Chapter 6
To Do:
- Buy waterproof mascara
- Get table rental quote
“Luke?”Claire called out as she unlocked his front door. “Could you help me with the groceries?”
Rosie ran inside, her stump of a tail wiggling so hard it was in danger of dislodging. She beelined through the foyer and into the kitchen where Luke stood with a cup of coffee.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, reaching down to rub Rosie’s furry body. She leaned against his leg, panting happily as Claire set two reusable grocery bags on the kitchen island.
“Are you talking to me or the dog?” Claire asked.
“Both.” He walked over and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek.
Rachel cleared her throat noisily at the breakfast nook. Her cup of coffee was still steaming, and her expression suggested she had just watched someone vomit.
Oh, good. Her attitude clearly hadn’t improved since the day before. Why had she insisted on cooking for this dragon of a woman? They could have just gone out to a nice dinner at Mario’s, but no. When Luke dropped the bomb that his mom was staying for a couple of days, Claire had latched on to the opportunity to impress her. What an idiot.
“Nice to see you again, Rachel,” Claire said. She pulled the bouquet of gerbera daisies out of a bag and handed them to her.
Rachel handed them back. “I’m allergic to daisies.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Claire said. Of course she was. “Let me just put these outside.”
She scurried out the front door and closed it behind her, breathing deeply. Strike one. She laid the flowers on the railing of the porch and crossed the yard to her car. In true Pennsylvania fashion, a warm early summer afternoon had taken a sharp turn, the temperature inexplicably dipping down into the fifties. She shivered as she popped open her trunk.
Luke followed her, wrapping an arm around her waist.
“Hey,” he said, spinning her around. “Just breathe. It’s only my mom.”
“Only your mother who thinks I’m a gold-digging topless pool girl.”
“She doesn’t think that. She just doesn’t know you.” He brushed a curl out of Claire’s face. “Don’t let her intimidate you. She’s been like this since the divorce. Dove into work and never came up for air.”
The knot in her stomach did not relax.As he helped her carry the rest of the groceries inside, she forced a cheerful smile and decided she was going to remain positive no matter how many times Rachel rolled her eyes. And maybe she’d hide a bottle of wine in the dishwasher for emergency top-ups.
“How can I help?” Luke asked, rolling up his sleeves and revealing some swoon-worthy forearms.
“You should spend some time with your mom,” she said as she tied on an apron. “I can get things started in here.”
Plus, it would prevent her from flinging a frying pan full of bacon-wrapped scallops into Rachel’s smug face.
“I would love a walk,” Rachel added, standing.
“Okay. We’ll take Rosie,” Luke said, grabbing her leash from its peg by the front door. “Call me if you need anything.”
Rachel puckered her withered lips together as though she was smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
Claire shuddered as she turned back to the kitchen island. The second the front door slammed, she piped some metal music through the kitchen’s built-in speaker system and set her mind to preparing dinner.
Footsteps fellon the front porch twenty minutes later, and she quickly flipped her phone to a classical music station. She could only imagine what Rachel would have to say about Claire’s favorite band, Nightsmear. She straightened her apron as Rachel and Luke walked inside.
“Oh, I love Prokofiev,” Rachel said as she removed her cashmere scarf, adopting a thick Russian inflection on the last word.
Claire froze with a spatula in her hand. What or who was Prokofiev? Her gaze darted from the mushrooms in her frying pan to the bottle of vodka on top of Luke’s wet bar.
“Remember how you used to play the third piano concerto for me after a bad day? So dynamic,” Rachel said, removing her coat with a flourish and handing it to Luke.
Who spoke and acted like this? Was she a villain on a telenovela?
Luke laughed. “My fingers would cramp up, but it was worth it.”
Claire smiled in spite of the icy presence in the room. The thought of a lanky teenage Luke bent over a piano softened her heart.
“It smells great in here.” He stepped around the kitchen island and inspected the contents of the pan.
“Excuse me,” Rachel said, disappearing down the hallway.
“How was your walk?” Claire asked, setting a wooden bowl of tossed salad onto the island.
“It went well. The ice queen routine is part of my mother’s enduring charm. You shouldn’t take it personally.”
“Lovely,” she said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “Did you tell her about the thing?”
“I did.”
“And you made it clear to her that I’m not a gold-digging tramp?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to lie to her.”
She rammed her elbow into his side.
He laughed and spun her around, pressing her against the countertop. He buried one hand in her hair and planted a sensual kiss on her neck. Claire closed her eyes, body warming at his touch. Her limp hand barely held onto the spatula.
“Ahem,” said a small voice from the foyer.
Luke sprang back, taking a few strands of hair with him.
“Ouch.” Claire pressed a hand to her skull.
“So, Chloe. I hear you were kidnapped by one of your clients.” Rachel clutched her phone in her raptor-like fist.
Clang. The spatula wobbled on the tile. Particles of sauce and bacon streaked across the white cabinets.
What in the actual hell?
Luke opened his mouth to speak, eyebrows already drawn together, but Claire grabbed his wrist. He picked up a dish towel and wiped at the sauce on the cabinets.
“It’s Claire, actually. I’m sure Luke mentioned that,” Claire said coolly, picking up the spatula and washing it in the sink. The shock was starting to recede, but she still felt as though she had been blindsided by an avalanche. Was this how she treated all of Luke’s girlfriends?
“Right. Claire. Such an old-fashioned name. Must have slipped my mind,” Rachel said, but she didn’t sound sorry. It sounded like a calculated move, but Claire wasn’t about to bite.
“I would love a glass of wine, by the way,” Rachel continued smoothly, as though she hadn’t just brought up the taboo topic of the evening. She sat carefully on one of the bar stools and neatly crossed her ankles. Her nude pumps didn’t have a single scuff mark. “Just the one, though. I have a lot of preparing to do for the work week after dinner. What’s the first course?”
Of course she would assume there were multiple courses. Good thing Claire had gone the extra mile. “Bacon-wrapped scallops,” Luke said. Claire had emailed him the menu the day before.
Claire took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Maybe Rachel just wanted to address the elephant in the room and get it out of the way. “I recommend the Sancerre,” she said, parroting what she had studiously read on the internet earlier. She drew a bottle from the wine fridge and handed it to Luke.
“Hmm. Sancerre. Is that your favorite wine, Claire? Maybe the kind you were drinking the night of your alleged kidnapping?” Rachel pried, drumming her manicured nails on the countertop.
“Mom, what the hell?” Luke slammed the bottle on the counter.
Claire stared at her blankly. Apparently, this interrogation was not going away. “You know, I don’t remember what wine there was at the party. It probably has something to do with me getting chloroformed halfway through.”
“Regardless,” Rachel said, sliding her empty wine glass toward Luke, “with the addition of bacon, I should think a dry rosé would be more appropriate. Do you have anything like that, Lucas?”
Claire’s hands went numb.
“I think I have a bottle of rosé in the wine cellar. Let me look.” He slid the Sancerre back into the wine fridge. He disappeared down the basement stairs, closely followed by Rosie. Great, he had left her alone with the enemy.
Claire turned back to face the oven so Rachel couldn’t see her rolling her eyes. Not only did she mention the kidnapping twice, she second-guessed her hostess on the wine selection. What a contemptible, tactless twatwaffle. Rachel’s gaze penetrated the back of her neck, but she wasn’t about to turn around.
Luke came back with a bottle of rosé and, for some reason, his toolbox. He poured three glasses of wine, passing one to his mother and one to Claire. He left his on the counter and flipped open the top of the toolbox. He pulled out a screwdriver and began tinkering with the basement doorknob.
“Delightful,” Rachel said, sampling the rosé. “So, Claire. We were discussing your abduction.”
“Mom,” Luke said with a warning in his voice.
Claire, who had begun plating the bacon-wrapped scallops, dropped the frying pan onto a trivet with a bang. Her hands shook. Emotions she had been unwilling to acknowledge for the past week were bubbling to the surface. An eruption was coming, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.
She slammed an appetizer plate and a fork in front of their guest. If she was irredeemable in Rachel’s eyes, there was no reason to hold back. She pressed both of her hands to the granite countertop and made direct eye contact with Rachel.
“You know, Rachel, you didn’t strike me as the type to play the pretend-to-accidentally-forget-your-son’s-girlfriend’s-name-in-order-to-undermine-and-demean-her card. I definitely didn’t have you pegged as someone to play the ask-your-son’s-girlfriend-about-the-most-traumatic-thing-to-ever-happen-to-her-while-she’s-making-me-a-five-course-dinner card. I understand that you caught me in an awkward situation yesterday, and maybe you’re upset with Luke for not telling you he was seeing someone.”
She gestured at Luke. He was frozen, holding the latch assembly for the door in one hand.
“Maybe you even think I’m a worthless idiot because my career is devoted to making people happy. The truth is, I don’t care what you think of me. I was stalked and hunted, abducted and tortured. I stared into the eyes of the West Haven Widowmaker as he carved into my flesh with a hunting knife.” She dragged her blouse to the side, revealing the bandage.
There was a flicker of something in Rachel’s eyes. Was it sympathy? No, she was probably suppressing a fart. Ice Queens didn’t audibly fart.
“This whole mean girl routine has probably served you well in the courtroom over the years,” Claire continued, waving her hand in a circle, “but let me assure you, I am not afraid of you. So, I would appreciate if you could cut the bullshit. Now please eat your scallops, they’re getting cold.”
There was a ringing silence, like the aftermath of an explosion. Claire maintained steady eye contact until Rachel picked up her fork and nodded.
“Fair enough,” Rachel said, and speared a scallop. She popped it into her mouth. “These are adequate.”
“Thank you,” Claire said, pulling bowls from the cabinet with more force than was necessary. Alice would have been horrified at her outbursts. It was a good thing her mother was in Florida and wouldn’t be arriving until tomorrow morning. Crap, she needed to leave early enough to pick her up from the airport. She made a mental note and moved on.
Luke came to stand by Claire’s side. He put one hand on the small of her back. Maybe she was imagining it, but his breath seemed shaky. “Claire’s been through more than most people go through in their entire life. If you can’t find another topic of conversation and show her some basic respect, you need you to leave now.”
Rachel set her fork down. “Now, Lucas?—”
Luke silenced her with a steely glare.
“Perhaps I’ve been a bit…unkind.” Rachel slowly pushed her appetizer plate away and folded her hands in front of her. “I’m a curious person, and that wasn’t appropriate. I apologize.”
“Great,” Claire said, snatching her plate. Surely smashing it over Rachel’s head would be more satisfying than dumping it in the dishwasher.
“I’m going to get more wine,” Luke announced, stomping back down the basement stairs.
Claire prickled. He had defended her, which was nice. But he had just left her alone with the enemy. Again. And now the basement door didn’t have a doorknob. What if she needed to storm down there in the middle of dinner? You couldn’t slam a door with no knob.
“So, Claire,” Rachel began. Oh, boy. Ice Queen wasn’t done with her questions. At least she had gotten the correct name this time. “What are your intentions with my son?”
“Excuse me?” Claire asked, spinning around. She had been immersed in her plans to crack a sleeping pill into Rachel’s wine glass.
Rachel leaned forward, and her green eyes bored into Claire’s. It was almost like an evil, female Luke staring back at her. Had she and Luke ever tried the face swap app? “Your intentions.”
“Oh, I’m just using him for his pool.” Claire pulled a potato peeler out of the cutlery drawer. She wasn’t going to win any brownie points with this one. Her beloved-by-mothers streak was one hundred percent broken. Just like her business’s reputation for happily ever afters. She might as well lean into the slide.
“Clever. Are you seeing each other exclusively?”
“I—yes.” Claire hesitated. Luke had said a couple weeks ago that there wasn’t anyone else after she had not-so-subtly interrogated him about his reputation of being a ladies’ man.
“And you are living here?” Rachel asked.
Where had he gone to get more wine, Siberia? Claire slid the garbage can out and viciously peeled a potato. Rosie stood next to the can, on high alert for scraps. “No. I have my own apartment in the city. But I do stay here sometimes due to needing constant bandage changes from the stabbing that you enjoy bringing up so much.”
“I see. What do your parents do for a living?” Rachel continued her cross-examination. There was no denying her occupation.
“My mother is…an entrepreneur.” Better to gloss over her mother’s psychic television career. Why was she answering this evil woman’s questions? Their conversation was hardly less awkward than silence. Maybe she was making an effort to get to know Claire? “My stepfather is a mechanic and handyman.”
“And your biological father?”
Luke walked into the room and paused mid-step, dangling a bottle of Riesling precariously by its neck. He had never heard the answer to this question either.
Claire bristled. For a prickly curmudgeon who couldn’t manage to get her name right, Rachel sure had a lot of personal questions. She didn’t owe her any more details. But maybe Luke had a right to know. “He hasn’t been in the picture for twenty years. I have no idea what he does for a living.”
“Hmm,” Rachel said noncommittally as Luke refreshed her glass of wine. Rachel didn’t protest, so she apparently didn’t plan to stick to her one-glass rule. Hopefully, some booze would lubricate her enough to remove the ten-foot pole from her ass.
Luke gave Claire’s hand a reassuring squeeze as he passed her and returned to tinkering with the doorknob. He eventually reattached it, twisting it several times, then came hesitantly back into the kitchen as though expecting a bomb to go off. He picked up a knife and began dicing the potatoes Claire had just peeled.
She took the opportunity to turn her back to Rachel and toss some scallops into her mouth. Screw Rachel—they were better than adequate. She set a plate with the rest of the scallops next to Luke and washed the frying pan.
“You said you had a sister?” Rachel asked, smoothly transitioning to a new topic.
“I didn’t say that, actually.” How did she know that? Luke must have told her more than he admitted to on their walk. “But yes, Charlie. She lives in Los Angeles.” She opened the oven to glance at the chicken marsala, refusing to make eye contact.
“Any nieces or nephews?”
“Enough with the questions,” Luke half-shouted. “Leave her alone. Why don’t you tell us about the case you’re in town for?”
“There isn’t much to tell,” Rachel said. She drummed her manicured nails on the countertop.
“Really?” Luke raised his eyebrows. “Earlier you said it was one of the riskiest cases you’ve ever worked on.”
“Yes, well, that’s neither here nor there,” she said evasively. “How’s your latest project coming, Lucas?”
He threw the potatoes into a pot and emptied the bagged salad into bowls. He launched into the story of his scheduled interview with Jennifer Heiser’s mother.
By the time the main course was ready, Rachel had picked through her salad, drunk a third glass of wine, and not-so-subtly commented on the lack of cloth napkins. In the meantime, Luke had applied lubricant to a squeaky cabinet door, fixed a wobbly chair in the dining room that was never used, and aggressively mashed the potatoes.
Rachel and Luke discussed work, and the hostility in the house downgraded by a centimeter. In fact, Rachel seemed to have forgotten that Claire was there at all, and instead turned her full attention to Luke. She barely looked at her chicken marsala and garlic mashed potatoes as she raised a bite to her lips. They discussed Luke’s work and then Rachel’s most recent case, in which she had gotten a corporate embezzler off with just a fine.
“I had a lovely dinner at George and Stella’s last week,” Rachel said, setting her fork down. “Stella made a croquembouche. I adore being her dessert guinea pig.”
Luke stiffened, and Claire couldn’t tell if he was offended by the mention of the couple or the dessert. The names didn’t ring a bell.
“I don’t want to talk about George, Mom.” He abruptly stood up from the island and carried his plate to the dishwasher.
Claire paused with a mushroom on her fork. She looked back and forth from Luke to his mother as if they were in the middle of a tennis match. Claire’s phone buzzed on the counter, signaling an incoming call, but she didn’t reach for it.
“You don’t care about your only brother?” Rachel asked.
“You have a brother?” Claire reeled as though she had been slapped across the face. Luke had outright said he didn’t have a brother several times in the brief period that she had known him.
“You never told her about George?” Rachel asked incredulously.
Claire’s mouth dropped open. Was there no end to the infantry of skeletons in Luke’s closet? What else was he hiding?
“George isn’t part of my life anymore.” He grabbed a butter knife. His knuckles were as pale as the glob of potatoes on his plate.
For the umpteenth time that evening, Claire seethed. She set her fork down before she stabbed it into someone’s neck. Of course there were more secrets, more lies. She had had enough of those for a lifetime.
“Sophia will be five soon,” Rachel said softly. She didn’t seem to notice Claire’s quiet rage. “She hasn’t seen you since her second birthday.”
There was a niece too?If George and Stella had a dog, Claire was going to lose her shit.
“I have some work to do,” Luke said, throwing his chair back. “Good night.”
Luke stomped down the long hallway and closed his office door with a snap. The door popped back open a second later, and he stomped back to the kitchen, taking the cleared plates and putting them in the dishwasher.
“Thank you for dinner. It was delicious. I’ll clean this up tomorrow, and I’ll pick you up in the morning,” he said rigidly, kissing Claire on the cheek before disappearing again.
A ringing silence was left in his wake. Rachel’s pencil-thin eyebrows knitted together.
Claire’s phone buzzed again, and she excused herself, happy to get out of the kitchen.
“Hello?”
“Claire, it’s Kyle.”
“Oh, hey. What’s up?”
“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but we need to discuss the hearing. Just to prepare you for what might happen. Any chance you could come over?”
Dread snaked through her like hot lead. After Rachel’s hostilities, she had almost forgotten that Barney’s preliminary hearing trial was happening tomorrow.
“Oh. Yeah, I could do that.” She clutched a wall for support.
“Breathe, Claire. Remember, this is just the hearing. It’ll be short, and you may not even be called into the courtroom. We have more physical evidence for your case than most prosecutors could get in a year’s worth of cases. This is going to be a slam dunk.”
She exhaled noisily. “Okay. I can do this. I’ll be there in like fifteen minutes,” she said. “Oh, wait,” she said, bringing her phone back up to her face so quickly she nearly dropped it.
Claire tiptoed through the living room to the rarely used dining room, hiding from Rachel.
“What do you know about Luke’s brother, George?”
“Ah,” Kyle said, sighing deeply. “Haven’t heard his name in a while. I think that’s a story that Luke had better tell you himself.”
Disappointing, but… “Okay. Bros before hoes, I get it. See you in a minute.”
She hung up and walked back to the kitchen. Rachel was examining her reflection in her wineglass.
“I’m sorry, Rachel. I’m needed at work. There’s banoffee pie and coffee if you’re interested.”
Claire whistled for Rosie and bolted from the house, leaving her lying boyfriend locked in his office and his wretched old mop of a mother slumped at the island. That was enough Islestorm interaction for one day.