by Karen Booth
“No. I’m fine.”
“You need to tell me if it does. Seriously. Whatever you need.”
“That’s very generous, but I wasn’t counting on anything. I’ve learned from that mistake in the past.”
“Claire, I’m worried about you. I’ve made a mess of your professional life.”
“I’ve got enough work to get by.”
“But I don’t want you getting by. I hate that idea. Let me send you some money, so you have a cushion.”
“I’m fine, I swear.” I fought the tears that were coming. “Can we please talk about something else?”
****
My dad spent the entire day rapping on the back door with a mallet. No matter how many times he tried, he was never quite satisfied with the way the screen had gone into the frame. I’d spent the day sequestered in my office, counting down the minutes we had left together, compulsively checking my watch, and tapping on the crystal because at one point I was convinced it was moving backwards.
That night, as I pulled into the parking space at school that my father found satisfactory, Sam’s phone beeped. She giggled and I glanced in the rearview mirror to see her smiling. “Mom, it’s Chris wishing me luck for the science fair.”
“Oh, is Chris one of your girlfriends?” my dad asked.
“No—”
Sam interrupted me. “It’s Mom’s boyfriend.”
He shook his head. “Is that what we’re calling him? Your boyfriend?”
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yes, Dad. That’s what we’re calling him.”
My dad and I left Sam to man the table for her project, titled “Polar Caps and Global Warming.” We made the rounds through the gym as he formed a running commentary, words dribbling from his mouth to fill some imaginary space. It brewed an awkward undercurrent for everything else taking place as the curious eyes of other moms filled the room, many who’d usually stop to chat. Some I’d thought were friends. Some women unsubtly whispered about me, mouthing words behind hands, making a pit in my stomach. Then there were the ones who sought me out, all of them exactly like the popular girls in school, tittering and plastic. I was okay to invite to coffee now that I had a famous boyfriend and had been in a magazine, but never before today.
A few exhibits away, I spotted my single-dad crush, Jeremy. He nodded at me and smiled, a beacon of normalcy. Sam and his daughter, Bailey, used to hang out; it must’ve been three years since that friendship had fizzled, but he and I kept our innocent flirtation.
Dad and I ran into Jeremy at Sam’s table. My face flushed when he smiled at me. I’d forgotten what a gorgeous set of teeth he had, surely expected of an orthodontist.
“Is Beth with you tonight?” I asked, glancing around the gym for his girlfriend.
He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “We broke up.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I could tell my father was listening in on our conversation while he made small talk with Sam and Andrew.
“It had been coming for a while. She didn’t want to get serious.” He made contact with his warm hazel eyes. “I was hoping I’d run into you tonight. I wanted to ask if you’d like to have dinner with me.”
I blanched at the invitation—I would have cut off my arm to go to dinner with him six months ago. “I’m actually seeing someone right now.” He must’ve been the one person in the gymnasium who hadn’t seen the magazine photos of Chris and me.
“Of course you are. I’ve always had really bad timing.” He laughed, but retained every confidence; much like the way Chris brushed things off with ease.
The attraction between us bounced back and forth and I was annoyed by it. Why are the good ones single when you aren’t? “Maybe we can have coffee some time,” I added, but regretted it, unsure why I could never just say “no.”
“You know, I’m going to take you up on that invitation.”
It was after nine when we got home, which meant Dad was close to turning in for the night—the end, in sight. He, Sam and Andrew threw a cookie party in the kitchen in celebration of Sam’s showing at the science fair. I congratulated her with a hug and made a graceful exit to my office, listening to their voices in the distance.
My visit with Jeremy pedaled through my thoughts—I felt sick to my stomach, disgusted with myself, to think about the way I’d still felt attracted to him. I’d rationalized the flirtation at the time because it seemed wasteful to refuse the attention of a good-looking man. Replaying it in my head made it so much worse, thinking about who considered me his girlfriend and what he would’ve thought if he’d seen the exchange for himself.
I took my phone to my room, telling everyone I had a headache, only half of a lie. Chris didn’t answer and I left a pathetic message, feeling more torn and regretful with every passing syllable. I must’ve said, “I miss you” twenty times.
The hole in me, the one that would never close, burned. These were the moments when I missed my mom the most; she was an expert at stepping back from a situation and distilling it, figuring out what was truly bothering me. She could always see everything that I couldn’t.
I closed my eyes and focused, calling up every memory of her voice and physical being, every mannerism I could remember. I saw her, a shadow of strawberry blonde with a constellation of faded freckles across her nose and perfectly penciled auburn eyebrows. I struggled with words as I soaked up her pale blue eyes and welcomed the sting in my own. She listened with a mother’s patience, never judging, understanding how much Chris was changing everything inside me.
Chapter Thirty-Two
We checked under the guest bed for stray socks and then we checked again. “Dad, it’s not a big deal. If you leave something, I’ll mail it to you.”
“Then you’re just giving money away to those fat cats down at the post office.”
I faked my way through the final survey on my hands and knees, still sweaty from my run early that morning. “It’s the post office,” I mumbled.
My mood lightened once he was finally packed and at the door. “Thank you for everything, Dad. Love you.”
He gave me what he’d call a hug, a shoulder to my neck and a double slap on the back. “You’re welcome, Ladybug. I want you to think about everything we talked about. You should go out to dinner with that Jeremy. He’s a looker. I know that’s important to you.”
I was prepared to say anything to make him get in his car. “I’ll think about it.” When the phone rang, I had an excuse to shoo him into his midnight blue Le Baron. “Gotta run. Call me when you get home.”
The caller ID said it was my sister, Julie, and I had the sinking suspicion that Dad was waging a campaign.
“Hi, Jules. What’s up?”
“How’s my baby sister?”
“I’m fine. Dad just left to go back to Asheville.”
“Dad was there?”
I groaned quietly. “Let me guess. He called you yesterday and asked you to talk to me. I haven’t heard from you in months.”
“The phone works both ways, Claire.” She cleared her throat. “Fine. Dad put me up to it. He’s worried about you and he doesn’t like your new boyfriend. He told me about the photos. I had to look it up online because I didn’t believe him. I don’t read those magazines.”
I never should’ve underestimated the snooper. That was a rookie mistake. Of course, he would ultimately find out about the magazine. He’d probably dug through Samantha’s backpack. If he disliked the idea of Chris before, he loathed him now. “Dad’s just mad because I didn’t tell him everything from the beginning.”
“Then why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”
I obliged her with the abbreviated version of the story, hitting the high points and leaving out the more tawdry details.
“So, Christopher Penman is the guy from Banks Forest, the band you were obsessed with in high school?” Julie always liked the geeky bands that the boys were into like Styx and Rush. Those guys were old when we we
re in high school. “How weird is that?” She seemed to be edging toward girly delight of the story, which was much more fun.
“I was dying when I found out I was going to get to interview him so there were some very surreal moments when the other stuff happened.”
“Have you had sex with him?” She whispered, funny because her kids were at school and she works from home.
“Julie. He’s handsome and charming and took me on vacation to a secluded island.” I waited for the right words. “Think about it. The man was my ultimate teenage crush.”
She squealed on the other end of the phone. “Oh my God. Is it rude if I ask what he’s like, you know, in bed? He must know stuff that other guys don’t know.”
The blood rushed to my face—my sister and I did not discuss such things when we lived in the same house. “No, it’s not rude, you’re my sister. But, that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you. Let’s just say that I’m extremely satisfied.” I was glad she couldn’t bust me on the enormous smile plastered to my face.
“Oh, come on. Tell me one thing. I’ve been having sex with the same man for the last eighteen years.”
“Jules, I really care about him. It’s too private.”
“Okay, I get it. Be careful though. I don’t want you to get your heart broken.”
“Yeah, thanks, I’m working on it. I’ve got to hop in the shower, but let’s try to not be strangers.”
Halfway up the stairs, the doorbell rang and I felt like re-enacting the temper tantrum Sam threw when she was three and I’d taken her shoe shopping. I stomped down the stairs, opened the door, and my stomach crumpled into a knot. There stood Jeremy while my stringy runner hair clung to the side of my face.
“Claire, hi.” His eyes began to dart; down at the front step, at the threshold, before he seemed to become comfortable with the sight of me. “I didn’t want to drop in unannounced, but I don’t have your cell number and then I remembered where you live from the time the girls had a sleepover. I was running an errand before lunch and I was just a few blocks away, and…I’m sorry if this is a bad time.”
I wasn’t sure if it was better to apologize for my appearance or ignore it, but the latter seemed like less work. “No, it’s fine,” I said, waving it off. “Here.” I invited him in and jogged to my office, snapping up a business card and handing it to him as we met halfway, in the living room. “This has all my numbers.” I folded my arms across my body, masking my grubby t-shirt.
“I was hoping to take you up on your offer to have coffee.”
“You know, I shouldn’t have offered. I don’t think my boyfriend would like it.”
He grinned and all I could think about was how salty and gross my face was. My pores were probably visible from space.
“It’s only coffee.” His eyes were warm and earnest and different in the mid-day light. Damn him and his timing.
“I know, but he’s kind of the jealous type,” I said, now trying anything.
He cocked his head. “You’d think a guy like that wouldn’t need to be jealous.” He smiled again, a handsome set of teeth nestled between very inviting lips.
“Oh.” I cast my eyes down. “I didn’t think you knew.” I tightened the wrap of my arms around me.
“I’d have to be living under a rock. It was all people were talking about last night. Nice picture, by the way, the one on the beach. One of the moms showed me.”
My shoulders rose and stubbornly stayed. “I’m sorry. Maybe some other time.”
“Call me if you change your mind.” He started to leave, but stopped and when he turned back, I knew exactly how good he smelled. “I’m serious about that. Call me if things don’t work out. Then I can take you on a real date.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The phone wasn’t cutting it, at all. Ten days had passed without seeing Chris and I felt more on edge as every hour came and went. He had tried to find a time to come to Chapel Hill, but something always managed to push things back for a few days. I’d hoped to convince my dad to come and stay with Sam for the coming weekend, but he was having none of that, his thinly veiled attempt at keeping me away from Chris.
When Chris called that afternoon, I had an intense desire to cry. I only felt lonelier every time I said goodbye and the last talk had ended awkwardly, with a failed attempt at phone sex. He had said he needed to feel closer to me and I just couldn’t say the words without feeling like an idiot.
“Hi, honey,” I said, trying to sound happy.
“Claire. Hi.” His voice was uncertain, tentative. “Do you have a minute? I need to talk to you about something.”
“Of course. What’s wrong?” I sat on the edge of my bed and pushed back to lean against the headboard.
He sighed. “Elise did an interview with the LA Times about her book. It came out this morning. There are bloody photographers staked out at the end of my driveway. The phone’s been ringing off the hook.”
“Crap. That’s awful. I’m sorry.”
“I knew this was going to happen but I forget what a circus it is. It’s going to get worse with her book coming next week.” His voice trailed off and it hurt to imagine what the strain was doing to his perfect face.
“Come here,” I blurted. “Get on a plane and come here. No more letting other stuff get in the way.” My heart pounded at the thought of seeing him again.
“Are you sure? I’m just springing this on you.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Get on a plane.”
“I probably can’t catch anything before the redeye. I wouldn’t get in until tomorrow morning.”
“Just get on the plane.”
****
The hollows beneath his eyes told me how much everything weighed on him. Still, life surged when Chris smiled and I was plunged right back into his familiar hypnotic presence. Our greeting was entirely different than when I’d gone to visit him. We embraced without a kiss, clinging to each other. I turned my face into his chest and took in his superhuman scent, closing my eyes, intensely grateful to have him back. Relentless bursts of cold morning air forced us to part and we rushed to get in the car while he reminded me to relinquish my car keys.
“Are you sure you want to drive? You look exhausted.” I couldn’t keep my hands to myself, slipping one underneath the collar of his distressed leather jacket as he moved the seat back.
“Yes, I’m sure. It’ll keep me awake.” He leaned in for the kiss I was still waiting for, long, but sweet. The traffic guy ruined the romance with an obnoxious blow of his whistle and a gesture to move us along. Chris muttered, “Bugger off,” as he sped away.
When we got to the house, he dropped his heavy black suitcase to the floor as if he was home. Seeing him have that inclination at my house brought a smile to my face, even if he likely had no idea what he’d done.
“Will you come upstairs and talk to me until I fall asleep?” He loomed over me with his tired green eyes, working his fingers through my hair. The redeye flight wasn’t meant for people who weren’t able to sleep or read on the plane.
“Of course.”
I loved seeing Chris’s tall frame at the sink in my bathroom splashing water on his face. He changed into pajama pants while I lowered the roman shades. It was overcast and blustery outside, the wind whipped against the windowpanes, but it was all for the best. He needed sleep.
He pulled back the fluffy white comforter and climbed in on what was now his side of the bed. He kicked out the flat sheet from the tuck at the bottom of the mattress. I’d forgotten that he didn’t like the way it would squish his feet.
“Much better.” He secured my hand beneath his as I leaned against the headboard, propped up on pillows. “I don’t know if I could be any happier right now.”
“But this must be bothering you, at least a little. Do you want to tell me what was in the article?” We’d mutually skirted anything of consequence in the car, to enjoy being together again.
He took a deep breath and tilted his head toward me. “She said
that I cheated her out of money in the divorce.” There was an unfamiliar pain in his eyes. “Technically, she didn’t say anything that was untrue, it just sounds worse coming out of her mouth.”
“Like what?”
“She said that I hid assets because the St. Barts house is in my mum’s name and I have some accounts that her lawyers suspected I had, but never found. Stuff like that. She’s right about both things, but I’d never admit that to anyone but you. I only did what the accountant told me to do.”
“But she still got what she deserved, right?”
“I guess. I didn’t think she deserved anything by the end, but I suppose she was entitled to something.” He worked his thumb under my bracelet. “Can we talk about this later?” His voice softened with every word as he gave in to sleep. “Being here makes this much easier.”
I pushed back an unruly tuft of his hair, noticing one or two grays, and kissed him on the forehead. His warmth made my mouth want to stay. “Get some sleep.”
He quickly drifted off once he closed his eyes and I couldn’t give up the opportunity to study him in the soft light. I’d never noticed that one of his forearms was hairier than the other. Nor had I seen the tiny scar at his temple. I smoothed his hair, which caused him to mumble and smack his lips. Once he was back in a deeper sleep, I set my head down on the bed and closed my eyes.
It was hard to imagine my life a few months ago, when Sam and I had a perfectly good and quiet existence. Now everything was the opposite of quiet, crazy and inexplicable. Yet, I’d never felt like my life was more full, especially when he was with me.
I managed a few hours at my desk, but it was distracting to think about Chris asleep upstairs. I wondered how long he could stay, when he’d have to leave, and then I worried about feeding him. I was woefully unprepared for the beautiful bottomless pit. He would need food and lots of it.
There were footsteps soon after I returned from the grocery store and I waited at the kitchen counter, a smile plastered across my face. Chris bowled me over with the appeal of his lopsided hair, as if there was a neon sign flashing “Put Your Hands Here” above his head. I was ready to turn him around and steer him upstairs, but Sam was due home any minute and as fast as we could be, I didn’t want to rush.