Chapter 41 #2
"Of course she's beautiful.” Calvin scratched the dog behind her ears. “All the women in my life are beautiful."
They spent another half hour inside his studio. Calvin narrated several of his latest works, making Claire laugh at his pretentious descriptions. He had real talent, and her heart swelled with pride at the number of canvases bearing her likeness.
"I call this period my ‘moment of Claire-ity.’" He pointed to a grouping, all featuring a single blonde female subject. "If you look closely, the woman is very pensive, almost brooding."
"Yes, I see. Why is that?" Claire questioned.
"She can’t fathom why I didn't ask her to pose nude," he said with a knowing smirk.
Liz stuck her head into the door of the studio. "Sorry to interrupt, but I think it's time we moved on to something a little more substantial than cheese and fruit.”
Calvin eyed his watch. "It can't be this late. You must be starved."
"I am a little hungry,” Claire said. “I'd love to treat you two to dinner somewhere."
"Dinner? Out?" he asked, his face screwed into disapproval.
Claire exchanged a look with Liz. "Is that a problem?"
"Darling, have you not heard a word I've said all afternoon? This is the new and improved Calvin Butterworth. I don't go out to eat anymore. I prepare my own meals."
"You?" Claire laughed. "Cooking? As in real food?"
"Unlike you, I know the difference between a spatula and a whisk. Last night we had teriyaki salmon with mirin-cucumber salad. And the night before that we had…” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. "What did we have, Liz?"
"Shellfish paella with saffron-chorizo rice."
"And not from a can." He flashed a bright smile.
"And no one's been poisoned yet either," Liz added.
"I can’t wait for you to see the kitchen. Claire. I had work crews here around the clock and they finished it up in just five days. My own little Extreme Home Makeover, if you will. Everything's been adjusted to wheelchair height and just between you and me, I could be the next Food Network star."
Calvin continued to entertain the two women, weaving yarn after hilarious yarn while he zoomed around the kitchen.
Claire and Liz set the table and opened a bottle of wine, watching Calvin lovingly prepare a delicious meal.
The three of them sat at one end of the massive dining room table, talking incessantly and completely unaware of the time.
Claire checked her watch, and her pulse quickened.
She pictured Jay sitting alone, waiting and wondering. Time to wrap up the evening.
Claire dropped her napkin on the table beside her plate. "That was fabulous."
Calvin grinned. "And they say television isn't educational. PBS has turned yours truly into a real Renaissance man."
"To say the least. You cook. You paint. You’re writing a book!" Claire praised.
"Liz’s doing a bit of bragging on her old boss, is she?" He shot his assistant a look. Liz just shrugged.
"I'm sure it will be a huge success," Claire said warmly.
"Of course it will. With a title like Calvin Butterworth Likes Big Tits, it's sure to be a bestseller,” he teased. “Now, are you up for dessert? I made a fantastic fig and almond tart yesterday."
"I'm stuffed. Honestly, I can't eat another bite. I'd love a cup of coffee though." She stood, taking his and Liz's plates with her own.
"No, Claire, I’ve got clean-up. In fact, I'll bring you some coffee when it's ready. Where would you like it? In the living room?" She looked at Calvin.
He turned toward her. "Claire?"
"The patio,” Claire said. “It's so peaceful out there."
"No problem. But let’s grab you one of my jackets,” Calvin said. “The wind's picked up."
She and Calvin returned to the comfort of the patio.
She took the same chair she had occupied earlier, while he positioned his wheelchair right alongside hers.
Pockets of stars blanketed the sky overhead.
They sat hand in hand and watched lights dance in the ripples of a nearby koi pond for a while.
Neither of them spoke, and she silently cursed herself for that last glass of wine.
She’d spent the flight out collecting the exact words to express the state of her heart.
Now, sitting beside him and seeing the progress he had made, her rehearsed speech lacked true honesty.
Claire shivered. She released his hand, pulling his jacket snugly around her shoulders.
"If it's too cold for you we can go back inside,” he said.
"I like it out here. It feels nice."
"Do you remember that night we spent out on Simon Cowell’s boat at the marina? When we almost froze to death?"
Claire shook her head and sighed. "Unfortunately, yes."
"The wind whipped us around as if we were out in twenty-foot swells. I hit my head on the cabin door, and it bled like hell, remember? And we didn't have any bandages or anything, so you held a Kotex pad on my forehead until it stopped bleeding?"
"It worked, didn't it?"
"Yes, it did. Amazingly well, I might add. I think it was the ‘Super Absorbency’ variety, wasn't it?"
"Talk about a rough night. Tell me again why we stayed?"
Calvin barked a sarcastic laugh. "Tell you again? Ms Jordan, you insisted we stay."
"Me?” Claire pressed a hand to her chest. “Are you kidding? I was scared to death. I begged you to leave."
"Wrong.” He shook his head. “You said any sailor worth his salt would stay and ride it out. I couldn’t say no—not with my manhood challenged by the presence of feminine hygiene products on my brow."
Claire erupted in laughter, unable to catch her breath for several seconds. Calvin tried to stay serious and composed, but her contagious laugh got the best of him.
"What I meant to say," Claire took a deep breath, "was that any sailor worth his salt would have taken his female companion to the nearest five-star hotel for warm blankets and room service."
"Well, there were other memorable nights, if I recall. Nights when room service was the last thing on your mind." He waggled his brows.
“Yes, there were quite a few of those,” she confirmed, smiling softly in remembrance.
"What about that time we drove to Napa?"
"And we took your old Aston-Martin?" Claire laughed. "And about two hours in, we were hit by that thunderstorm, and you couldn't get the convertible top up?"
"Damn vintage automobile,” Calvin grumbled. “I don't know what we'd have done if we hadn't found that old barn off the freeway. I swore off convertibles altogether after that."
"We were soaked, do you remember? It rained cats and dogs for hours."
“I remember the dark sky—like squid ink. And we were starving."
Claire rolled her eyes. "That's because your idea of a picnic on the road consisted of a bottle of Bordeaux and a can of Pringles."
"I wasn't exactly a gourmet cook back then, but I don't recall you complaining. Not after we took a turn on the picnic blanket anyway." He squeezed her hand.
"You know what I remember most about that trip?" Claire lowered her voice, turning more serious. "I got that bad piece of fish and puked all night. You stood right beside me while my head was in the toilet and held my hair back. Do you remember that?"
"British men do not puke, let alone hold the hair of those who do. You must have confused me with someone else." He made a face that made her laugh.
The sound of an ambulance cut through their conversation.
It echoed loudly, and Claire held her breath.
They listened in silence for several moments until the siren faded into the night.
Her mind filled with images of Christmas Eve.
She tried to imagine Jay’s memories of that night.
A lump rose in her throat and stayed there.
“My sister owes you a monumental apology, Claire.”
Claire looked away, flustered by his declaration. “What? Oh, that. Well, she was only looking out for your wellbeing. Can’t fault her for that.”
“I can, and I do,” he said. “But her apology is nothing compared to the one I owe you.”
Claire locked on his eyes, soft and sincere. “Calvin, I don’t even know if strong enough words exist for the apology I owe you.”
Again he squeezed her hand. “No. I’m going to stop you right there. I didn’t call you for an apology. You did nothing wrong. You have to know that. You have to know it and believe it.”
“I want to… I do… but…” Her eyes grew glassy with tears.
"I’ve prayed for you to come back, Claire. And now, you’re here with me.” He paused and looked down at their fingers laced together. “I wish it could be under different circumstances."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"There's an aura around you, Claire. One I've never seen before." He released her hand and touched the pendant around her neck. "Someone's found the key. The key that unlocks all the joy that Claire Margaret Jordan deserves. I've never seen you look so good."
She tried to pull his hand away. "Calvin, there's something I need to tell you."
He placed his finger on her lips, silencing her words. "I don't need to know his name or where he lives or what he does for a living. I just need to know one thing. Are you deliriously happy when you're with him and insanely lost when you're not?"
In his eyes, she saw a mixture of longing and sadness. The image of them on the beach in Negril came sharply into her mind. It held focus for a moment, then slipped away like sand through her fingers, leaving only Jay.
"He means everything to me," she whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek.
"Then there's only one thing you can do, love." He gently wiped it away. "Don't let one more moment slip away."