Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
CLAIRE
“Claire?” A hand nudged Claire’s arm, and a soft, feminine voice coaxed her from a deep sleep.
Claire sat up, her head fuzzy from last night’s wine. It took her a minute to focus fully on Liz, but she found worry painted across her face. “What’s wrong? Where’s Calvin?”
Liz’s voice cracked when she spoke. “You need to get dressed. Calvin’s been in an accident.”
Claire darted around Calvin’s bedroom, dressing hastily and cursing loudly when she couldn’t find her running shoes.
Liz appeared at the door with the missing shoes in hand.
She threaded her ponytail through the back of a baseball cap, grabbed her phone charger, and climbed into Liz’s immaculately clean Prius.
The women didn’t exchange a single word on the way to the hospital. Liz knew only what she had blurted out after waking Claire—an accident had occurred, and Calvin lay in the ICU at a nearby hospital. Nothing else remained to be said.
Tom Waite’s voice echoed from the radio—“Isn’t It Time”—one of Claire’s favorite songs.
She preferred his The Babys era over any other.
Hearing him now, in the middle of the crisis, gave her a tiny measure of hope.
She popped her knuckles—a habit that drove her father crazy but somehow always calmed her.
She replayed the scene in Calvin’s bedroom before he stormed out in anger, then snapped back to reality when Liz pulled up to the automated ticket register in the hospital parking garage.
As luck would have it, they found a parking spot waiting around the first corner.
Claire double checked her cell phone, confirmed it was on silent, and dropped it into her tote bag.
Liz grabbed a case containing her earbuds along with a handful of silver coins from the cupholder, the latter presumably for a vending machine breakfast. Do vending machines still accept coins, Claire wondered.
Her empty stomach grumbled loudly, prompting a look of sympathy from Liz, though she said nothing.
With jackets in hand, the two women exited the car and walked in silence to the main building.
The elevator carried them to the second floor.
Claire stepped out into the harsh fluorescent lights and quickly analyzed the scene, surprised to see a full waiting area.
Really? On Christmas Day? The faces around her held similar expressions—dazed and drained, as though everyone had run a marathon in bare feet.
A man and a woman sat in the corner, comforting one another, as tears fell silently from the woman's eyes. Two small children, siblings most likely, lay on the floor, crayons and paper and various shiny new toys—action figures mostly—creating a moat around their small bodies. Rigid institutional chairs in a depressing shade of green lined the perimeter of the space. The staff kept the area immaculately clean, but the room still felt uninviting. The unit’s reputation more than made up for the lackluster decor.
People considered it one of the most celebrated units in the country.
Claire and Liz checked in at the nurses' station.
“Your relationship to the patient?” the woman behind the desk asked.
Claire’s pulse quickened. The nurse had stumped her, and she had no idea how to answer. Most recent ex-girlfriend? Almost fiancée? Right bitch? Her head spun, much like the loose diamond ring still circling her finger. Thankfully, Liz stepped forward and answered for both of them.
“Ms. Jordan is Mr. Butterworth’s fiancée. I’m Mr. Butterworth’s personal assistant. I’ve spoken to his sister, Lucy Davies. She’s driving up from San Diego now.”
The nurse nodded as she typed on her keyboard.
She printed visitor badges, instructing them to keep them affixed and visible at all times.
Claire peeled off the paper backing and pressed it to the center of her shirt.
An oversized whiteboard displayed the visitation schedule for the day, along with the last name of each patient, and attending physician.
Claire wouldn’t be allowed to see Calvin for another hour.
She settled into one of the highly uncomfortable chairs and waited.
Liz excused herself to make a few phone calls.
Claire’s gaze bounced between her watch and the large clock on the opposite wall, both moving at a glacial pace.
She pulled her phone from her pocket to text her dad but decided to wait until she had more information to share.
Liz returned, a paper coffee cup in each hand.
She sat down beside Claire, and the two women quietly sipped their drinks until Liz finally spoke.
“Now is probably not the time, but I think you should know. Calvin fired me.”
Claire’s eyes widened. “He did what?”
“Last night. He called and told me my services were no longer required.”
“Oh, Liz.” Claire’s heart plummeted into her stomach. “He didn’t mean it. Calvin loves you. He sings your praises to everyone. He was mad at me—”
Liz stopped her. “No, Claire. He meant it. I’ve been with him long enough to know when he’s serious.”
“Oh my God! Liz, I feel awful! This is all my fault. Let me talk to Calvin. I will make this right. He won’t last a day without you. You’re family to him. I mean, he called you after the accident. Not me. Not Lucy.”
“Actually, an EMT called me. They checked his cell phone. Mine was the last number he called. I called Lucy, then drove out to tell you.”
“I can’t believe this is happening. I don’t even know what to say.”
Claire dropped her head and hid her face in her hands. She froze in this position and didn’t move for a long time—not even when Liz slipped a supportive arm around her shoulder. Silently, Claire repeated the grisly facts over and over…
One in ICU. One out of a job. All because of me, acting like some stupid, spoiled junior high brat.
Liz’s phone rang, and the women parted. Claire made a beeline for the restroom to pull herself together.
She splashed cold water on her face several times, then studied herself in the mirror.
Her face didn’t lie. Pale skin and dark circles beneath her eyes reflected exhaustion and fear.
She practiced a smile. It looked weak. Though Calvin wouldn’t register her presence, she still intended to stand beside his ICU bed with a positive expression.
She walked back to the waiting room to find Liz’s chair still empty.
The woman at the desk called out several patient names.
When the name Butterworth echoed through the quiet space, Claire jumped to attention.
A nurse escorted through a secure door, directing her to a large sink to wash her hands.
Her heart drummed in her chest, and feelings of true fear ran through her, like the water through her fingers.
In a moment, she’d see the embodiment of her text experiment gone wrong.
A mass of medical machinery surrounded Calvin, tangles of tubes running from both arms. A respirator hummed.
His face, swollen and bruised and peppered with tiny cuts.
Both legs hung in traction, like overstuffed sausages on meat hooks.
All at once she wanted to scream and vomit.
A loud sob escaped her, shattering the silence and prompting a look of sympathy from a passing nurse.
She looked down at his hands—discolored and weak.
Where were the hands that enjoyed a Cuban heater or a good hand of poker?
The ones that could gesture wildly when telling a good story or linger at a chess board?
Maybe the lights tricked her eyes. Or maybe she saw the reality of the nightmare she created.
Gently, she slipped her hand inside Calvin’s and squeezed it.
His body jumped. Claire jerked her hand back and glanced around.
When she didn’t hear an alarm or see a fleet of nurses rushing toward her, she assumed Calvin was okay.
The machines hummed softly, doing their all-important job of keeping him alive.
She studied every line of his face, from his furrowed brow to the grim line of his mouth, as though he felt extremely angry about something.
Wait until he wakes up. He’ll be so pissed off, we’ll have to strap him to this bed to keep him from ripping this whole place apart.
Just minutes before, sitting in the waiting room, Claire had balked at the idea of a measly ten-minute visitation period.
Now ten minutes stretched on forever, the second hand on her watch ticking in slow motion.
She shifted her weight back and forth, unsure if she should just stand there in silence or talk aloud to him.
Other than the occasional beep of a machine or a page over the intercom, the ICU stood quiet.
A nurse walked around the curtain and directly over to the IV bags that hung on metal hooks above Calvin's bed.
Checking each one, along with the various machines, she made notations on her clipboard.
She paused briefly and smiled at Claire.
“You two have been awfully quiet back here,” the nurse said.
“I wasn’t sure if I should speak or just…” Claire’s voice faded away.
“The voice of a loved one can have a real impact on healing. Just keep it light and positive.”
The nurse offered a nod of encouragement before stepping away. Claire summoned her courage and took Calvin’s hand once more. His skin felt tight. Rough. She kept her touch and her words light, just as the nurse had suggested.
“I’m here, Calvin. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. Liz is here too except they only allow family members in the ICU. Lucy is on her way and should be here soon. All the women in your life are right here. We love you and we’re going to take care of you.”
She slipped her hand from his and smoothed his hair back off his forehead. One of the machines released a loud beep, but this time she didn’t jump. She stroked his head for a while until the same nurse poked her head around the curtain.
"Time's up for now. You’re welcome to come back at the next visitation if you like."
Claire surveyed Calvin fully as she backed away from his bed. Her gaze stopped at the tube coming from his mouth and she brushed away tears as she turned to leave. By the time she'd made it around the corner, an avalanche of emotion consumed her, tears falling hot and fast.
She returned to the waiting area, finding no sign of Liz. She parked herself in the same chair and took the opportunity to text her father.
Claire: Calvin was in a bad car accident.
Dad: What? When? Just now? Are you hurt?
Claire: I’m fine. He was alone. It happened last night.
Dad: Last night? After I texted you?
Claire: We broke up. We had a fight and he left. His PA woke me up with the news. I’m here at the hospital now.
The woman behind the desk called out Calvin’s name. Claire’s heart shot up into her throat.
Claire: They're calling for me. I’ll let you know when I know more.
Dad: If you need me to come out there, I will. Just say the word.
Claire shoved her phone into her pocket and approached the desk, where a nurse informed her that Calvin’s doctor would be by soon.
She turned to head back to her seat as Calvin’s sister exited the elevator, Liz following a step behind her.
Expecting to see worry and concern, Claire’s insides turned cold when she locked on Lucy’s rage-filled eyes.
Claire stepped forward to greet her with a hug, but Lucy put a hand up to stop her advance.
“I can’t believe you have the nerve to be here.” Her words were quiet but forceful.
Claire’s gaze bounced between the two women. Liz said nothing, her eyes now focused on the floor.
“Lucy, can we speak privately—” Claire started.
“There is no privately when it comes to you and my family. Not anymore. You need to leave. Now.” Lucy cut her off, speaking through gritted teeth.
Claire’s heart plunged to the bottom of her stomach.
“Please, Lucy, I am begging you to listen for one min—”
“You can make this easy or ugly, Claire. If you leave now and never look back, I’ll see that your little prank never sees the light of day in the press.”
Liz lifted her head, locking eyes with Claire for a split second before dropping her head back down in shame.
Lucy continued. “That’s right, Liz told me everything. I’m leaving word with Calvin’s doctors and nurses that you are forbidden to see him. Do not contact him, or me, ever again. Do you understand? I can have a restraining order filed by lunch.”
Lucy’s words hit Claire’s already broken heart like physical blows. Astounded by the exchange, she stayed silent, unwilling to tango with Lucy. In addition to being his sister, she led Calvin’s legal team. Her cutthroat reputation alone made Claire back off.
Again, she looked past Lucy to a wounded Liz, balancing on the edge of tears. Liz shook her head and mouthed the words, “I’m so sorry.”
Lucy reached out and ripped the visitor badge from Claire’s shirt. Claire stepped back, shrinking in fear. Other than a hair pulling incident at a skating rink in fifth grade, Claire had never had a hostile, physical altercation with anyone. Ever.
“We’re done here,” Lucy said, her eyes shooting daggers at Claire. “Get your shit and go.”
Shoulders slumped, Claire sulked back to her chair and collected her jacket and bag.
Lucy moved to the nurses’ station and spoke to the woman behind the desk.
At one point, she turned and pointed at Claire, her eyes glaring as if identifying someone in a criminal line up.
Claire shuffled to the elevator and made eye contact with Liz one last time.
The young woman just shook her head, equally at a loss.
As she walked through the lobby, Claire remembered she’d ridden with Liz to the hospital. At that exact moment, Claire’s phone pinged with a text.
Liz: Lucy asked that I stay. I have a car on the way for you.
Driver’s name is Mina and she’s in a silver Camry.
She’ll take you back to the beach house and then to a hotel near the airport.
All expenses have been covered. I am so very sorry, Claire.
This is the most fucked up Christmas I’ve ever experienced.
Claire’s tears returned. She brushed them away and typed a response.
Claire: Only because I fucked it up. I appreciate everything, Liz. Everything! You are an incredible person, and I apologize from the bottom of my heart. For everything.