Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CLAIRE
Claire replayed her conversation with Calvin for the millionth time.
As the cab turned onto his familiar tree-lined drive, her chest tightened with apprehension.
Nothing seemed to have changed since she'd been there. All the pristine homes and manicured lawns greeted her as warmly as an old friend. Were they just a facade? Or did happy families actually exist behind a pretense of perfection? Would she have been happy living here? As Calvin’s wife?
"Would you mind if we stopped for a minute?" she asked the driver. "I need to make a call.”
The car pulled to the side of the street and Claire quickly opened the door, in desperate need of two things: fresh air and a loving, compassionate voice.
"Hello, sweetheart," Harry answered.
"Hi, Dad," she whispered.
"Well, this is an unexpected surprise," he responded jovially. "How are you? How's New York?"
"Uh, I'm not in New York at the moment. I'm in California."
"What? Don't tell me he's whisked you away for another romantic weekend on the opposite coast?" Harry said with a light laugh.
"It's nothing like that I'm afraid,” she said, sounding sad.
"Claire, honey, what’s wrong?"
"I don't know…” A large lump moved up into Claire’s throat, blocking her words.
"Darling, what’s happened?" he asked, his tone fearful.
Claire paused and collected her thoughts as best she could.
She shared the bizarre twists of fate that contorted the last twenty-four hours of her life.
She spoke softly and calmly while Harry listened.
Though emotionally shaken on the inside, she remained composed long enough to fill in the missing pieces.
"I can’t believe it. It got to be a one in a million coincidence. Maybe one in a trillion,” Harry said. “What are you going to do?"
"The only thing my heart will let me do," she answered softly.
Claire promised Harry she’d call him later with an update. She crawled back inside the cab, feeling much better than she had just a few minutes before. Her father’s voice had quieted her anxiety, as it had countless times in her life. She smiled and sent him a quick text.
Claire: I love you. Thank you.
Dad: I love you too. Follow your heart.
The cab stopped at the edge of the long driveway.
Claire texted Liz, informing her that she’d arrived.
Moments later, the large iron security gate opened and the cab continued on.
Liz stood waiting outside, her welcoming wave as enthusiastic as the smile on her face.
Claire wasted no time, bounding out of the cab into Liz’s arms. The two women hugged for a long time, until the cab driver hollered his desire for payment from the passenger side window.
Liz was quick with a credit card and settled the cab fare, silencing Claire from any protest with just a look.
"I can't believe you're really here," Liz said.
"It's so good to see you again,” Claire said, her eyes misting.
“I’ve missed you. We both have.”
“Me too. Is everything back to normal?” Claire asked. “Between you and Cally?”
Liz rolled her eyes playfully. "Has it ever been normal? No, seriously, it's better than ever. Forgiven and forgotten.”
“You know, when you told me he fired you—” Claire started.
Liz raised a hand. “Stop. You were right. Totally a heat-of-the-moment thing. I promise everything is fine between us. And not that it should matter…” Liz lowered her voice. “But I’m probably the highest paid PA in this whole fake-ass town now.”
Claire laughed. “Well, you certainly deserve to be.”
She followed as Liz led her through Calvin’s home, making several observations along the way.
The absence of carpet. The reconstructed, wider doorways.
A wheelchair ramp leading down into the living area.
She felt a lump in her throat as she considered the enormous changes that had taken place in his life. In both their lives.
"I didn't tell him you were coming. I hope that's alright." Liz smiled. "There are so few good surprises in life."
Claire nodded as they headed toward an elaborate outdoor living space. "Where is he?"
"In the garage, only it’s a sleek workout facility now—for rehabbing, of course. He works with a team every day and he absolutely loves it. He's lost the ability to walk but he’s in the best shape of his life. No more drinking. No more late nights. He's even working on a book."
"You're kidding." Claire took a seat on a comfy chair beneath an oversized umbrella. "I've never known him to write anything, aside from standard television business."
Liz shrugged. "Evidently he's a closet writer. And an artist. Part of the garage is his studio. When he can't sleep, he grabs a paintbrush."
Claire nodded, her chest tightening. "I heard something about that."
"A friend of his sent him a silly little paint by number set as a ‘Get Well’ gift. We've tried everything to keep him entertained. You know his attention span—or lack thereof. Anyway, he tried it and loved it. A few weeks later, he had some canvases delivered. He's really talented."
"What does he paint?" Claire questioned.
"People. Landscapes. Animals. He's quite good."
"All those little cartoonlike doodles he left on everything—cocktail napkins, magazine covers. He even drew on dollar bills, but I had no idea…”
"No one did, not even Calvin,” Liz said. “Now, how about a drink? What’ll you have?"
"She'll have a gin and tonic."
Claire whipped her head around at the sound of his voice. Calvin wheeled toward her, his face glowing with surprise and happiness. One look into his deep brown eyes melted her apprehension away.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
"Liz, I don’t know what you put in my smoothie, but I’m hallucinating,” he said.
"Surprise!" Claire stood up quickly, swallowing back tears.
“Claire Margaret Jordan…” He rolled up next to her, taking her hand and depositing a light kiss upon it. "What an honor."
She threw her arms around his neck and held him tightly. They stayed in each other’s embrace for a long time, and Claire worked to rein in the emotions building inside her. She pulled back and gave him a warm smile.
"You look fantastic," she said.
"Not nearly as fantastic as you. I can't believe you're here, but I knew you'd come back. Didn't I tell you, Liz? They always come back. It's the accent, you know. They can't resist the accent."
"You’ve always said that,” Claire agreed.
"Well, make yourself useful and bring us some drinks." He snapped and winked at his assistant.
"Gin and tonic?" she asked Claire.
"Actually, some water would be great."
"Just the usual for me,” Calvin said.
"Coming right up." Liz gave a salute.
Liz slipped away, leaving Calvin and Claire alone together.
Sitting in his wheelchair, he looked much like she had imagined—only thinner and more lean.
The days in a hospital bed had stripped at least twenty pounds from his frame.
Still, his arms remained tan and toned, just as she had pictured, and she couldn’t help but smile at the sparkle in his eye.
"My God, Claire. You look absolutely fabulous. Radiant. Really, darling, you're a vision."
"Well, thank you." She cocked her head to one side, eyeing him from head to toe. "To be perfectly honest, I wasn't sure what you'd look like."
He raised both arms and flexed his muscles. "Do I pass inspection?"
She laughed. "Definitely."
Liz returned minutes later, bringing trays of beverages and assorted cheeses.
The three of them sat talking and laughing as though not a day had passed between them.
The minutes melted away without a hint of discomfort.
Calvin hadn’t lost his knack for storytelling.
He had them howling with a string of old stories and the latest celebrity gossip.
Her own contributions felt modest by comparison, but Claire shared updates on her father and the not-so-shocking news of Hamish and Molly.
"Well, everyone knows Molly's a tramp. It was just a matter of time," Calvin said, grinning.
"Now, now… she told you herself she prefers the term hussy," Claire gently corrected him.
"Yes, of course. And speaking of bitches, there's someone I'd like you to meet," Calvin teased, turning his chair toward the garage.
Claire followed as he led the way to the space that once housed his performance automobiles.
Inside, she found Liz’s description of his workout facility lacking.
The room looked beyond sleek—like something out of a magazine.
Floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined an entire wall.
The latest shiny, high-tech equipment filled one end of the space, while a sauna and steam room occupied the other.
In true Calvin Butterworth fashion, he'd spared no expense.
One item in particular caught her eye, and a piece of her heart fell away.
"Did you do this?" she asked, studying the large canvas on the wall.
He rolled up beside her. "I finished it a few days ago. Do you like it?"
"I don't know exactly," she said, her voice tight.
"Women,” Calvin huffed. “You never like pictures of yourselves."
Claire stood in front of the large portrait, taking in every detail of her own face.
She recognized it immediately—from the photograph taken in Negril.
The same image that had greeted her for months each time she opened her laptop.
Now it had been replaced with one of Jay on horseback at Hamish’s estate.
"It's beautiful, Calvin.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Absolutely beautiful."
A loud bark cut through the tender moment, announcing the new lady in Calvin’s life. Claire turned just as a beautiful German Shepherd jumped up on Calvin, licking his face happily.
"They all react this way." He gave the dog a playful pat. “It’s a curse.”
"She's gorgeous." Claire bent down beside the dog and stroked her back. "What's her name?"
"Sneezy, like from Snow White,” he said. “She's a retired police dog. Served seven years with the LAPD. Helluva nose on that one. Sneezed every time she made a bust, hence her name."
"Well, she's beautiful."