LaClaire Kiss

by Dori Lavelle

  I can’t think about this now or I’ll go crazy. I throw back the covers and lean out one of the four windows, inhaling the tangy sea air. On the distant beach I see us again, Lance and me, walking along the foamy water, holding hands.

  To run from my dream and confusion, I take a cold shower that shocks my body and heart into pulling itself together. I get dressed in white-washed jeans and a black tank top and head downstairs for breakfast.

  The moment I arrive downstairs, I sense a difference. The one thing I notice is that the place is flooded with more light than I’ve seen since being here.

  A smile spreads across my face when I step into the living room. New furniture has replaced the old. Cream leather couches grace the living area instead of the black ones I saw yesterday. Warm caramel drapes now hang at the windows, the dark gray ones long gone. All the windows are open, allowing early morning sunshine to pour in freely. A monstera deliciosa plant in one corner has brought new life to the room.

  I’m touched that he listened to me that day at Crystal Lake.

  I move to one of the windows and run my palm along the rich fabric of the curtain, but my gaze drifts out the window toward the beach.

  Just as my mind drifts into a daydream, a commotion behind me makes me jump. I spin around to find Valentina standing in the doorway.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Dupuis. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “No ... No, it’s okay.” Fire fills my cheeks, as though I’ve been caught doing something wrong. “My mind was far away.”

  Valentina looks different as well. Her salt and pepper hair is not wrapped into a bun at the top of her head, but in a braid hanging over one shoulder. She looks happier today, the lines on her face softer. I could be imagining it of course.

  “This all looks beautiful,” I say, waving at the room. “Looks like a lot happened while I was sleeping.”

  “Mr. LaClaire wanted something fresh ... a change.” Her eyes brighten. “I think it’s good. Mr. LaClaire changed too. I like it.”

  I push a hand into my jeans pockets. “He did ... change?” I know exactly what she means, but it’s surprising coming from another person. It shows me that I’m not the only person seeing the changes in Lance, that I’m not fooling myself into seeing what I want to see.

  “Very much. He lets me open all the windows in the house.” Valentina smiles even more. “I like the new look of the house, and I like the new Mr. LaClaire.”

  “I do too,” I whisper. “Have you seen him today? Or is he still asleep?”

  “No, Mr. LaClaire wakes up early every day. Never later than five o’clock. He has doctors’ appointments today. He left a note for you.”

  Valentina holds up a hand and reaches into the breast pocket of her royal blue button-down dress. She hands me a piece of folded paper.

  “Thanks.” I open it. The first thing I see is the LaClaire logo. I half turn away from Valentina to read.

  Alice,

  I trust you slept well. I’m afraid I’ll have to take a break from living today, at least for a couple of hours. Unfortunately, I have several unplanned doctors’ appointments.

  That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have fun. I’ve arranged for a private tour of Cabo for you. You’ll be picked up by your personal tour guide at 1 p.m. If you’re unable to make it for any reason, please give me a call to reschedule or cancel. Valentina has my number.

  Have fun. I should be back in time to take you out to dinner.

  Take care for now.

  Lance

  Finished reading the note, I fold it at the creases, my heart sinking, but I paste on a smile for Valentina.

  The woman is standing in the middle of the living room, watching me. What is she thinking? It looks as though she’s waiting for me to read the letter out to her.

  “Are you okay, Miss Dupuis?” she asks. “You look sad.”

  My gaze drops from hers. “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “No need to hide it. You’re sad because Mr. LaClaire can’t spend the day with you, am I right?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I know what will cheer you up. A good, warm breakfast.”

  She talks as though she read my letter, as though she can read my mind. But I don’t mind her prying because she seems like a nice, genuine person.

  I follow her into the kitchen, where she makes me a warm breakfast, more food than I can possibly eat alone. I barely taste the food as I spend the entire time gazing into space, trying not to think of spending many hours of the day without Lance.

  The minutes and hours of the day tick by way too slow. Most of my day is spent glancing at my phone, to check if Lance called. It amazes me how much I miss him. It takes even me by surprise.

  I exit the Jeep at 5:45 p.m. The same sadness I’d left the house with still numbs me.

  Even though my mind wasn’t there, I forced myself to enjoy parts of the tour. I especially loved the visit to the famous glass factory, the arc, and Todos Santos where I explored the town square and bought Emile souvenirs from the many handicraft stores. At the end of the tour, Marco, my guide, also took me to the popular Cerritos Beach, where I watched the surfers riding the waves and daydreamed freely on the water’s edge.

  The entire time, I couldn’t help thinking it would all have been more fun with Lance by my side.

  “Adiós, Marco.” I slam the door shut.

  “You forgot your shopping,” he says and hands me my bag of souvenirs.

  “Oh. Muchas gracias.” I smile. “Also for the tour. It was fun.” Marco has taught me a few words of Spanish during our tour, but I’ve forgotten most of them.

  “De nada, señorita Dupuis.”

  When I enter the house, I’m surprised to find Lance there. I thought he’d be gone all day. He’s not alone. With him in the living room are two elegantly dressed women, who stand up to greet me, their faces all smiles. Were they expecting me?

  Lance wheels himself to the three of us and introduces the women as Carmen and Regina. Carmen is a hairdresser, and Regina a makeup artist.

  “These lovely ladies are here for you,” he adds. “They came to make you even more beautiful than you already are.”

  “Lance,” I shoot him a glance and bend to whisper in his ear. “You don’t have to do that. I don’t need—”

  “We’re going out to dinner later, remember?” He winks. “Enjoy a little pampering beforehand.” He turns back to the women. “Ladies, give her anything she wants.” Without waiting for me to say anything else, he wheels himself toward the entrance to the patio. Before he exits, he turns to wink at me. Not sure what else to do, I burst out laughing.

  20

  Lance

  A knock on the door gives me an excuse to quit doing the tie around my neck. I yank the piece of fabric from around my neck and toss it into the drawer with all the others. I hate the damn things. They’re so damn restrictive. If it weren’t for the promise I made Derrick that I would wear a tie to dinner tonight, I wouldn’t have bothered. The promise is as much to him as to myself.

  I exit the walk-in wardrobe just as Valentina knocks again. I know it’s her because she always taps three times in a row and always softly.

  “Coming, Valentina.”

  She walks in wearing a smile and carrying a large box wrapped in expensive mother-of-pearl paper.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Lance.” She glances at the box. “This arrived for you.”

  The day Valentina started working for me, I told her not to call me Mr. LaClaire. Enough people call me that. It feels awkward to spend so much time with someone and have them call me by my surname all day. It took her a while to get used to it, but she finally got the hang of it.

  “Fantastic. Please take it to Alice’s room for me.” I don’t bother to look at what’s inside, because I already know.

  “Of course.” She closes the door. When I think she’s gone, listening for her light footsteps padding down the hallway, the door reopens. She pokes her head inside. “I like her,” she says, he
r face bright with excitement.

  Her comment takes me so much by surprise that for a moment I don’t know what to say. But since she was brave enough to share her thoughts with me, I might as well tell the truth. “I like her too.”

  After she leaves, for real this time, I return to the wardrobe and face myself in the mirror.

  What are you doing? The small voice inside my head had been bugging me the entire day, warning me that by taking Alice out to dinner and treating her to nice things, I’m getting her hopes up only to disappoint her later.

  What message are you trying to get across to her?

  I choose to shake off the uncomfortable question and ignore the stupid voice. But when I gaze into my eyes, staring back at me from the mirror, the questions are reflected there. I’m almost tempted to cancel the whole thing. But it’s too late for that.

  I promised her a nice dinner and hired a makeup artist and hairdresser. I’d hate to let her down. Besides, even though I never planned to enjoy her company, I do. What’s wrong with treating a friend to nice things? From what she told me at the art gallery, she grew up feeling unappreciated, second best to her sister. I want to show her that she’s just as worthy, if not more.

  I’d be lying if I said I’m not falling in love with the kind of person that she is. She has a beautiful, pure soul, the kind that children have. She’s excited by simple things, uncomplicated. Spoiling her makes me feel good, and I haven’t felt good in such a long time.

  I can’t help wondering what would have happened if I had chosen her instead of her sister. Would I still be in this wheelchair, living this kind of life? Sometimes, one simple decision can change the entire course of a person’s life.

  I meet my gaze head on. “I’m doing this for her,” I say to my reflection. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  I turn my back to the mirror and wheel myself to the drawers, grab the midnight blue tie again and give it another go. I succeed at tying the knot this time and I leave the wardrobe.

  At 8 p.m., I’m at the bottom of the stairs, watching Alice descend them. The moment I see her in the high-neck black and white chiffon and lace evening dress I bought for her this morning, the diamond necklace glinting at the dip in her throat, her vibrant hair piled up on top of her head in highlighted ringlets, I forget how to breathe.

  She stops in the middle of the staircase, her smile faltering as our eyes meet. For several heartbeats, she lowers her eyelashes, then lifts them again to reveal the sparkling blue. She continues her journey to the bottom of the stairs.

  “You really spoiled me today,” she says as the toe of her silver sandal touches the last step.

  “It was my pleasure.” My lips stretch in a smile that spreads a warm glow through my chest.

  “Mr. LaClaire, where do you plan to take me in this fancy attire?”

  “Just dinner.” I rub my chin. “But probably the kind you’ve never experienced before. Keep an open mind tonight.”

  “Sounds mysterious. I can’t wait.”

  Ten minutes later, we are headed for La Mesa restaurant in the center of town.

  At the restaurant, we are greeted by the manager himself, a man in a shiny black suit and a toupee. It wouldn’t have been so obvious if it weren’t such a different shade from the rest of his hair.

  Next to the manager stands another man who appears to be blind. It’s something I’ve been expecting.

  “Bienvenido a La Mesa, Señor LaClaire,” the manager says, clutching his hands in front of him. In a few words, he tells me what’s going to happen tonight, and he hopes we will enjoy the experience.

  Since Alice doesn’t understand Spanish, her gaze moves from me to the manager, her eyes narrowed as she tries to understand the foreign words. I don’t translate because I want her to experience it all fully for the first time and without preparation.

  Another man comes to take our cell phones and asks if we have other light-emitting devices on us.

  “Why do we need to give up our phones?” Alice narrows her eyes. “Where are they taking them?”

  “You’ll see.” I take her phone from her hand and give it to the man, who walks over to one wall, lined with lockers. He chooses one for our phones, locks it, and hands me the small silver key.

  Unlike other restaurants, we are asked to choose our meal before we enter the dining area. I advise Alice on going for something simple and easy to eat. We both choose a spaghetti carbonara and a salad.

  “Ready?” the blind man asks.

  “Yes, let’s do it.” I take Alice’s hand.

  The manager disappears and the man who had taken our phones gets behind my wheelchair and starts pushing. We enter a pitch-black room. Even though the waiter is pushing my chair, a gentle voice still tells us how to get to our table in the dark.

  “What is this place?” Alice asks.

  “It’s a dark restaurant. It was my brother, Derrick’s idea. Tell me if you feel too uncomfortable being here and we’ll leave immediately.”

  “No, no.” She giggles. “This looks like an experience of a lifetime.”

  After what seems like forever, we come to a halt and then my chair is pushed close to a table. Alice releases my hand and I hear a scrape on the floor as a chair is pulled out for her, or she pulls it out herself. I have no way of knowing.

  There are other sounds around us, knives scraping plates, soft classical music, the murmur of voices, the sound of Alice breathing. Everything sounds so clear now that one of our senses is removed from the equation.

  “I wonder how we’ll be able to eat in the dark?” Alice whispers.

  “You will always find your mouth in the dark,” our guide says in English, his words followed by a chuckle. “Enjoy your meal.” We listen as he walks away from our table.

  “This is fun,” Alice says, her voice like that of a child.

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  It doesn’t take long for our food to arrive. Instead of keeping my eyes open, I close them and feel around the table carefully for my knife and fork. I find a way to eat in the dark.

  During our meal, Alice can’t stop giggling, especially when she knocks a glass over.

  “I don’t want to think about how our table will look after this meal.”

  “Neither do I.” I find myself joining in her laughter.

  The food is simple, nothing spectacular, but the experience is everything.

  “I’m glad to share this experience with you,” I say to Alice, putting down my fork.

  “And I’m honored you chose me to share it with.” A cloud of silence wedges itself between us.

  I listen to Alice’s breathing, wondering what she’s thinking. Then I pick up my fork and our hands brush. A spark of electricity travels from my fingers to hers. Our hands stay where they are, and I gaze in her direction. I don’t need to see her eyes to know they’re on me.

  Without overthinking anything, I cup her full hand with mine. She’s so small, so fragile, I want to protect her.

  “You had no reason to feel insecure around your sister. You happen to be spectacular just the way you are.”

  “I wish I believed that growing up.”

  “How do you feel now that she’s gone?”

  “Sometimes it still feels like she’s here.” Alice’s voice is a whisper in the blanket of night. “I don’t know how to explain it. But she doesn’t stop me from living. Not anymore.”

  “That’s good. You deserve a good life.”

  “So do you, Lance.” She turns her hand and her fingers curl around mine.

  Still holding hands, we continue to talk about her experiences of childhood, the wedding business, and life in general.

  After our dinner in the dark, I leave La Mesa feeling different.

  Being robbed of one of my senses has given me a renewed appreciation for the things I do have. I may not be able to walk, but I can see, touch. I can smell Alice. I don’t know how long the good feelings will last, but for now I choose to enjoy it withou
t holding back.

  We arrive home at 10 p.m., and it’s pouring outside, the rain tap dancing on the roof of the car. Juan offers to run inside to get an umbrella since we don’t have one in the car. I stop him and ask him to help me out of the car anyway.

  Out in the open, I gaze up at the sky.

  As drops of water fall onto my face, I start to laugh with more heart than I’ve ever done in my life. I stretch out my hand to Alice, who is laughing right along with me. “May I have a dance?”

  “Of course, Mr. LaClaire.” A bolt of lightning passes between us again the moment our hands connect. She lowers herself onto my lap and puts an arm around my neck. Her fresh scent envelopes me.

  We dance in the rain, laughing and not giving a damn that our clothes are getting drenched. We dance until it starts to drizzle.

  Alice looks down at her wet dress in horror. “I’m so sorry,” she says, her eyes widening. “I should have changed from this dress. It’s too beautiful to get wet in the rain.”

  “I bought the dress for you to have fun in.” I brush her hair from my face. “I’ll have it dry cleaned for you tomorrow morning.” I hold her closer to me. Her body feels wonderful in my arms. She feels like mine.

  21

  Lance

  I roll onto my back and gaze into the darkness. Another sleepless night. But it’s different this time.

  Tonight, there’s no worry or pain shrouding my mind. I feel too alive to drift into the arms of sleep. I keep thinking of the time I spent with Alice, the unforgettable dinner.

  My mind is hooked on the images of her coming down the stairs in the black and white dress, the memory of her hand in mine in the dark restaurant, the gentle sound of her breathing, her hair hanging over her eyes as we danced in the rain.

  I never in my wildest dreams expected to come out of this learning-to-live-again experiment feeling like this—hopeful. I never expected to come out of it feeling alive. And right now, in this moment, the adrenaline rush of life refuses to let me relax enough to sleep. Needing to make the most of my newfound energy for life to take advantage of this undiluted joy before it dissipates, I drag my body out of bed and go downstairs to the infinity pool.