’t tell me tonight at dinner, Kris will interrogate you in the nicest possible way.”
Shirley stared at her as if she were a stranger.
“Kris is a lovely girl, very comforting and astute.” Shirley sighed heavily. “A dear friend of mine died a month ago, and it brought home to me again that life isn’t forever.”
Her words were matter-of-fact almost, emotionless even. Yet her stiff and awkward body language told a different story. Claire moved to within inches of Shirley and pulled her gracelessly into a hug.
“Sometimes it’s good to talk to a stranger.”
“But you are not a stranger,” Shirley softly said.
Claire shrugged and released the older woman to arm’s length, stepping backward. “Tell me, please. I promise I won’t tell anyone unless you allow it.”
“Calvin, dear Calvin was a good friend. He made me realize Ricky was the one for me.”
Claire didn’t understand. “That was a long time ago, right? Did you see him often or keep in touch? Sorry to be insensitive, but your husband has been dead for a while.”
“Yes, Ricky has been gone forty years. I haven’t seen Calvin for about that time.”
Claire disguised her surprise. “He meant that much to you? I see.”
“You don’t, not yet. You will soon. He brought us together, my husband and I, you see,” Shirley softly replied.
Claire shrugged. “I’m sorry for your loss. Guess it’s too late to say, ‘Have time off for the funeral.’” She was perplexed by Shirley’s cryptic words and wondered what she meant. Weird, like Kris said.
Shirley caught her in an intense gaze, and Claire’s heart lurched.
“Go where your heart travels, my dear. There you will find your true destiny. Believe in love, and it will provide you with the truth of your soul. Calvin, Ricky, and I saw the truth.”
Crap, this is way too deep for me. “Good to know, Shirley. I’ll explain to Kris you lost a dear friend.” Claire attempted to reenter the house, but an arm prevented her.
“Life is all about knowing who you are and accepting what you can bring to a relationship. Forget the past; live for the future.”
Claire sucked in a deep breath. There she goes being weird again. Hmm, I might have to speak to Grams about what she’s talking about.
“Tonight we are having pizza. I’m going to call it in. Shirley, relax or, if you can’t do that, take the rest of the day off. Do you like pepperoni?”
“Thank you, I love pepperoni. May we have a seafood pizza too?”
Claire chuckled. “Absolutely.”
†
Kris gazed at the shutters, which were next on her list. This mini-renovation project was going well, she thought. Claire had, remarkably, turned out to be amicable. Not that she had any frame of reference about her other than the society tabloid, which made her out to be a rich party girl without a care in the world except for whom she bedded next.
That wasn’t how she saw Claire. Nope. In fact, she figured they might even be friends—not best friends and all, but a friend with whom Kris could perhaps keep in touch in the future. She hoped so. New York was a lonely place, at least for her.
She walked over to the stepladder in the far corner of the decking. As she moved it, the wood beneath her feet creaked with every step. “You’ll be the final job, my friend. Can’t have us scratching and scuffing the new paintwork I plan to give you.” No, that was wrong. “We, yes, we will give you.” Her heart warmed as she thought of Claire.
Claire’s disability was obvious, and she struggled with many things everyone else took for granted. Probably has difficulty with shoelaces. That’s why she wears slip-ons. Even so, she’s valiantly tried every task I’ve given her and only had that one tantrum yesterday. It was bound to happen, and now she seems fine. Recalling Claire’s narrowed eyes as she went back to talk to Shirley, accompanied by that flippant reply about the bathrooms, Kris grinned.
She picked up the stepladder and walked back to the first shutter on the first-floor level. This was going to be a piece of cake, but the upper floor might be a tad more difficult. I’ll have to think on that.
After resting the ladder against the wall for extra support, Kris climbed up the first three steps, giving her access to the highest set of screws. From the tool belt around her waist, she selected the appropriate screwdriver and began to dismantle the shutter. Within a couple of minutes, she was at the final screw, but it was stubborn.
“Darn screw. Just come out, why don’t you,” she beseeched the object.
“Oh that sounds interesting. Haven’t used that term to describe a screw before, but there is always a first time.” Claire laughed as she stepped up on the deck and joined Kris.
Flustered, Kris placed her hands to her face and then grinned. “I’ve taken eleven screws out and no problem. Typical, the final one wants to protest. What gives?”
Claire shrugged. “Oh, must be that butch stance you have with the tool belt and all. Probably scared the hell out of the final screw and it doesn’t want to out itself.”
Kris laughed. “Well putting it like that, what do you suggest?”
“Love the tool belt. I have to say it suits you. However, for a sensitive coming-outer, maybe it needs a gentler touch. Allow me.” Claire held out her hand for the screwdriv
er.
“Don’t be silly. If I can’t do it, how do you think you can?” Kris cringed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that you weren’t capable.”
“Hey, say it how it is, Kris. You’re right. Normally I wouldn’t try except….”
“Except?”
“Grams provided me with a power kit, and I know there is a reversible drill there, so it may prove useful.”
Kris was confused. “You have power tools?”
Claire chuckled. “Of course. You think I could do work like that on my own steam?”
“Why haven’t you used them before?”
Claire solemnly replied, “Because I haven’t needed them yet, and I can say to Grams I did it under my own steam. Right?”
She is everything I thought before and more. “Got that. Right. So, pray tell, where can we find these tools?”
“And I thought you were so butch you could do everything with your own hands.” Claire laughed.
“Most of the time. Not that you will find out, but occasionally I need help. Well, Claire Tremont, are you sharing?” Kris smiled and Claire returned the grin. Yep, Claire isn’t what the tabloids said. No way.
“You do realize that once these are down it’s up to you to sandpaper them for painting, and you might, if you beg very nicely, have the opportunity to do just that.” Kris chuckled.
“Hmm, hard taskmistress, but what can a healthy lesbian expect from a woman who wears a tool belt?”
They both laughed as Claire pointed to a molded plastic case hidden in the corner of the kitchen vestibule.
“How did I miss that?” Kris walked over to it and smiled, then turned. “I love you but hate you.”
“How does that work?” Claire quipped.
Kris didn’t reply but instead opened up the case. It contained more than just a reversible drill. It was a handyperson’s dream possession. “How about I put the batteries on charge and we go for a walk on the beach. Do you know how to catch shrimp?”
Claire frowned. “Is there a catch in there someplace? Haven’t a clue, to be honest.”
Kris took the battery charger and attached it to the outlet. “Okay, maybe I’ll show you. Although you are still in the doghouse for keeping these tools from me.”
Claire chuckled. “Doghouse I can live with. Dogs are faithful friends.”
“You are incorrigible, Claire. Let’s go.”
Chapter Fourteen
The beach between the cottage and Seasons was about a quarter of a mile long and generally considered private. The next property was a mile away. A rocky outcrop separated the two properties’ beaches. Claire flicked the hair away from her face, watching Kris virtually skip along on the sand as they walked toward the surf. The tide was out.
Kris appeared to be relaxed at Seasons. Claire had thought that at the cottage, but on the beach, her face glowed and a smile was permanently etched on her lips. Like a kid given the run of a candy shop.
“Slowpoke, catch up, there’s a rock pool…they are awesome. Come look, Claire.”
Claire chuckled. Her feet padded on the soft sand as her Havaianas Espadrille sneakers ebbed and flowed with the fluid grains.
“I’m not a slowpoke. You must be a child of the sea and sand,” Claire chided her with a wink.
“My dad used to say that.” Kris shrugged as she pointed to the three-foot rock pool in front of them.
Claire heard the sad wistfulness in her tone wondering about Kris’s parents. Hell, they can’t be worse than mine are.
“Then your dad was right. Okay, so what’s so awesome about a rock pool? Is this where the shrimp live?”
Kris giggled and Claire bit her lip.
“Okay, give?”
“Sorry, Claire, there aren’t any shrimp here to fish. It’s just something I’d like to do one day so I can actually say I caught my own food. I was naïve the first day I was here and I tried fishing with a hand net in a couple of the rock pools. Do you know some are deeper than a swimming pool?”
“No, no, I never knew that. You are such a mine of useful information about sea stuff for a city girl. When you are in the city, do you have useful titbits there too?” Claire grinned as she peered into the clear water of the rock pool.
Kris shifted and knelt to inspect the pool closer. “Maybe some would call it useless. See there, Claire, a cushion star. Do you know the difference between her and her cousins?”
Claire gazed at the pale crustacean. “Well, first, I don’t know the difference, and second, how do you know it’s a she? Can’t quite make that anatomy part out. Are you a marine biologist in the disguise of a meek, brilliant handyperson, by any chance?” Claire laughed and a fish shot by. “What’s that?”
Kris grinned up into Claire’s face. “A blennie. See, its eyes are at the top of its head. They can see predators easier that way. Don’t we all wish for that at least once or twice in our lives?” Kris laughed, continuing to gaze at the pool.
“Yeah, we all do,” Claire quietly answered. “The cushion fish, you never said?”
Kris chuckled and stood. “They have shorter arms, and as for the she part…well let’s face it. When it comes to harsh conditions, and a rock pool is harsher than the sea, women are adaptable survivors. It’s just the order of nature.”
Claire stared at Kris, a bemused expression on her face as she shook her head at the simple explanation. “Let’s go paddle. I love the surf tickling my toes. Don’t you, Sea Girl?”
Kris held her arms up and laughed. “Me, a sea girl? What does that make you? My sea urchin?”
“Probably.” Clair grasped her hand, and then they ran as fast as the malleable sand allowed to the surf.
Kris swished her hair and it flew around her face. She giggled as the surf washed over her feet. “Take your shoes off…too late,” she squealed.
Claire looked at her clover-green Espadrilles being soaked by the sea. Then she looked at Kris’s face—simply pure enjoyment. Who cares about a pair of shoes? I can buy more. She laughed.
“Are you game, Sea Girl, for a deeper paddle?” Without releasing Kris’s hand, Claire dragged her deeper into the surf.
“Claire!”
†
Kris threw Claire a towel she’d retrieved from the bathroom of the cottage.
Claire attempted but failed to catch it.
Kris was mortified, and her cheeks heated up. “I’m sorry, Claire, I didn’t think—” She began to walk over to pick up the object.
Claire raised her good arm and smiled. “That’s what I like about you, Kris. You don’t think…as in you treat me like a normal human being and not an invalid.”
“Why would I do such a thing? You’ve done brilliantly. There’s no reason for me to think of you as anything other than….” Kris frowned. Other than what?
Claire stared hard at her and waited.
“Other than a rich socialite who needed to find out what real work is.” Kris grinned.
Claire shook her head and rolled her eyes. Kris knew that look meant Claire was okay with the teasing.
“A rich socialite, huh? How do you think my repatriation to normality is working?” Claire said in a drawl, emphasizing rich socialite and normality.
Kris drew her fingers through her damp hair and knew she must look like a scarecrow. “Hey, I can’t say anything about normality. Who the heck knows what that is, anyway?”
Claire bent, picked up the towel, and begin drying her hair.
Their impromptu splashing around had left them three quarters wet but not enough to change totally. Besides, they were working on the porch in the hot sun, so their clothes would dry quickly.
“So very true. Then I guess the question is, am I coming up to scratch?”
Kris chuckled. “Absolutely. Your grandmother is going to be proud of you.”
“Grams is always proud of me. It’s the rest of the family that need convincing I’m not totally useless.” Although the towel over Claire’s head muffled the words, the frustration in her voice was
clear.
Kris dragged out a kitchen chair and motioned for Claire to sit. Surprisingly she did without any comment. Kris sat in the chair next to her. “My dad thinks I’m a waste of space. My mom is ambivalent on that.”
Claire raised her eyebrows. “Ambivalent?”
“When Dad is around I’m a waste of space. When he isn’t, I’m her only daughter who might eventually come around.” Kris linked her fingers and grimaced. “I can’t change my sexual orientation, and I don’t want to. Mom tends to have her head buried in the sand on the issue. Dad is totally hateful. He said I’ll never be anything in this world. How can anyone say that to their child?”
Claire reached across the worn wooden table and touched Kris’s hand.
“So you see, Claire, you are not the only one who has family that doesn’t accept who you are. I guess we have something in common.”
Claire shrugged. “More than you think.”
The quiet reply made Kris stare harder at her. “You sound obscure like Shirley. I’ve never told anyone about my parents before. That must mean something.” The warm hand that enclosed hers felt perfect. Tears she had held in for years threatened to fall but no way was she going to threaten the fragile connection she had to Claire by being oversensitive.
“Obscure, sure, I can do that. Shirley certainly is a strange duck, I have to say.”
“A strange duck?”
They looked at each other, and Claire furrowed her brow several times. “Sorry, the best I could do. The sea and all.” She stood and wriggled her ass.
“It’s more likely a seagull than a duck, Claire.” Kris stood and laughed so hard at Claire’s wriggling she nearly peed her pants. “Come on, Sea Urchin, we have work to do.”
Claire winked.
“Thank you, Claire, for being…you.”
“Don’t know how to be anyone else, Kris.”
Kris smiled. “Let’s go, we have sandpaper duties.”
†
“Pizza, wow, I love pizza. Who thought of this and where did you get it from?” Kris munched on a delicious pepperoni-filled slice.