Authors: Pamela Grandstaff
“But she’s all wrong for Ed, and didn’t love him.”
“I have to speak up for the rest of my brethren to say Ed is
not the first man to be blinded by lust, nor will he be the last.”
“He knew it was not going to work out but did it anyway
because it was what she wanted.”
“Poor old Ed, at the mercy of the wicked womanly wiles of
your underhanded gender.”
“He’s kind of naïve.”
“I think you’ve got it all wrong,” Laurie said. “Ed’s not
stupid, he’s just human. It’s you who always thinks the worst of everyone.”
“I do not,” she said.
“Ah, but you do,” he said. “I’ve done nothing to deserve the
continual mistreatment you dish out, and yet, you cannot stop lambasting me
with your bitter misgivings.”
“Because you’re an alcoholic in denial,” she said. “Being in
a relationship with an addict is like watching a slow motion suicide.”
“Dammit, woman,” Laurie said. “I demand that you be married
to me for at least two years before you speak to me like that.”
“It’s true,” she said. “Don’t deny it. It’s like your
self-destruct button is stuck in the on position.”
“What you need are more drinks,” Laurie said. “You’ll like
me much better in a little while; just wait and see.”
They continued talking, and Claire continued drinking. When
Patrick called time at 1:30, Claire was feeling more than a little
fuzzy-headed. Parts of her were actually numb; not the lusty, romantic parts,
but for sure the thinking clearly parts.
“Why was I mad at you again?” she asked Laurie.
“You aren’t mad at me,” he said. “You’re mad at yourself for
liking me so much but being so mean to me.”
“That sounds true,” she said. “I do like you and I can be
mean.”
“I knew it was just a matter of a few more shots,” he said.
“Now we’re friends again.”
Patrick picked up their glasses and wiped the table.
“Time to go, folks,” he said. “Unless you’re helping me
mop.”
“Nope, not tonight,” Claire said.
She attempted to stand but the room whirled.
“Whoa, there, young lady,” Laurie said. “I think you need to
get home to bed.”
“If you wait around I’ll walk you home,” Patrick said to
Claire.
“I’ll take her,” Laurie said.
“All right,” Patrick said. “You know she’s my cousin,
right?”
“And her pop’s a cop,” Laurie said. “Don’t worry; I’ll see
that she comes to no harm.”
“I don’t want to go home,” Claire said to Laurie.
“Fine with me,” Laurie said.
When Claire awoke, through one squinted eye she could detect
that she was not in her own bed, and upon opening the other eye, which had a
hard time coordinating with the first, she ascertained she was not in her
parents’ house. Upon further investigation, she found she was not wearing her
own clothes, nor, as it turned out, anyone else’s.
She attempted to turn her head, which felt as if someone
inside it was using a sledge hammer to try to escape. Very carefully, she
turned over, and found Laurie sleeping next to her.
“Oh, crap,” she croaked.
The digital alarm clock on his bedside table displayed 7:15
a.m.
“Oh, no,” she said
She slithered out of bed and landed on the floor with a
thump.
She used the edge of the night table to get to her feet. Steadying
herself against the wall, she wobbled over to the bedroom door, took a flannel
robe off a hook, and put it on.
“Good morning,” Laurie said.
Claire felt the contents of her stomach rise, but thankfully
made it to the bathroom before everything exited the way it had come in.
Seated on the cool tile floor with the commode lid as a
headrest, Claire frantically searched her memory for a timeline of the previous
evening’s events.
It was no use.
Even thinking hurt.
“Here,” Laurie said.
He was wearing sweat pants and nothing else.
He handed her a glass of water and what looked like two
aspirin. He then sat on the edge of the tub and regarded her with affection.
“I called Melissa,” he said. “She stayed with your Dad last
night, and took him to work at the bakery this morning.”
“He’ll be worried,” she said. “He doesn’t like any change in
his routine.”
“She said he’s fine,” he said. “Ed picked him up at the
bakery and took him to breakfast. No harm done.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“No point in regretting anything,” he said, “when there’s
nothing to regret.”
“I was naked in your bed,” she said.
“You threw up all over your clothes,” he said. “I washed
them; they’re in the dryer.”
“They’re dry clean only,” she said. “You may as well have
set them on fire.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think of that.”
“You didn’t have any pajamas you could lend me?”
“I did offer,” he said. “You refused.”
“You could have slept on the couch,” she said.
“I wanted to be nearby in case you got sick again,” he said.
“Anything happens to you, I’d have three burly Irishmen busting my kneecaps
with their shillalies.”
“That’s offensive,” she said. “For sure there were no
shenanigans?”
“If I’ve learned anything over the past two years, it’s not
to have intimate relations with pretty drunken ladies, no matter how ardently
they insist.”
“I insisted?”
“Avidly,” he said. “I was as surprised as I was flattered.”
“Sorry.”
“In all honesty, the smell of whiskey and beer vomit is not
the aphrodisiac it’s claimed to be.”
“Kill me now,” she said.
“I’d rather draw you a nice hot bath and scrub your back,”
he said. “Alas, I will be late for work if I don’t shower and get out of here
in the next twenty minutes.”
“Do you mind if I stay here?” she said. “I don’t think
everything’s out yet.”
“Be my guest,” he said, and stood up.
He hooked his thumbs in the elastic waist of his sweatpants.
“Don’t peek,” he said. “I know how you beauticians are.”
Claire lay her head back down on her arms and closed her
eyes. After Laurie had showered, shaved, and vacated the bathroom, Claire
dragged herself into the shower and hoped the hot water could somehow rinse
away the events of the previous evening.
Once out of the shower, Claire got dressed in the same
bathrobe, because her clothes were now shrunken rags, and not in the cool Bohemian
sense. She was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking black coffee, and toying
with a dry piece of toast, when she heard her phone ringing. She followed the
noise to where she’d dropped her purse, in the foyer. It was Ed. She let it go
to voicemail.
She called Melissa at the bakery.
“You ornery catbird,” Melissa said. “I don’t blame you; that
was one awful thing Ed done to you, and that Laurie’s a sweetie.”
“Who all knows?”
“Everybody who was still in the bar knows you left with
him,” Melissa said, “but only me and Patrick know you didn’t come home last
night. I swore him to secrecy, and he can keep a secret if’n I make him.”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t call,” Claire said. “Laurie said he
talked to you.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it none,” Melissa said. “You been due a
night to cut loose so I was glad to help out. Me and your dad played checkers
and watched big time wrasslin’. Why don’t you let me stay with him every night
this week so you can enjoy yourself?”
“I appreciate that, Melissa, thank you. Right now I’m hoping
you’ll do me another favor,” Claire said. “My clothes and shoes from last night
are ruined; could you bring me something to wear?”
“Where are you?”
“Laurie’s staying at Scott’s house while Scott and Maggie
are on their honeymoon.”
“I’ll put yer clothes in a garbage bag and leave ’em on the
back porch,” Melissa said. “That way maybe the neighbors won’t see.”
“Thank you,” Claire said. “I owe you so big.”
“No biggie,” Melissa said. “Just tell me, what’s Ed’s excuse
for knockin’ up his ex-wife?”
Claire told Melissa what she knew.
“I don’t know anything else about it,” Claire said. “I
hadn’t come back to Rose Hill yet, so it’s not like he was cheating on me. It
was probably just one of those things that happens. Sex with an ex.”
“It might not even be his,” Melissa said.
“That’s what I think.”
“I hardly know the woman,” Melissa said, “but Patrick said
she hit on him real hard way back when she first moved here with Ed. He said he
weren’t the only one, neither. I kinda doubt she’s been going without all these
years. Ed may not be that baby’s daddy, but it might be better for her to say
he is.”
“If the real father’s married, or her boss.”
“She’s a fancy news reporter now; thinks she’s famous ’cause
she’s on the TV,” Melissa said. “It would probably be better if the baby’s
daddy was the man she was married to instead of whatever gray cat she done
hooked up with.”
Melissa dropped off a most interesting ensemble that Claire
would not have put together, but she could hardly complain. After she got
dressed, Claire put her previous night’s clothes in the same bag and stuffed
them in the garbage can on her way out the back door, where she immediately ran
into Pudge’s wife, Ruthie Postlethwaite. Ruthie was walking their little dog up
the alley, almost as if she had been doing so repeatedly in order to catch
Claire leaving the house.
“Good morning,” Ruthie said with a smirk. “Late night last
night?”
“Yep,” Claire said, as she felt her face flush. “I guess
Pudge told you.”
“He said you really tied one on,” Ruthie said. “I guess I
can’t blame you after finding out about Ed’s wife that way.”
“Oh, I knew he was married,” Claire said. “Ed and I were
only ever just friends.”
“Kind of like you and Chief Purcell are friends?”
“No matter what it looks like, we’re just friends,” Claire
said. “I had a little too much to drink last night, and Chief Purcell looked
after me, that’s all.”
“He’s married, too, I guess you know.”
“Nope, he’s divorced now,” Claire said.
“Well, that’s a sight better,” Ruthie said. “Although it
doesn’t look too good, you sneaking out the back door like that.”
“Then I’ll just have to count on you not to spread gossip
about me,” Claire said. “On account of there’s nothing going on.”
Ruthie lifted an eyebrow but did not affirm that intention.
“I guess you heard all about Diedre disappearing,” she said
instead. “The police are involved now.”
“I did,” Claire said. “Is Marigold telling people Kay had
something to do with it?”
“She’s not coming right out and saying it,” Ruthie said.
“She’s just implying it; you know how folks like that are.”
“I certainly do,” Claire said, waved good-bye, and headed
off in the other direction.
Claire went home to change clothes, and before she left
again, she chugged a tall glass of water, took another couple aspirin, and put a
sleeve of soda crackers in her purse for later.
In front of Sean’s new family law office, up on Rose Hill
Avenue next to the book store, Claire’s ex-husband, Pip Deacon, was sitting on
the sidewalk, smoking a joint. He wore white painter overalls, work boots, and
nothing else. With his long golden dreadlocks and tanned muscular arms, he
looked and smelled the part of the beach bum pothead he had always aspired to
be.
“You’re late,” he said. “I’m charging Sean from the time I
show up here.”
“You’re not fooling anyone,” Claire said as she unlocked the
door. “No one palms a tobacco cigarette and smokes it like that.”
Pip just shrugged and followed her inside.
Claire turned on the computer, checked Sean’s emails, and
then checked the voicemail. There were no new emails or messages, so her work
was now done. There was nothing left to do but babysit the quiet office. She
sighed, and then made some coffee. Meanwhile, Pip got to work, and she was
relieved that he didn’t try to chat her up while he did so.
About an hour later, Ed came in.
“Mr. Harrison,” she said. “How may I help you?”
Ed sat down in the chair next to her desk.
“Are you busy?” he asked.
“Terribly,” she said, as she shuffled some papers.
“I just wanted to apologize for you finding out about Eve
the way you did,” he said. “I was as surprised as you were, just earlier in the
day. I did try to reach you.”
“So you hooked up in Atlanta this past March, and she’s just
now letting you know she’s pregnant,” Claire said. “Any reason why she waited
so long to tell you?”
“She didn’t want to deal with it,” he said. “It was an
accident; she thought the contraceptive she was on would prevent that. I guess
nothing’s one hundred percent.”
“And it’s for sure yours?”
“She said it was, based on the timing,” Ed said, “and I believe
her. She didn’t realize she was pregnant until she was too far along to do
anything about it. She’s never wanted children, so it’s been traumatic for
her.”
“Poor lamb.”
“I am sorry,” Ed said. “She’s asked me to stand by her and I
said I would. I couldn’t do anything less.”
“Of course not,” Claire said. “I wish you both well.”
“We’re not getting back together,” Ed said. “We’re going to
see this pregnancy through, and then after an appropriate amount of time
passes, we’ll get divorced.”
“Appropriate in what context?”
“Eve’s getting more high profile assignments now that her
career’s heating up,” Ed said. “She can’t afford a scandal right now. She
doesn’t want it to be made into a tabloid thing, but she’s made enemies at just
about every tabloid. I know it seems shallow and self-serving, but she’s worked
so hard to build her career, and something like this, if spun the wrong way,
could destroy everything.”
“It may be better family values for the minivan demographic
if she says it’s her husband’s child, but is it the truth?”