Chapter 24 #2
“Pete said you’d been away in Florida caring for her, and that you’d be back tonight. And here you are,” Martha pauses, her eyebrows raising. “In such…interesting clothes. You know it isn’t a costume party, right?”
Of course. Pete wouldn’t let anyone think something was wrong. She does feel somewhat guilty for not calling Martha to tell her what’s happened, but the idea of explaining and justifying her decision was exhausting. Now she doesn’t have much choice.
“I’m not back,” Claire says. She crosses her arms, grounding herself in her interesting clothes. “I’m leaving.”
Martha blinks. She touches Claire’s arm lightly. “You’re going home? It’s nearly midnight. Can’t you wait a tick until the New Year?”
“I’m leaving Pete,” Claire says, more clearly.
The music from Jackie’s house seems louder in the ensuing silence.
“You’re…” Martha shakes her head, as if those three words are unintelligible. “Claire, that’s just wacky. I know you’ve been having little tiffs, but…”
“It’s not the fights. It’s every moment of our relationship since the day he asked me to the homecoming dance when I was sixteen,” Claire says, looking again towards the music. “You’re not going to convince me otherwise, Martha. I’m done with this.”
“You don’t really mean divorce, do you?” Martha whispers. “Did Pete step out on you? Is there some other woman?”
Claire can’t help it—she laughs. The irony of it is simply too much.
There is another woman, as it turns out. It just isn’t Pete whose eyes have strayed.
“It doesn’t matter why. I’ve told him about it already. I have a place to live, and a job,” Claire says. “And I imagine you and the others won’t want to associate with a divorced woman.”
“Well, I—I—” Martha stammers. Her cheeks have gone pink.
“It’s alright. You don’t need to explain yourself. I don’t fit into your life anymore when I’m not part of the couple across the road. And that’s okay,” Claire says, more gently. “Pete will remarry. Probably quickly. You’ll make friends with his new wife, and life will go on.”
“Why can’t you stay?” Martha says, shivering against the cool breeze. “I’m sure things will work themselves out. We just have to grin and bear it, right?”
It seems to float between them, that sentence. What used to be a bond that held them together has become a gulf. Martha is planted firmly on one side, and Claire is heading in another direction.
“Someday, I hope you find someone who appreciates you properly,” Claire says softly. “I truly do.”
Claire looks to Jackie’s house again. The party has only gotten louder. When she turns back, Martha’s eyes are shining in the light of the streetlamps.
“You’ve been…” Martha’s voice wavers. She clears her throat. “You’ve been a good friend.”
It’s probably the closest to acceptance Claire will get from Martha. A sudden surge of affection hits her, and in this last moment together she pulls Martha into a hug. It’s brief, but tight.
“Goodbye, Martha,” Claire murmurs.
Claire leaves her on the lawn. She’s being propelled by something intense to walk up the three steps to Jackie’s front door.
She needs to see Jackie. Whether the door will be closed in her face again or not, Claire needs to know one way or the other where she stands. She needs confirmation. Closure.
The party is riotous. The air is smoky from the moment Claire pushes the door open.
People are in various states of undress all around, and there are at least two strangely-contorted foursomes in progress in the conversation pit.
The door leading to the bedrooms is swinging off the hinges with couples coming and going.
It makes her a little bit ill to think that Jackie might be off somewhere doing that, too.
Claire doesn’t recognize anyone this time, from either of Jackie’s previous parties. She doesn’t know a single person until she runs headlong into someone on her way into the kitchen. They’re evenly matched in stature, of a similar height, and Claire stumbles backward a little.
“Sorry, I—” Claire starts, but the moment she sees the person’s face she loses her train of thought. “Oh, my goodness.”
It isn’t Jackie. It isn’t even Theo. It’s the masculine woman whose photo on Jackie’s wall Claire has been staring at for months, as if she’s walked straight out of the frame and into real life.
She’s just as striking as she is in the picture, short-shorn hair and all.
She has a scar that bisects her right eyebrow that wasn’t there in the photo.
She’s in tight pants, like Claire, and a brown suede jacket.
She regains her balance with an easy confidence.
“Woah there. Something got your feathers ruffled?” The woman says, grinning and steadying Claire by the shoulder.
Claire can hardly find words. Her focus is split; for the first time in a while, Jackie isn’t the primary thing on her mind.
“You’re real,” Claire blurts.
The woman looks at her quizzically. “Do I know you?”
Claire winces. She’s probably coming off like a maniac. She points quickly to the frame on the living room wall just to their right, her face burning hot. “Sorry. Sorry, it’s only—your picture is on Jackie’s wall.”
“Is it?” The woman says. She looks delighted as she follows Claire’s finger. When she sees the photo, she grins wider and leans closer to peek. “Damn! So it is.”
A second person pops up at the woman’s elbow. She’s shorter, with long auburn hair and a bold red lip to match her daring scarlet dress. She winds her arm through the short-haired woman’s, leaning into her, and in an instant Claire recognizes her in more ways than one.
“LeAnn!” Claire says. She laughs, too full of this strange, amorphous joy to keep it in. Now that Claire can see them side by side, it’s obvious that LeAnn is the other woman from the photo—the feminine one, lighting the cigarette. It’s almost too perfect.
“Look who it is—my hero,” LeAnn says, giggling when her beau presses a kiss to the top of her head.
“Darla, this is the woman I told you about. The baby butch who tackled that cop for me, remember?” LeAnne tucks her arm more securely into Darla’s.
Her lipstick is exactly the same shade as a smudged mark on Darla’s collar.
It brings to mind the pink lipstick mark on Jackie’s jaw at that first housewarming party, and where it came from. The reminder burns in Claire, hotter than her own blushing.
“You’re kidding?” Darla says, grinning wide at Claire. She holds out a hand, much like Jackie always does. Fearless. “In that case, I owe you one. I was working that night, and when I heard about the raid, I can’t tell you how happy I was to see LeAnn come home. I’m Darla.”
“Claire,” Claire says, accepting the handshake. It’s firm and spirited. Darla’s hands are calloused, like maybe she does some kind of manual labor. “Claire Fields.”
“You a friend of Jackie’s?” Darla says.
“Something like that.”
“Claire pointed out that we’re on the wall,” Darla says to LeAnn, pointing at the photo.
LeAnn gasps in delight. “Would you look at that. We look great, baby. We should talk to Jackie about buying it.”
Their easy affection with each other sings through Claire’s veins. The touches, the pet names. They couldn’t be clearer about their relationship to each other. They fit together as naturally as anything.
Claire wants that. She wants it with Jackie.
“I’m actually looking for her,” Claire says hopefully. “Have you seen her around?”
Darla claps a strong hand on Claire’s shoulder, tilting her until she’s facing the sliding back door. “She’s out by the pool.”
“In this weather?”
LeAnn shrugs. “She’s seemed out of sorts all night. I think she wanted to be alone.”
Claire’s heart pounds away in her chest. Jackie is just through those flimsy doors, after almost two months of distance. Once Claire opens them, there’s no going back.
Darla and LeAnn start to head towards the conversation pit, but after a few steps Darla stops and turns back around.
“By the way, I like the shirt. Very sharp,” Darla says, winking. “Let me know if you ever want a haircut. My barber knows the deal. She’ll do it for free, if it’s your first.”
Of all the things that have happened in the last hour, this is the one that has Claire’s eyes stinging.
Darla is open and friendly with hardly a single conversation between them, offering her preferred lady barber as if she’s inviting Claire into some kind of exclusive club.
A club where Claire can have short hair and wear the clothes she wants to.
Where she can walk arm-in-arm with the woman she loves.
Some kind of community.
Claire surges forward, pulling Darla into an even tighter hug than she gave Martha.
“Thank you,” Claire whispers. Darla doesn’t hold back, either—she seems to sense that Claire needs this, wrapping her shockingly strong arms around Claire and giving her a good squeeze and a hearty pat on the back before they part.
“Good luck, sweets,” LeAnn says, giving Claire a wink and a gentle tap on the hip before she heads to the conversation pit with her girl.
Claire steels herself, takes a deep breath of smoky air, and she steps through the sliding door.
It’s like stepping into a different world, crossing that threshold and closing the door behind her. The noise of the party muffles. It’s darker out here, just the pool lights flickering white and blue, and the stuffy heat cedes to fresh night air.
Jackie is alone. She’s sitting in a lounge chair at the edge of the pool, bundled in a blanket with her bare knees drawn up to her chest. She’s not wearing any shoes. There’s a martini in her hand, but it’s largely untouched.
Jackie doesn’t turn when she hears the noise of the party spill through the door, or when it closes again. She’s staring listlessly at the water. She’s not wearing her usual makeup, either, and her hair is flat and un-styled—she looks small and sad and beautiful.
Claire’s foot catches on a patio chair. It skids loudly across the stones, and Jackie starts to turn.
“I told you all from the start, no swimming this time. Go back—”
Jackie’s eyes fall on her. There are bags beneath them, dark and heavy, and her cheeks look hollower than the last time Claire saw her, but she’s still utterly gorgeous. For one perfect moment, Jackie’s face brightens.
“Claire,” Jackie breathes.