Chapter 27 Ryan
Ryan
On the way to work on Monday morning, our first day back from spring break, I stop at the coffee shop to get Claire’s favorite—a hot latte with two pumps of hazelnut syrup and two pumps of white chocolate sauce.
She might have already gotten one for herself, but even if she did, I figure I’ll drink it.
It’s all about the small gestures these days.
This morning I’ll have a little face time with her, then this afternoon we’ll work more on the tutoring center.
It’s the perfect way to keep spending time with her, even though we haven’t spoken much since her moving day.
I walk in through the doors of the office at eight thirty and wave at Grace and Betsy. Now that Claire said Grace was making “come hither” eyes at me, I’m extra careful to avoid anything that could be perceived as flirting. “Good morning, ladies,” I call.
“Ryan! I’m glad you’re here,” Grace says.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Claire isn’t here yet,” she says. “She’s usually here by eight, but I haven’t heard anything, which is really unlike her. Maybe she’s having car trouble?”
“Hmm.” I pull out my phone and send her a quick text.
Me
Hey. Everything okay? I’m at work early today (crazy, I know) and wondering where you are.
“I just texted her. I’ll let you know when she responds.”
Grace nods. “Thanks, Ryan.” Even Betsy looks at us with interest. I can’t tell if her eyes are filled with concern or disdain, but she looks upset, too.
I raise the coffee to them as a parting gesture and realize it’s going to get cold by the time Claire gets here.
That stinks. I head over to my cubicle and wait.
I might as well be productive, so I grab a stack of quizzes.
After grading them, the first few problems of an exam, and homework for two classes, it’s ten in the morning, and Claire still isn’t here.
I try calling her number, but it rings a few times and then goes to voicemail. I furrow my brows and type another text.
Me
Hey, getting a little worried. Let me know if you’re okay.
Who else can I check with? I don’t have Zach’s or her parents’ numbers. Maybe they’re listed as emergency contacts? I get out of my seat and go to the front of the office. “Hey, Grace.”
“Have you heard from her?” Grace asks.
I shake my head. “I was wondering if we had her emergency contact information so we could ask her parents or Zach where she is.”
Grace types on her computer and pulls up a spreadsheet. “She listed her parents as her contacts. Do you want to call them?”
I nod, then pull out my phone and type in her mom’s number. It rings a couple of times before I hear Claire’s mom say, “Hello?”
“Hi, Mrs. Beaumont. This is Ryan Matthews, from Coastal Vista Community College. I work with Claire.”
“Yes, I know who you are. Hi, Ryan. How can I help you?”
“Well, Claire hasn’t shown up to work yet, and that’s a little unlike her.”
“Oh.” She pauses. “That’s very strange.”
“I agree. I tried texting and calling her, but I haven’t gotten a response.”
“Let me try. I’ll call you back.”
She hangs up, and I shrug at Grace. “She wants to try first.”
Grace twists her lips to the side, looking nervous. “I hope she’s okay.”
“Me, too.” I wish this didn’t happen, but my mind starts going to some dark places. An accident on the way to work, an intruder in her apartment, Claire lying passed out on the floor…
Thankfully, a minute later, my phone buzzes in my hand—Claire’s mom. I answer the call. “Did she respond?” I ask in place of a greeting.
“No. I tried Zach, too, but he didn’t answer.”
My chest tightens with anger. Zach, her fiancé, is unreachable. Just great.
Her mom continues. “And I would go check on her, but I don’t know where her new apartment is.” Her voice quavers slightly.
“I do,” I say. “I helped her move last week.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Can you go check on her? She probably has a hidden key in the potted plant she keeps by the front entrance.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I get there.”
“Thank you,” she says breathlessly. “I’m so glad you called.”
“Me, too.” I hang up and look at Grace. “Cancel my classes for today. And Claire’s, too. I’m going to check on her.”
“Let me know what happens.” She turns to the computer and starts canceling classes. “I hope she’s okay.”
“Me, too.” I wave goodbye and rush out the door.
Twenty minutes later, I’m knocking on Claire’s front door.
I don’t want to assume anything bad has happened yet, and I don’t want to come barging in with the spare key if she’s able to open the door herself.
But after a minute of waiting, knocking, and waiting again, I dig in her little plant for the key.
Bingo. I insert it into the lock and open the door cautiously. “Claire?”
I don’t hear anything. The apartment is disheveled, but it looks more like the work of someone who was in the middle of unpacking rather than a burglar. I find the fireplace poker and hold it like a baseball bat, just in case someone comes for me.
“Claire?” I say, louder this time, and I hear a low moan from the bedroom. My muscles tense in anticipation. I rush in there and find Claire in her bed.
She looks AWFUL. I’m in love with her, so I’m allowed to say that. She’s sweaty and pale, but she’s shivering and her eyes are pinched shut. She looks otherwise unharmed, though.
I kneel next to her bed and place a hand on her shoulder. “Claire? Are you all right?”
“Ryan?” Her voice comes out scratchy. She opens her bleary eyes. “What are you doing here?”
I smooth the hair away from her face, noting how hot her skin is. “You didn’t show up at work this morning, and I got really worried. We were all worried.”
“We?” she repeats.
“Grace, me—even Betsy. And then I called your mom—”
“You called my mom?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll let her know you’re safe. But you’re burning up. What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”
“Shawna’s little boy. Transformers. Coloring. Huge sneeze in my face.” Her eyelids flutter shut. “So tired.”
The pieces fit together. She must have visited Shawna on Friday and caught something from her son.
I want to let her sleep, but I need more information to help her and decide if we need to go to the hospital.
“Claire?” I ask gently, hoping she’s not already asleep.
“Have you caught the flu yet this year?” This year’s flu has been notoriously aggressive, with scary high fevers, extreme fatigue, and congestion that lasts for weeks.
She shakes her head the tiniest bit. I exhale, slightly relieved only because I already caught the flu over winter break and should be immune. Unfortunately, I also know all too well how absolutely wrecked I was, so I can empathize.
I look around her bare room for any sign of water or tea. “Where’s your water bottle?”
“Can’t find it,” she moans. “Maybe in my car. Took some NyQuil, though.”
Oh, no. She’s probably severely dehydrated, too. If she doesn’t get fluids soon, I’ll have to take her to the ER. “I’ll be right back.”
I sprint to my car, grab my trusty water bottle, and bring it inside, then I fill it with water from her fridge. I rush back to her room and hold the straw close to her mouth. “Here, Claire. Take a drink.”
She opens her mouth and fumbles around looking for the straw. When she finds it, she closes her lips and takes a long, slow sip.
If I weren’t so worried about her, I’d be a little giddy that her lips are on the straw where my lips have been. Middle school Ryan would’ve been thrilled and considered it an almost-kiss.
Who am I kidding? I still feel a twinge of that.
But my main emotion is worry for Claire. After she finishes drinking, she slumps back onto her pillow.
Okay, she’s hydrating. She’s resting. But she needs something nutritious, and someone to monitor her fever. As much as I’d love to do it myself, I don’t want to be presumptuous and leave a bad impression on her family.
“Claire? I’m going to call your mom. I’ll be right in the hall.”
She gives a little grunt of acknowledgment, so I get up and dial her mom’s number again.
“Ryan?” she says, answering the call after the first ring. “Is she home?”
“She’s home. She’s really sick, though. I think it’s the flu.”
“Oh, no,” she murmurs.
“I’m happy to stay here with her,’ I say. “I had the flu already, so I can’t catch it from her.”
“You’re sure that’s what she has?”
“Yes.” No, not really. But the symptoms look very similar to what I went through a couple months ago. Besides, if I go back to work now, I’ll drive myself crazy with worry. At least being here, I can see if she gets worse, and I know someone who cares about her—me—will see to her every need.
“You’re okay with this?” she asks.
“I am. Unless either you or Zach wants to come instead.”
She pauses. “I have a very weak immune system. Of course I’d come take care of her if she needed me, but—”
“No, I understand.” And I do. Claire’s mom isn’t selfish, and I understand her desire to stay well. I swallow my pride before repeating the other option. “And Zach?”
“I don’t… Zach isn’t… Well, he’s Zach,” she stammers. “If you’re already there and feel confident in caring for her—”
“I do.”
“Then I think it’s best if you stay.”
And there it is. The last piece of permission I need to feel comfortable staying here. “Sounds good.”
“Don’t let her take any NyQuil, though. It makes her slightly delirious.”
“Uh, too late,” I say.
She snorts a laugh. “Then you’re in for some fun.”
“I can handle it. I’ll update you so you don’t worry.”
“Thank you, Ryan. Thank you so much.”
We say goodbye, and I shoot off a text to Grace letting her know that Claire is safe but will probably have to cancel her classes this week.
“Ryan?” My chest aches at the sound of Claire struggling to say my name.
I rush back to the bedroom. “I’m here, Claire. What do you need?”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just takes me in at my post in her doorway. I step closer to her bed and kneel beside her, my hands resting on the mattress next to her shoulders.
One of her hands slides out from under the blanket and rests on top of mine. I’d think it was an accident, but she squeezes my fingers with her burning hot ones.
“Just stay with me,” she whispers.
I turn my hand over so our palms are touching and squeeze her hand.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
While Claire naps and keeps my hand captive, I use my other hand to order groceries to be delivered to her apartment—all kinds of soup, electrolyte drinks, tea with honey, and raw garlic, my mom’s favorite defense against germs. She makes a salad of cucumbers with lemon juice and raw garlic because it’s a “natural antibiotic.” I don’t know if that’s true, but the purpose of the garlic is twofold:
1) It can’t hurt her recovery, and
2) It’ll deter my desire to kiss her.
Look, if my only option was to kiss Claire with garlic breath, of course I’d take it. But I don’t think this will be my only chance forever, and I don’t want to do something dumb that I’ll regret, like kiss her while she’s slightly delirious and still engaged to the loser.
An hour after she falls asleep, she starts moving and moaning in her sleep.
“Hey, Claire,” I whisper, but she’s still not awake. I stroke the top of her head. If anything, she feels warmer than before.
“Ryan?” she murmurs.
“Yes. Yes, I’m here.”
She lets out a sigh. “We make a good team.”
I grin. I’m pretty sure she’s mostly asleep, because her eyes are closed and she’s slurring her words. “Yes, we do.” It’s funny, that’s the same thought I had when we started working on the tutoring center. I wonder what made her think of that, too.
“We’re not the same.” She shakes her head a little. “Not at ALL.”
“No, I guess you’re right.”
“But we make a good team. We complement each other.” She pauses. “You know your female students give you chili peppers on Rate My Professors?”
I snort a laugh. “Yeah, I know.”
“But it doesn’t go to your head. You’re so nice.” She sighs. “We would make some really pretty babies. Prettier than Shawna’s baby.”
Hold on…what? “We…as in, you and me?”
She nods. Her eyes are still shut, but she’s talking more than someone who’s still asleep. Her mom was right; the NyQuil must have made her loopy.
“You’d be SUCH a good dad, too.” She pouts. “Zach’s not going to be a good dad.”
“Oh, Claire,” I say softly. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this now.”
She opens her eyes and looks at me, and I jump a little. “Did you know I almost broke up with him?”
My mouth drops open. I’m too shocked to say anything.
“Right after the engagement party. I should’ve done it. Now I’m STUCK.” She throws her head back dramatically and closes her eyes again.
Okay. This might be my chance to get through to her, especially since she’s sort of delusional. Maybe I can reach into her subconscious. “You’re just engaged, not married,” I say, repeating Chase’s words to me. “It’s not too late.”
I feel a slight twinge of guilt. Is this ethical? Should I be giving her these messages when she’s not completely lucid? But I don’t think she hears me.
“At least everyone else will be happy,” she mumbles.
“What about you?” I ask. “Will you be happy?”
But the only answer I receive is soft snoring. She’s already asleep.
Great. Now I’m stuck with this new piece of information and a sleeping Claire. Part of me wants to shake her awake and get her talking more. Why did she want to break up with Zach? Was she finally seeing what I’ve seen for three years?
And what do I do with everything she just said about us being a good team and me being a good dad?
As someone who had a dad who let me down in every way, I’ve always sworn I would do the opposite of what he did.
Being completely honest, I think I would be a good dad.
I want to be a dad, which is more than I can say for my own father and most guys my age.
I don’t just want to have children—I want to be a father. And apparently Claire sees that.
There’s a knock at the door. The groceries must be here. I leave Claire’s side and grab the bags at the door, then head to the kitchen. Let’s just hope I can sort through these feelings without getting myself into too much trouble.