43. Vivian
Chapter forty-three
Vivian
Sometimes in life, I wish I could be a little meaner and not feel bad about it. I don't want to spend any extended time with Marcie Claire and definitely not an hour alone. The last time I was here for tea was so awkward, but hopefully Chloe doesn’t show up today. I’m going to tell Marcie Claire a small fib that I need to pick up Eloise in an hour, so I can have a designated time to leave. Arriving at the Riley residence, I'm relieved to not see Chloe or Chase's cars. It looks like the only car here is Marcie Claire’s bright red convertible, but I bet Chase’s dad, Clark, is around somewhere.
I put my phone on vibrate and slid it into the pocket of my light blue sundress. It’s probably rude to keep my phone on me but if Savannah needs something while watching Eloise, I need a way for her to reach me. I could also use it as an excuse to get out of this tea early if necessary. The air is a bit brisk for March, so I slip on my soft yellow cardigan before walking up the front porch to ring the doorbell. I wave at Tony the Tank parked right next to my SUV. Before we arrived, he asked if I wanted him to come inside for teatime, but I assured him he could keep watch outside. I don’t even want to be here; I would feel bad subjecting him to Marcie Claire too.
Marcie Claire wastes no time in opening the front door. She briefly looks distraught but quickly schools her features to her signature smile. “Welcome, Miss Vivian! I am delighted you were able to make it today. Come in dear, come in! ”
“Good afternoon, ma’am. Thank you for inviting me.” I walk into her home, and she waves for me to follow as we move through the foyer toward the kitchen. “Let me grab the tray really quick then we can sit in the sunroom. It’s a little breezy for the porch today I think,” she tells me over her shoulder.
“I will happily deal with a brisk March in Tennessee over the snowy March that Chicago is seeing this month. I saw they got an additional four inches yesterday and I do not miss that at all.”
Marcie Claire picks up the tea tray and leads us through a set of French doors into the sunroom, located in the back of the house off the kitchen. There is another set of French doors on the opposite end of the sunroom and a set on one side leading to their back patio and pool area.
With large windows along each wall, the room provides ample sunlight for Marcie Claire's indoor plants. Crisp white walls reflect the light pouring in from the ceiling, made mostly of glass panels. There's a small bar, but everyone knows Clark keeps his best stuff in his den.
We pass a charming built-in bookshelf that I don’t remember being in the room, and I notice another one mirrored across the room. I can’t help but glance over the titles to see what types of books Marcie Claire reads.
“Clark had those shelves put in a few years ago when he got into reading after semi-retiring. I was sick of the piles of books around my house. I don’t understand how he can read as much as he does. To be honest, I find reading rather dull.”
Slightly taken back, I clear my throat before responding, “I can understand and appreciate Mr. Riley’s love for books as an avid reader myself.”
Without missing a beat, Marcie Claire responds, “Oh, of course, that is such a great hobby for you to have, dear! It’s important to find something we love. I would just much rather be out in my gardens.” I try to hold back my smirk as only Marcie Clarie would gloss over the fact she just insulted the hobby I share with her husband without even attempting an apology.
Marcie Claire sets the tray on the glass top wicker coffee table in front of a couch and two sets of chairs. The furniture is coordinating white wicker with a blue floral print on the cushions. “Your gardens have always been beautiful, ma’am.” I nod toward the hydrangeas that surround the exterior of the sunroom. When those bloom, they surround the room in a symphony of cobalt, sky blue, periwinkle, and ivory flowers; coordinating perfectly with the floral print upholstery. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I quickly glance at the screen and see a text from Walker. Slipping my phone back in my pocket, I don’t open the message but will as soon as I leave here. Marcie Claire assumes I’m smiling about her flowers, but really, it's in response to hearing from Walker.
“Thank you dear, I take great pride in what I’ve cultivated and grown over the years. You know, it requires a great deal of effort. I must plan it all out and sometimes it can take years for my vision to come together. But I’m a patient woman when it comes to waiting to get what I want.” Marcie Claire appears lost to her thoughts as she gazes out the window before turning back to me, slipping on her practiced smile once again.
Sitting across from Marcie Claire, I examine her more closely. To an untrained eye, nothing would look out of place, but I know Marcie Claire and something isn’t right. Typically, her hair is perfectly coiffed, but more than a few strands are out of place, and her ponytail almost looks sloppy, usually considered a cardinal sin by Marcie Claire. While her outfit is almost always perfectly coordinated and picture perfect, today her seersucker blouse and navy slacks are slightly wrinkled, and part of her collar isn’t folded correctly.
“How are you, Marcie Claire?” My concern is genuine and for a moment, she looks surprised by my question. But like before, the slip of her mask is so brief anyone else may have missed it. A quiet voice in my gut tells me that something is wrong, but I can’t place my finger on what’s going on.
“You are such a dear to ask, I’m sure you heard the news.” Taking a deep breath, she looks down at her hands to hide the emotion in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t heard anything, is it Frank? Did the transplant fall through?” I set my tea back down on the table and lean over to hand her a tissue from a box on the side table.
“Frank? No, no, he’s fine. His surgery is scheduled, and he should be able to stop dialysis as long as everything goes well. Chase was a perfect match and more than willing to donate a kidney to his uncle. Clark is so relieved, as we all are of course.” Marcie Clarie dabs her eyes, but I don’t sense that they’re happy tears. “I worry about a lot of things, you know? It’s my job as a mother, and I can’t help but do everything I can to protect and help those that I love. You must understand that as a mother, don’t you, Vivian?”
I don’t quite follow where she’s headed with this conversation but a quiver in my stomach increases the feeling that something is wrong. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and I try to keep a neutral face. “I must apologize, I feel like I missed something, ma’am. Did I say or do something to upset you?”
She dabs a few more tears away and waves dismissively at me. “Of course not, dear. You would never do such a thing. I don’t know how to tell you this, and I hate to be the bearer of such disappointing news.” Marcie Clarie takes a dramatic pause and deep breath. “Chase … he proposed to Chloe last night.” Marcie Claire lets a small sob escape. “I’m devastated. But as a mother, I will do whatever is necessary to take care of my family, even when they can’t take care of themselves and I’m forced to save them. ”
My eyes slowly scan the room. Did I enter the twilight zone? Marcie Claire’s admission leaves me even more confused. She’s distraught as though someone died because her son proposed to a woman she doesn’t like. The urge to roll my eyes is strong, but I fight it as best as I can. “I know you and Chloe haven’t always seen eye to eye, but if Chase is happy, that’s what matters, right?”
Her eyes bulge as she raises her chin defiantly. “Absolutely not! How can he settle for someone so … so … so beneath him?” Marcie Claire lets the poised mask fall completely and the vindictive woman I know her to be capable of being sits across from me. “I have done everything to make sure my sons have the best in life at every turn. Even when they don’t want to listen to reason, sometimes people need help making the right decision in life or fixing a problem they created. I’m good at that, as you know. There isn’t a problem out there I can’t fix somehow, and I know what’s best for my boys, even if they can’t see it for themselves.”
I feel my phone vibrate again and fight the urge to take it out. Marcie Claire’s eyes look a bit wild, and my gut reaction is to not make any sudden movements. “It’s natural for mothers to want what’s best for their babies.” I intentionally ignore her claims of needing to fix our children’s lives.
“Yes! Exactly, you get it. I knew you would understand. That girl Chloe Jones is not what’s best for Chase, or for our family. Do you remember her parents? Oh my stars, they were an embarrassment to the town. She is no different. That heifer is crass, thoughtless, and uncivilized. Can you imagine her being a Riley? Ha! Over my dead body. It would almost be comical if it wasn’t so sad. Honestly, she does not deserve our name, and most definitely not our Chase.”
My phone buzzes again in my pocket but I don’t move a muscle as Marcie Clarie continues her tirade, “We all know it should’ve been you, dear.” Marcie Claire looks at me as though she’s not talking like a crazy person. “You must know that in your heart, even if you needed a little help correcting your own mistakes. But I don’t understand why people insist on behaving like fools and waste my generous efforts. I can’t help that I love big and go above and beyond to help people make better decisions. Yet despite all I do, people ignore my efforts, just disrespecting all that I do for them. It doesn’t matter how inconvenient it is for me, but honestly, it’s foolish for people to underestimate my demands.”
Correct mistakes made.
Behaving like fools.
Generous efforts.
My demands.
Inconvenient. Underestimate.
The hairs on my arms stand up as a chill slithers down my entire body. This is too close to be a coincidence; Marcie Claire’s word choices match the verbiage of the anonymous poems Walker and I have been receiving.
“Marcie Claire, I’m not sure what is going on, but Chase and I are friends, that’s all. We were high school sweethearts. I sincerely wish him and Chloe the best.” I try to keep my nerves out of my voice and sound as calm as possible, even though my gut is hollering at me to get out of this room and away from this crazy woman, who is now cackling as if I told her a joke. I have never heard someone cackle like she is, and while she has always been a little scary, for the first time in my life I am genuinely afraid of her.
“No, no, honey I don’t think so. We all know the best would be you and him together. Not that girl Chloe, she isn’t good enough for our Chase, but I can understand. Everyone makes mistakes, and you made yours when you chose that doctor over Chase. But now you can make the right decision. I did what was necessary to give you the rare gift of a second chance to make the right choice.” Marcie Claire calmly picks up and inspects a cookie before adding it to her plate. Looking up at me with a smile, she raises her eyebrows as though she just shared a pot roast recipe and didn’t insinuate she may have been involved in my husband’s murder. She slightly leans in toward me before adding in an eerily calm voice, “And I do hate to waste my efforts, dear.”
My stomach lurches and I’m going to be sick. As the pieces come together, my breath is knocked right out of me. This isn’t possible, I must be confused about what I think she’s saying. “I’m sorry, I’m sure I misunderstood what you’re implying here, Marcie Claire.” I don’t think I am misunderstanding anything but accepting this is insanity.
“Darling, you are smart, and honestly a rare beauty, like my prized roses. No, Vivian, I don’t think you misunderstood anything at all.” Marcie Claire tilts her head to the left as she continues, “I will remove any obstacle that stands between one of my sons and their happiness. I’m sure you can understand that’s what any good mother would do.”
Before I can form a coherent reply, I jump as a door slams shut somewhere and a man bellows from the foyer, “Marcie Claire, where are you?”
Without responding right away, Marcie Claire hums before reaching for a decorative ornate box on the lower shelf of the coffee table and sets it on the glass top. She takes a drink of her tea before running a hand over her hair to smooth it down a little. As she sets her teacup back down on the table, she clears her throat before replying, “Yes dear, we are in the sunroom.” Seconds later, Clark barges into the room and is livid, focusing solely on his wife and failing to notice me at all.
“Hi, darling. How was golf?” Marcie Claire asks, without acknowledging his vibrating rage.
“Golf was unbelievable,” Clark snarls as his eyes fall on me and he notices me for the first time. “Oh, hello, Vivian, I didn’t see you there.” I always liked Chase’s dad, but I don’t recognize this version him. His arrival could be my chance to listen to my gut and get out of this bizarre situation.
“Hi, Mr. Riley. No need to apologize, but you two clearly need to have a private conversation so I’ll just be on my way.” I grab my handbag and stand before Marcie Claire somehow manages to glare politely at me. How does one glare politely? I don’t know but Marcie Claire manages it.
“There’s no need to rush off. Besides, we aren’t done with our tea, dear.” Nodding down to the chair, it’s clear I have not been dismissed. I slowly sit back down, griping the handle of my bag tightly to try and stop my hand from shaking as I attempt to figure out another exit strategy. Clark walks over to the bar and pours himself what looks like a shot whiskey, and he quickly throws it back.
“Thirty-four damn years, Marcie Claire. How could you?” Clark roars at his wife as his nostrils flare and he minutely shakes his head. “James felt awful explaining things to me, but he thought I should be aware of the bullshit that I’ve been living with under my own damn roof.” Clark slams his glass down on the side table, pouring another shot and swiftly downs it. He turns to point at his wife. “You were never going to tell me, were you? What else have you lied about? Are any of them mine?”
In an extremely uncharacteristic move, Clark hurls the shot glass in his hand against the wall above the bookcase. The explosion of crystal against the pristine white wall makes me jump and I clamp my hand over my mouth to prevent any noise from escaping.
“Dear, I don’t know what James told you, but there must be some misunderstanding.” Marcie Claire gives me a look like her husband is the one acting crazy.
“Chase is a perfect match for Frank’s kidney transplant,” Clark says. I don’t understand why this has Clark so upset. This isn’t new information; the entire town was thrilled when Frank found a matching donor.
“Yes dear, it’s marvelous news, but that’s not something to be upset about.” Marcie Claire tries to pacify her husband.
“I am so far beyond upset, Marcie Claire,” Clark continues. “I didn’t think much of it when my brother and I didn’t match. But I learned a lot today. Our different blood types are possible because of our parents, but because of my own AB blood type, it is physically impossible for me to have fathered a child with type O blood.”
My eyes go wide at the realization of his comment, but I try to hide my shocked expression. I need to get out of here before this escalates more.
“This really seems like a private family matter. I really should get going.” I stand and try to make my escape again. Before I can take a single step, Marcie Claire opens the decorative box she set on the coffee table. Reaching in, she pulls out the last thing I expected to see.
What the hell is Marcie Clarie doing with a handgun? I freeze as she raises her arm and points the gun at me.
“No dear, now for the last time I need you to sit back down until we finish our conversation, and I would really appreciate it if I didn’t have to repeat myself again.” Her tone is sinister, and a sense of dread blankets me. My phone vibrates continuously in my pocket as someone calls me repeatedly, but I don’t dare move to answer it. She gestures with the gun toward the chair, and I once again sit back down. My chest tightens as adrenaline pumps through me.
“What the hell?! Marcie Claire, put the damn gun away! What are you doing? Let Vivian leave, this is ridiculous!” Clark steps toward his wife and she turns the gun on him as his eyes bulge .
“Tsk tsk, no, no, no darling, I’m going to need you to stay over there as well. You’re being a tad unreasonable, and I need you to calm down.”
Clark stands there with his hands raised in front of his body, frozen and unsure what to do. “Please tell me more about this enlightening golf game, darling,” Marcie Clarie says to her husband. “I am quite interested in hearing all about it.”
“As one of my best friends, James knew I had the right to know that Chase is not my biological child,” Clark responds.
“And how did he come to that conclusion?” Marcie Claire sneers without denying his accusation.
“You have type A blood.” Marcie nods. “Tommy is type A like you, and Max is type AB like me. It is not possible for someone with type AB blood—like me—to have a child with type O blood.” Clark takes a small step toward his wife.
“No, your brother is type O, so it’s in your genes somewhere. James must be mistaken,” she replies.
“He’s a doctor and that’s not how it works, Marcie Claire. My parents could have children with any blood type, but my children can only be type A, B, or AB. Type O is not possible if a parent is type AB.” Clark takes another small step toward her. “So, who was it, Marcie Claire? Who gave Chase his blood type?”
“Heavens and saints, I do apologize for this outburst, Vivian. We are usually much better at minding our manners.” Marcie Claire turns to me with a manic smile, as if she wasn’t currently alternating between pointing a gun at her husband and me. “This is quite unfortunate, and the timing is really less than ideal.”
“This sounds like a delicate family issue, but of course I would be happy to continue our conversation another time.” I try to keep my voice steady so I sound as brave as possible.
“Darling, I don’t know what it will take for you to realize you are family, or you will be when I get my way.” Marcie Claire leans in and stage whispers to me, “And don’t you know, I always get my way, dear.” As she winks at me.
She winks at me!
This lunatic is officially off her rocker, and I’m stuck in a room with a crazy person who looks far too comfortable wielding a gun toward me. “Yes ma’am,” I agree but I need to somehow figure out how to safely get out of this room—and soon.
“This is quite the unexpected pickle. I apologize for the family drama, Vivian. I’m sure we can all navigate our way to a solution, yes?” Marcie Claire’s eyes are now hysterical with the gun still firmly in her hand. Small beads of sweat slowly run down my lower back as I wish I had a panic button or some way to alert Tony the Tank out front that I’m in trouble.
“I will do whatever I can to help you, ma’am,” I tell her honestly, but not referring to the type of help she’s probably thinking of right now. She can assume I mean helping her get her way but really mean I will help get her locked away in a padded cell to protect everyone from her crazy ass. “I think Chase is a kind, smart, and wonderful man. And I think he’s capable of choosing his own happiness.”
Ignoring my statement, she tells her husband, “Clark, for what it’s worth, I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”
“Were you ever going to tell me the truth?” Clark’s voice is drenched with such betrayal that it’s heartbreaking.
“Honestly? Probably not, it didn’t seem necessary.” Marcie Clarie is acting as though we are discussing the weather and not her son’s paternity. “It was a brief, albeit intense affair, obviously early in our marriage.” Something briefly catches her attention out in the backyard, but she dismisses whatever it was and quickly returns her focus to her husband.
“I want to know who it was,” Clark tells his wife. “Who was it, Marcie Claire? I deserve to know. ”
“Clark, you are Chase’s father. He carries your name. You are all he has ever known, and I don’t think he needs to know anything that has transpired today either.” She directs the last statement more to me than her husband.
“The time for secrets is over,” Clark tells his wife and takes another small step toward her when she looks back at me. She hasn’t noticed how Clark has been inching closer to her whenever she looks my way. I don’t know his plan, but my options are limited so I’ll do what I can to distract her and keep her focused on me.
“You must have had your reasons,” I tell her, trying to sound empathetic to her position.
She leans slightly toward me. “I absolutely did! Angela was my best friend from boarding school. We were in each other’s weddings for goodness’ sake. I never meant for it to happen, but he could be so charming when he wanted to be and was so handsome when he was younger,” she admits to me. “I never asked for any support, but I did make him aware of the … outcome. We decided to keep it between us, but he assured me I could always ask him for anything I needed for Chase.”
“Are you actually fucking kidding me right now?” Clark loses any cool he was trying to hold onto and his voice jostles Marcie Claire. “You slept with your best friend’s husband? And you cheated on me with a fucking mobster!”
Marcie Claire’s face turns to stone as she slowly turns and points the gun back to Clark.
“His alleged business affiliations had nothing to do with our affair, but it was comforting to know I had an ace in my pocket if I ever needed it.” Clark falls to the couch even closer to Marcie Claire and puts his head in his hands. While Marcie Claire looks at him, I notice movement through the sunroom’s windows. I can’t make out what’s going on, but people are moving around in the backyard. Maybe Tony the Tank somehow figured out I needed help. I say a prayer that whoever it is, they are somehow aware of the crazy going on in this room and can help me escape. I focus on the gun so as not to draw attention to the movement outside.
“Gio Bruno? What the hell, Marcie Claire? How many times did we vacation with them and our families? How many times have I shared a meal with the greasy weasel who slept with my wife?!” Clark’s voice escalates from sadness to anger. “How could you do this to us? How could you do this to me ? I bet you two really got a kick out of pulling one over me for so many years.”
“I admit, the family trips were a convenient way for Gio to know Chase without anyone wondering why he would be interested in Chase,” she admits. “If word got out that Gio had another son, Chase might be in danger because of Gio’s … alleged connections, but he would do anything for Chase, I only ever needed to ask.”
“And did you? Did you ask him for something, Marcie Claire?” Clark’s face is cloaked with a grief-stricken expression.
“Not until last year,” Marcie Claire tells him, turning to me. “I asked him to help me correct a mistake that stood in Chase’s way of true happiness. My son deserves his happily ever after and I wanted him to have the best.”
No.
No, no, no.
The blood rushes from my head and the room starts to sway.
“Marcie Claire … no,” I softly say as it all comes together. I really am going to be sick, and if I wasn’t afraid of her shooting me, I would rush to the bathroom.
“It all happened exactly like I knew it would. Once that man was out of your life, I knew you would come back home where you belong. And once you and Chase are officially back together, I will happily welcome that little girl as though she was my own flesh and blood. I’ll be a wonderful grandmother to Ellie,” she callously says, with no inflection of guilt or regret. She still can’t get Eloise’s name right, but what does that matter when she can order a hit on her father?
“What did you do, Marcie Claire?” Clark almost whispers.
Sighing and rolling her eyes as though our shock is an annoyance, she responds with a shrug. “I simply asked Gio to remove the roadblock of Vivian coming home and back to Chase. That’s all.”
“The roadblock being … by roadblock, you mean my husband?” I ask weakly, unable to fully comprehend what she’s saying.
“You never should have chosen that man as your husband, Vivian.” She glares at me. “I told your mama DC was too far away for you to go for college. You should’ve gone somewhere closer to Chase and then y’all never would’ve broken up.”
“Where we went to college had nothing to do with us mutually ending our relationship, Marcie Clarie. We cared for each other, but it wasn’t the kind of love we both deserve in our lives.” I try to get her to see logic, but I don’t think that’s possible right now.
“Your love would’ve evolved. You two belong together but I got sick of waiting for you to figure it out and Chloe was sniffing around Chase—I just could not have that! So, I made a phone call for one single favor. Gio was more than happy to do something for my son’s happiness.”
“At the cost of Trent’s life?” I whisper.
“He was cheating on you and was a terrible husband, dear.” My eyes widen as if that’s an excuse for a man to be killed and a little girl to lose her father.
“But you didn’t know that when you wanted him dead,” I say.
“Honey, but I did. My friend Angela and I were on our annual girls’ trip to Boston, which has some of my favorite shopping on the East Coast, and most people don’t expect that. Imagine my surprise when we were seated for our lunch, and I see your husband canoodling with some hussy in broad daylight. Vivian, honestly, they weren’t even trying to be discreet. And I know it doesn’t look like it now, but I assure you, I did you a favor,” she says. “But once you moved home, you still didn’t follow the plan. You were gallivanting with other men, flirting with men left and right, but not giving my Chase the time of day. Honestly, Vivian, you were wasting a precious gift of the second chance I gave you.”
“The precious gift … as you said in the poems,” I say barely audible. I can’t believe what is unfolding before my very eyes. Faint black spots dance at the edge of my vision and the room has gone from swaying slightly to beginning to spin.
“I needed to communicate my … thoughts without admission. I still haven’t admitted anything, but I will confess to do whatever is necessary for my babies’ happiness. Guilty as charged!” She raises her other hand and laughs like this is no big deal.
“Does that include smashing taillights, slashing tires, and running someone over?” I can’t believe I’m asking but I must know the extent of her crazy. How is this the same woman that chaperoned our elementary school field trips? How is she the mother of one of the nicest guys I’ve ever known in my life?
“When I left my Garden Club meeting and saw you gallivanting like a drunk co-ed, I was so mad and honestly, disappointed. But thankfully, I was also prepared. My garden sheers are an overlooked multi-use tool, the handles are study enough to smash plastic, and it may surprise you how easily the sharp blades cut through rubber. There is a reason I only buy American made tools; it really does make a difference.”
“And Hunter?” I ask.
“Which hunter?” Her brow scrunches in confusion.
“Hunter Miller. The man you ran over with your car.”
“Oh, hush. I didn’t run anyone over. I maybe clipped him a bit, he should’ve been paying closer attention. But not to you!” Marcie Claire shakes her head as she stands and begins to pace back and forth. “No, no, he didn’t need to be giving you anymore attention. I had to nip that in the bud before he could gain any traction with you.”
“Oh, for fucks sake! And what if you got caught?” Clark asks utterly bewildered.
“Caught? Well, I didn’t do anything other than make a phone call asking for assistance, and … okay, maybe I got a little angry around town, but I’m sure Gio would help if I needed to get out of town. He has multiple private planes and our passports are current,” Marcie Claire tells her husband calmly.
She is far too calm for the topic at hand, and she’s clearly completely out of touch with reality right now. Her mental state would be concerning enough, but the fact she’s casually pointing a gun at Clark and me is downright terrifying as she continues, “We could retire in Cuba or somewhere else where extradition isn’t a concern. I’ve always loved the idea of living right on the beach. Doesn’t that sound lovely, Clark? Oooo, I could take Ellie to the beach!”
“Put the gun down, Marcie Claire,” Clark tells his wife.
She bristles at that suggestion. “What? No, this conversation isn’t over. We need to figure out how we bridge this … complication and come together as a family. Surely, we can find a way, yes?” Her eyebrows raise as she nods at me to agree with her. I see more movement behind her in the yard but refuse to draw attention to whatever is happening. If my mama is watching over me right now, I pray she is doing whatever possible to help whoever is out there and somehow get us out of this mess alive.
Clark must give up waiting on her to listen to him. Without saying another word, Clark leaps up off the couch reaching for the gun, but Marcie Claire reacts quickly and turns the gun back on him before he grabs it. As they grapple and struggle for control of the gun, Clark obviously decided it was worth the risk and didn’t think his own wife would shoot him .
But as the clap of the gunshot rings through the sunroom, it’s clear that we have all severely underestimated Marcie Claire.