Leave It to Claire (25 page)

“Yeah, Mom. We unplugged the TV and your computer just in case lightning strikes.” Tommy says it nonchalantly, like responsible
behavior is commonplace for him.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

A shrug lifts his shoulders. “It’s okay.” The boys are engrossed in their game. They could care less that I’m about to burst
with pride in them. Even Tommy, who has been pretty subdued since he got his skateboard taken away. His new one-hundred-dollar
skateboard was awarded to the decidedly less talented second-place winner. I expected days and days of sullen bad attitude
coming from him. To my relief, only the first couple of days were tense while he came to grips with the reality of his punishment.
But now it’s been a week, and all seems to be going well.

“I’ll be downstairs. If the storm gets any worse, I’ll want you down there, too.”

“We’ve been listening to Shawn’s weather radio.”

“Oh?” Amazing how the most irresponsible kid can suddenly step up if he thinks he’s the man in charge.

“The storm warning is only supposed to last a few more minutes. No tornadoes have been spotted with this one. It’s basically
just a lot of lightning.”

“Let me know if that changes.” The wet clothes are starting to make me shiver. By the time I grab my SpongeBob loungies and
a T-shirt and slip inside my fuzzy slippers, I’m feeling a little better about the storm in general. True to Tommy’s prediction,
it’s all over a few moments later.

The phone rings. Smile. Has to be Greg.

Sure enough, his voice, low and lazy, reaches through the phone line and sends warmth through my belly. “I wanted to be sure
you made it home okay.”

“Yeah, I was soaked, but fine otherwise.”

“That was pretty risky going out in all that lightning.” His tone reaches me, a bit concerned, perhaps even a little irritated.
But not enough to raise my defenses.

“Making sure my boys were okay was worth the risk.”

“Okay, I know better than to dispute that sort of argument. A mother protecting her young is always right.”

I laugh. “Very wise man. Should I come back and get my other son?”

“The two of them are playing. Can he stay for a while? Sadie hasn’t had anyone to play with since we moved in. I think she’s
having a great time.”

“Does Jake want to stay?”

“Hang on, I’ll ask.”

I hear a muffled “Jake! Your mom wants to know if you want to stay and play with Sadie for a while.”

I can’t quite make out Jakey’s response. But Greg clears it up when he comes back to the conversation. “He says yes. I’ll
bring him home later.”

“Okay. That’ll be fine.”

“Before you go…” He hesitates as though trying to locate his next words. “I know you saw Ms. Clark at my house.”

My cheeks warm and indignation begins to build. Does he really think I give a flip who he has at his house at nine-thirty
on a Friday night until only God knows when? Just in case he’s under that mistaken impression, I feel I need to set him straight.
“Greg. Who you invite to your house really isn’t any of my business. So don’t think I’m the kind of nosy neighbor who will
be watching out my living room window every time you have female company.”

“Well, that’s certainly good news,” he says wryly. “And I appreciate your utter lack of curiosity concerning Ms. Clark. But
the truth is that I didn’t invite her. She saw me at the grocery store and followed me home.”

Wave after wave of relief washes over me in soothing tides. But words elude me. After all, if I sound relieved, he’ll know
I was jealous. But I can’t just say nothing.

“So she followed you, huh? That was pretty nervy.”

“She’s a pretty nervy woman. Aggressive.”

Hmm. How aggressive? I wonder.

Nice words. Be polite. Say nice words. Be polite. I’ve been giving myself this little pep talk for the twenty-minute drive
from my house to Dr. Goldberg’s office. The last person I want to see today is Rick. Especially since the doctor plans to
delve into our past relationship and has asked us to come without the children. Darcy, however, will be there as an observer.

I’m skeptical about the whole thing. I mean, how honest can Rick really be about his ex-wife when his current wife is in the
room? But I agree to give it a shot. What harm can it do?

Darcy and Rick are already sitting in the waiting room when I arrive, a bit breathless, but relieved to be two minutes before
our appointment.

Darcy’s smile is tentative at best. I never really thought about how difficult this must be for her. After all, she’s in love
with Rick. I can understand if she is resentful. Much of his time has been taken up lately with counseling. Counseling where,
for the most part, he is not cast in a very pleasant light. I try to feel sympathy for him, but if the truth hurts, don’t
cheat. Still, Darcy also has to put up with the sessions, most of which she is excluded from.

For some reason, the doctor felt Darcy should be present for this particular session. My stomach has been tied in knots since
last week after our family session when the good doctor dropped the bomb. “Just the parents. Including you, Mrs. Frank.” He
was talking to Darcy, of course. But I was this close to responding to the comment as though I were the current. Too many
memories are coming back. If Shawn weren’t benefiting from these sessions, I would have ended them after the first one, but
how can I?

All this so-called counseling isn’t doing me a bit of good. As a matter of fact, I think it’s making me a lot crankier lately.
And today I’m definitely feeling the resentment. I think I might have a bit of a chip on my shoulder.

“Are we ready to delve into the deep recesses of our failed marriage?” I make my eyes go wide. “Gee, I wonder how long it’ll
take him to figure out why we broke up. Shouldn’t we just tell him up front and give him the rest of the hour off?”

“If you’re going to go in there and blame it all on me, there’s no point to this.”

I’m shocked into total silence. In all these years since our divorce, it never occurred to me that Rick thinks there’s any
reason behind our breakup other than his inability to keep his zipper shut. Now he’s going to walk into that office and pretend
that
he’s
the victim? And of course Dr. Goldberg, being a man, will fully sympathize with the toad-sucker.

“What do you mean?” I finally manage to eke out through my desert-dry throat.

He leans forward, elbows on knees, hands loosely clasped—like he has all day. “I know you firmly believe that I’m the only
one to blame here, Claire. But it takes two to make or break a marriage.”

“Oh, is that so? Well, remind me again; how many of us cheated?” I press my finger studiously to the side of my chin and make
like I’m calculating. “Gee, sorry, Rick, I’m still just coming up with one answer—you.”

“I don’t believe this.” Rick shoots to his feet and walks to one side of the room, gathers a breath, whips around and comes
back. “Are you telling me you don’t think you bear any responsibility in our breakup?”

Anger boils my blood. I feel the steam rising. “You bet that’s what I mean, buddy boy, and furthermore—”

Dr. Goldberg’s door opens. I look up, dread slithering through me like a snake. I don’t want to do this. I can’t… My
head is spinning. I feel the tingling and numbness beginning in my face and hands, feelings all too familiar lately. I hear
the doctor’s voice through a tunnel. “Are you all right, Ms. Everett?”

Somehow I stumble to my feet. I hear myself vaguely apologizing. I make it to the van, with no clue about how I will drive
it home. Warmth floods my shoulder.

“Give me the keys, Claire.” It’s Darcy. “I’ll take you home.”

Sweet, faithful Darcy. The kind of woman no man in his right mind would ever cheat on.

Somewhere in my angst-ridden mind, a horrifying thought rises to taunt me. If Darcy’s the kind of woman no man would cheat
on, and I’m the kind of woman a man obviously would cheat on… then if I’d done something differently, maybe my husband
wouldn’t have gone elsewhere for comfort.

Nausea rises inside me, and I think I’m going to— “Darcy, pull over quick!” The wheels screech to a halt and I scramble out
the door.

Isn’t that just the way it is? You’re going along, living your life—a semi-bestselling author with four semi-great kids, a
semi-supportive mother, a semi-bearable ex-husband and his semi-sweet new wife, then suddenly, one day, you try to make things
better and guess what? You end up losing your lunch right there at the side of the road with the whole world watching.

T
urns out I had the flu. Three days of gut-wrenching queasiness—complete with necessary bowl-hugging that put all four of my
first trimesters to shame. I then spent another three days trying to regain my strength. Day seven, I fell off the wagon and
ordered pizza. Sometimes a girl just has to have pepperoni. Nothing else will do the trick. Well, except maybe egg rolls.
Day eight, I had those.

Sad thing is that several days of Chinese takeout and pizza have put back on four of the twelve pounds I’ve lost. I resolve
to stay off the scale. But I resolved to stop eating pizza and Chinese, too, and look what happened to that, so chances are,
tomorrow will find me once again removing every stitch of clothing and hesitantly climbing onto the instrument of torture
that just won’t lie.

Today is the tenth day since I ran away from counseling. I’m fine physically, except for those extra pounds, but I still can’t
bring myself to leave the house. From the bed to the couch to the kitchen to the bathroom and back to bed. I’m in a rut. I
think I’m depressed. Cheesy, pathetic, and weak of character, but I can’t help myself. Rick has once again ruined my life.

First he cheats and leaves, then he gets saved and goes all Husband of the Year-ish, and now, just when I’m on the verge of
forgiving him, what does he do? Accuses me of being partly to blame for our breakup. How does he expect to help our son get
through this pervy stage he’s entered if he refuses to accept responsibility for his own actions? (And for the record, I still
think Ms. Clark is at least partially to blame for the poems. I mean, the cleavage—come on.)

The most disturbing thing about Rick finally having the guts to admit what he truly thinks is that for the first time, I’m
starting to have my doubts. Visions of temper tantrums and sullen silent treatments and, yes, even “cutting him off” as punishment
have sort of been threatening my memory. Despite my attempt to push them away, they keep coming.

Okay, so I admit I wasn’t the easiest person to live with, but hello, did he endure the hours of grueling labor to bring forth
offspring bearing the name of Frank? Those hours alone should have elevated me to some kind of exempt mode whereby I am not
responsible for anything I might say or do. And I endured the excruciating pain four times! I should have been treated like
a goddess.

I mean, even if I wasn’t the greatest wife a man could hope for, there are never any good reasons to break a vow, right? Anyone
can justify anything. Just because a person is hungry doesn’t give them the right to steal food. And just because a man is
… Well, you get the point.

It’s all too much. Besides, I have a headache and I just want to stop thinking about it.

The alarm buzzes in my ear. My signal to get up and go pick up the kids. Darcy and/or Rick have been picking them up and taking
them daily since my flu. But Rick has committed himself to nastiness and put his foot down, declaring me fit to do my own
chauffeuring of the kids. Sheesh, I didn’t realize they weren’t his kids, too. Whatever. Who needs him to do me any favors
anyway?

I haul myself out of bed, grab my slippers, take a second to run a brush through my hair, and head for the van. Ari attends
the high school, but rides a transfer bus to the rural K-8 school the boys attend. So luckily I only have one stop to make.

In the pickup line, I hunker down while I wait, hoping that no one will notice me. I have a book, pretending to read. That
usually helps people take the hint. Okay, so far so good. Kids of varying sizes, ages, and nationalities are beginning to
stream from the school. I crane my neck trying to locate mine. I’m looking the other way when a knock at my window nearly
sends me through the roof.

Horror of horrors. It’s Greg. I check out my reflection in the rearview mirror, knowing full well I won’t like what I see.
Why can’t I just leave well enough alone? Now I know what he’s going to be looking at. Slowly, I turn back to the window.
I really don’t want to roll it down. Why didn’t I even consider this scenario? I’m usually so good at thinking a step or two
ahead. Well, maybe not. His brows go up and he points to the wall of glass between us.

Okay, fine. Might as well get it over with. I fire up the engine and press the “down” button.

“Nice to see you out and about,” he says. Gotta give the guy credit. He doesn’t look a bit scared. Even his eyes are smiling.

“Thanks, Greg. How do you like the house?”

“Love it. So does Sadie.”

“Good.” And that’s where my ability to make nice ends. I’ve become rusty in my solitude. I’m not fit company for anyone right
now.

Finally, he gives a nod. Like he gets that we have nothing more to say. “Hey, do you think Jake wants to come over and play
with Sadie after school?”

I shrug. “He might. If he does, I’ll send him over when you get home.”

He nods and backs off. “Talk to you later.” He walks two steps then comes back just as I’m starting to roll the window back
up. Leaning in ever so slightly, he sends me a wink and grins. “Cute slippers.”

I give in to my first instinct and take a walk down a little road called “cynicism.” “Sure they are. Just as cute as the proverbial
bug in the proverbial rug.” I’m just not in the mood to be all giggly and flirtatious. Besides, giggly and flirtatious is
what got me in this funk in the first place. I should never have looked twice at Rick. Never mind that he was a football player
and I was the nerd who was supposed to get him through the season with a high enough grade to keep him from getting kicked
off the team. Come to think of it, he’s always been a cheat. I did most of his work for him. Our entire relationship is just
too cliché.