Chapter 9 Claire
Dinner with her sisters didn’t turn out as Claire hoped.
The chicken tetrazzini recipe that Good Housekeeping had promised would impress her guests turned out to be a gluey mess, and the Jell-O salad didn’t set properly. Red was as talkative as a stump and Frannie sulked. Claire filled the silence with questions about home, pretending all was well.
“Dinner was delicious,” Bridget said as if it were the truth.
“I’ll take care of the dishes,” Red offered when they finished eating the icebox cake Claire had made for dessert.
“Goodness, Claire,” Bridget said, standing up with her plate and taking it to the sink. “You have him trained well.”
Claire saw Red’s jaw twitch. It was just something people said, but why did Bridget have to rub him the wrong way at every turn?
Frannie left her plate on the table and went to the living room where Jenny was on a blanket, kicking and wiggling. “I’ll stay here and play with the little ankle biter. That way, you two can complain about me.”
“Grab your sweater,” Claire said. “It gets chilly when the wind comes up.”
Bridget took up the sweater that matched the slacks and blouse she changed into for dinner, but she hesitated before following Claire. “Is it safe?”
Claire stopped halfway out the back door. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, do we have to worry about bears?” she asked. “Or . . . snakes?”
Claire couldn’t help but laugh at her sister’s expression. “Come on, scaredy-pants. I’ll protect you.”
Bridget followed Claire out the door, past the horse shed and the pasture where Rosie and Bess were swishing their tails and grazing.
The sun was sinking behind the mountains, the blue of the sky deepening, the breeze rippling the silver grasses like waves.
It was the prettiest time of day. Claire told herself the tension she’d felt since Bridget came off the bus would disappear as soon as they had a good talk.
Bridget picked her way along the trail, looking carefully at each clump of buffalo grass. “Stop worrying,” Claire said. “Rattlesnakes are more afraid of you than you are of them.”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Bridget muttered.
Claire figured this wasn’t the time to tell Bridget about the snake she killed earlier in the summer.
She’d heard the telltale rattle coming from between the bales when she was feeding the horses and brought the pitchfork down on it without pausing to be afraid.
Claire had been awfully proud of herself after she stopped shaking, but she doubted Bridget would see it that way.
They reached a gorgeous spot on the river where the water sparkled in the shallows and darkened in deeper pools. A cloud of gnats hovered over the water and the aspen trees on the far bank shivered in the breeze.
“I’m sorry about Frannie.” Bridget slapped at a mosquito. “Dad was at his wits’ end.”
He must have been. Claire couldn’t imagine him alone in that big house, all his girls far away. Bridget had made a quick telephone call to let him know they’d arrived safely, and Claire could tell from how he kept her on the phone that he was already lonely. “How long does he want her to stay?”
“The rest of the summer,” Bridget said with an apologetic face.
A month? That was a long time if Frannie was going to keep pouting. Claire bent down to the wet pebbles along the water, choosing a rock with a jagged vein of quartz. “What am I supposed to do with her?”
“Dad wants her to help you. I’m sure you could use it.” She waved a hand back to the house.
“What does that mean?” Claire couldn’t help the defensive tone in her voice. Here it was, Bridget’s judgement on her life.
“Nothing, Claire,” Bridget said, as if she was overreacting. “It’s just that it’s got to be hard. You’re in the middle of nowhere, and alone.”
“I’m not alone,” Claire said, throwing the stone into the rippling river. “I have Red.”
“You know what I mean.” Bridget frowned. “We’re just worried.”
“We?” Was Claire right in her suspicions? Was this some kind of scheme of Dad’s?
Bridget met Claire’s suspicious gaze. “Yes, we,” she answered. “Claire, you stopped calling, your letters barely said anything. You didn’t even let me come out when Jenny was born. We were both worried.” Her eyes locked on Claire, demanding an explanation.
“As you can see, we’re fine.” Claire waved a hand at the river, the sky, the mountains.
“Are you really?” Bridget asked the question kindly, but it rankled. “This is a far cry from how you grew up.”
Claire clamped her teeth together. Didn’t Bridget understand that was exactly the point? She’d married Red to start a new life—a life utterly unlike the one she left behind. “I’m fine,” Claire snapped. “We’re fine. You and Dad can stop worrying.”
Bridget’s eyes widened and Claire saw a flash of hurt on her sister’s face and felt terrible. Everything she’d done—sacrificing Marigold and cleaning and cooking and making Red miserable—it was all to show Bridget how happy she was. To show Dad how happy she was. Now here she was, picking a fight.
“I’m sorry,” Claire said, crossing her arms over her chest as the wind chilled her skin. “Let’s just enjoy our time together.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Bridget said, like Claire knew she would. “It’s been a long day and that kid sister of ours got on my last nerve.” She turned toward the house. “Forget I even said anything.”
Claire decided she would. It was what the Reilly family did. Pretend everything was fine, even when it wasn’t.