Chapter 38 Claire
Claire
As if this day could get any better, Chloe finally shows up several beers and lawn games later. I wouldn’t say I’m drunk, but between the combination of my buzz mixed with the excitement that she’s here, I all but tackle her to the ground when she walks through the gate.
“Woah,” she says, steadying us both. “Down, killer.”
“Where have you been?” I ask. After watching Jay and Sean get crushed by Ronan and Mikey for the third time in a row at Cornhole, I decided to call in reinforcements.
“Okay, first, you texted me like a half hour ago, hence why I look like this.” She gestures down her outfit — gym shorts, sneakers, and her tight, strappy, yoga tank that says Spiritual Gangsta. “And B. I had to stop for snacks.” She holds up a family-size bag of potato chips and a box of donuts.
“Nothing says "Happy Birthday, America" like fried food and processed sugar,” Jay says, coming up behind me. He drapes an arm across my back, his hand landing in the back pocket of my shorts.
“Well, hello to you too, Jaymes,” Chloe says.
“Not my name.”
“Whatever, Jayson. Listen…" She shoves the food into his one free hand, the chips just barely balancing on the box. “Where’s the bathroom because I came right from the studio and nama-pee-my-pants if I don’t find one soon.”
“I’ll show you,” Ronan chimes in from the grill.
He hands the tongs to Mikey and beelines it right for Chloe.
I don’t know Ronan all that well, but I can’t help but notice the way Chloe’s steady resolve wavers for just an instant when Ronan places his hand on her lower back, guiding her toward the house.
Jay kisses my temple before heading to dump Chloe’s snacks onto the food table. I take the opportunity to pull my phone from my purse that’s been hanging on the back of a chair since I texted Chloe.
I’m surprised to see three missed calls from Dad, one from Mom, and a missed text from each of them.
Instantly, panic overtakes me. My throat grows tight and there’s an itchy heat that threatens to engulf me completely in flames.
I immediately think the worst. They crashed their car on the way to the hotel, they’re broken down on the side of the road, someone is sick, someone is hurt.
I fumble my phone attempting to open my messages. Dad’s is first.
DAD: Call me.
Typical. And in no way helpful being that “Call me” from Dad could mean “Just wanted to say hi” or “My whole family is dead.” I let out a frustrated grunt and steady my shaking fingers to flip back to the message screen. I click on Mom’s name next.
MOM: Hi, honey. Dad thinks we may have left the garage door open and the Maverick’s inside. He’s sort of freaking out. Could you please go over and make sure it’s closed?
Relief washes over me. I type out a quick reply letting her know I’ll get it done and take a cleansing breath. There’s nothing like a quick panic attack to celebrate our country’s birth.
Jay must see the alarm still on my face when he returns because as soon as he looks at me, his hands are on my shoulders, his face bent to meet mine.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I had all of these missed calls and texts from my parents but they just need me to run to their house really quickly. It’s nothing,” I repeat more for myself than for him. I take another deep breath and he relaxes with me.
“I’ll drive.”
“No, that’s okay, you don’t have to leave the party. I can come right back.”
“Claire,” he says. “Wherever you are, remember?”
It’s so simple, but it means…everything. I press a soft kiss to his lips and when I pull back his eyes stay closed. It’s like I can see his layers falling to ash all around him.
When he finally opens them, he nods toward the door. “Let's go.”
The panic I had just minutes ago definitely sobered me up, but it’s only when I get to the car that I realize I probably shouldn’t have driven anyway. Thank God Jay insisted on coming with me.
I felt bad leaving Chloe as soon as she got there, but when I went to tell her I was leaving, she and Ronan were dropping shot glasses into pints of beer. I explained the situation and her exact words were, “Sounds good, Claire. Bombs away!”
So here we are, pulling out onto the street from Sean’s house to go to my parent’s and for some reason, I’m still nervous.
“You okay?” Jay asks and this is the second time tonight that he’s been able to read my worry.
“Yeah. Is it weird that I’m anxious about you going to my parent’s house even if they aren’t there?
” He noticeably stiffens, his jaw and hands both tighter, the naked lady on his forearm dancing from the way he keeps flexing and releasing his fingers around the wheel.
“Not because of you!” I add. “It’s just, the last family dinner didn’t go so great.
I told them about not going back to work. ”
He nods in understanding, his eyes still on the road. “Tell me about them,” he says.
“My parents?”
“No, the shirts Chloe’s always wearing with the weird sayings on them. I just need to know what store they’re from.” He chances a look in my direction and the corners of his lip curl just briefly.
“Ha ha very funny,” I say. “But jokes on you because she buys them online.”
“Yes, your parents, Claire.”
My heartbeat quickens like it’s entering fight or flight, and I’m not sure if it’s the fact that this is the same topic that caused tension before or if dinner the other night has now made me acutely aware of my parent’s strengths and weaknesses.
I’ve never really talked about them like this before.
Being an only child, I didn’t grow up having siblings to complain to or talk to about this kind of thing.
There was no “Oh my God, Mom’s the worst!
” or “Can Dad like take a chill pill?” It was always just me, internalizing all of the good and the bad and tucking it away until well — maybe right now.
“Mom is,” I pause looking for the word. “Positive. No matter what the situation, she’s always upbeat.
She’s constantly moving, doing things for others, hanging out with her friends, and volunteering, and it’s like she somehow just keeps going.
Where most people’s social battery would drain, hers must run off sunshine and Jesus because it never runs out.
She willingly picks up a lot of slack for my dad who works all the time and instead of buckling under the weight of two people’s responsibilities, it's like she just grew extra arms to carry the load.”
“She sounds great,” Jay says and the tightness I feel in my chest is a mixture of gratefulness for Mom and sadness for him.
“She is.”
“And your dad?”
I draw in a deep breath and Jay notices.
“Not so great?” He asks.
“No, no, Dad’s great too. He sacrificed all of his time to work hard for us. For me. To make sure I went to the best teaching school and that my classroom had everything it could ever need.”
“But…”
“But, he’s very critical of things. Always quick to point out every little, or big, imperfection. My grandfather never really noticed things and Dad knows he misses a lot from work, so I think when he can, he makes it a point to notice everything.”
“That sounds hard,” he says.
“It was tough on him growing up.”
“On you, I mean.” I don’t speak and I think it’s because he’s right. Only, who says that?
Who says it was hard growing up with a man you loved and looked up to, but who through that closeness, also made you highly aware of your flaws? Who says that to someone who grew up with no one? Luckily, we pull up to my house before I have to.
All too quickly I reach for the handle of the passenger door, any buzz that was once lingering, now completely vanished. Jay does the same on the driver’s side and we both get out, pausing to look at each other over the top of the car.
“Looks good to me,” Jay says, gesturing to the closed garage door.
I lift up on the handle of the rolling door and it doesn’t budge. Then, I walk to the entry door next to it and jiggle that handle. Nothing.
“Okay so, false alarm I guess,” I say, shrugging to Jay. “But while we’re here, do you mind if we go in? I have to pee like a racehorse.”
“You and Chloe with the world’s smallest bladders.”
“Aw, thank you.”
Once inside, I throw my keys on the entryway table and head right for the hallway powder room. Jay stays behind to have a cigarette outside. While I wash my hands I think about what he said in the car.
I guess growing up with two parents who love each other, a roof over my head, and plenty of food, I always felt privileged.
Like, who was I to complain about anything?
But now, I see the need for perfection, the back-handed criticism of my choices, the black-and-white thinking that teaching’s my path and anything else is wrong by default, isn’t right.
It’s not a glaring issue, but it’s my issue and it’s okay to deal with it.
I walk out of the bathroom, a newfound sense of motivation, at the same time that Jay walks through the front door. He smiles without showing his teeth and I have the sudden urge to press my mouth to his closed lips.
So, I do.
“What was that for?” he asks.
“Just because.”
“Well, in that case,” he slips his hands around my waist and brings me to him, our bodies pressed together from chest to feet.
Kissing me, he softly glides his tongue over mine and walks us backward until we collide with the entryway table.
My keys fall to the floor as the vase that sits on top wobbles side to side.
I quickly steady it, his lower half still pinned to mine.
“We can not have sex in my parent’s house,” I whisper, turning back to him.
“I’m not sure you quite know what having sex means if you think this is it," he whispers back.
I playfully push him off of me. “You know what I mean. Plus, I’m starving.
Let’s see if they have anything to eat.” We left before the grilling was done and by the time I thought to eat the charcuterie board I brought, it had spent hours on the food table baking in the sun and was questionable at best.
I lead Jay into the kitchen, spotless except for the miscellaneous catch-all that always seems to collect on the island. A few papers, a pair of reading glasses, a notepad with just enough empty pages left in it that Mom can’t quite bring herself to throw it in the trash.
“It’s like the junk drawer of the entire house,” Mom always says. The place where things that don’t necessarily have a home end up when you’re putting everything else in the place it belongs.
I go right for the fridge as Jay lands with his forearms on the island, busying himself by rifling through the papers. My parents clearly knew they were going away because every shelf in here is bare.
“Okay, there’s half a loaf of bread, cheese, and like six strawberries, so I’m thinking grilled cheese.” I spin around and see Jay is now standing, a furrowed brow, heavy breathing, palms pressed flat against the granite.
“What? If you don’t want grilled cheese I—”
“It’s not the food,” he cuts me off. He rakes his hand through his hair, then brings it to the paper lying in front of him and spins it in my direction.
I drag it across the counter. It’s a sales contract for the Maverick.
I guess Dad finally picked a buyer. I drag my gaze back to Jay who is staring at the paper as if his eyes could ignite it into flames.
I feel an instant drop in my stomach. Jay loves this car.
I knew it when Sean mentioned it at Monroe’s.
Of course, it would be hard for him to see it go to someone else.
Or maybe he was interested and never got his chance.
“Oh, Jay. I wish you would have said something, I could have talked to my dad.”
“It’s my brother, Claire.”
“What?” I shake my head, feeling like I have whiplash from the change in direction. Jay walks around to the other side of the island where I’m standing.
“Jackson Benningfield.” He points to the buyer’s name at the top of the contract. “That’s my brother.”
“But your name—”
“Is Errington, I know. His dad stuck around for a while. I have my mom’s last name.”
The whiplash returns as I try to sort out what’s happening. My dad is selling his car to Jay’s brother? Who Jay hasn’t seen for nearly two decades?
“How?” I ask because there is no way the world is this small.
“I have no idea,” he says. “He was always interested in cars. Hell, if I took the time to think about it, I would have realized he’s probably why I felt pulled to them too. I just…I didn’t even know he lived around here.”
“He doesn’t,” I say, remembering back to what Dad said in the driveway when he hung up the phone. Jay’s eyes dart to mine, searching each one for an explanation.
“The last time I talked to my dad about the car, he said he had a buyer who was interested in the car but lived out of town. He was supposed to send his information over so Dad could look at it and decide what to do.”
Jay turns the documents over, his eyes landing on the signature lines down below. Jackson’s jagged scribble on the buyer line, Dad’s loopy cursive on the seller’s.
“Well, I guess he did,” is all he says. The silence that follows is filled with questions and lost time — time that two brothers spent as strangers instead of fighting through life together.
“I’m so sorry, Jay.” I bring my hand to his shoulder but he gently shrugs it off.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Now, Claire,” he says. “Please.” He turns and walks to the front door, the jingle of my keys telling me there’s no changing his mind.