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"We talk, Rem. I don't need to stay up all night discussing our feelings, okay? I need to dance, and drink, and maybe find a gorgeous Costa Rican man to keep me warm tonight."
God, no.
Her plans have just gone from bad to worse. My face makes it clear that I’m not thrilled with this listing on her itinerary. But there’s no point in fighting her on it. As far as Rhea knows, she isn't here for anything other than our father's funeral. And given her earlier outburst about not needing me to keep an eye on her, I’m on thin ice already. "Alright. We'll go out tonight, but I have a condition."
"We?" Claire asks, at the same time that Rhea says, "Condition?"
"I don't want you bringing strange men into my house." I glance at Claire. "Either of you."
Rhea narrows her eyes on me, as if trying to decide whether I’m being overprotective or territorial. Even if I wasn’t worried about their safety, I simply don't want another man in my home. "Define strange." She tries, her voice hopeful.
"Okay." I sigh, already worn out by her persistence. I’d forgotten just how exhausting my sister can be. No wonder Claire slept like the dead on the way here. The corners of my mouth betray me when I can’t help but laugh. "I don't want you bringing any men home. Got it?"
Rhea pouts again, a practiced look that usually gets her whatever she wants. But I know that game, and I’m not playing. "Fine." She huffs. "Come on, Claire."
Claire stands slowly, reluctant to leave the comfort of the patio. She seems like she is usually pretty willing to be dragged along on Rhea's little adventures, but it doesn't escape me that Rhea seems to be pushing her further and further out of her comfort zone. Visiting the Piazza and getting hit on by random teenagers is one thing. Going to a night club in a foreign country where she doesn't speak the native language is a whole different ball game.
Rhea disappears inside as Elaine is heading back to the table. She steps aside but watches Claire's face intently as if she’s waiting for something. "Thank you again for everything." Claire smiles at her. "Dinner was incredible."
"You're welcome." Elaine smiles back, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. It also disappears from her face entirely once Claire is out of view.
"Is something wrong?" I ask, leaning back in my chair to appraise her. "You look... distracted."
"You're right. I am distracted. It's not like I was a fan of your father, but I guess I haven't gotten over it." She blinks and shakes her head, like she's just decided that was enough reminiscing for one day.
I appraise her. I've never asked, but I get the impression that Elaine is in her late forties... old enough to be considered a fun aunt. I'd also never asked how exactly she came to know my family, but it doesn’t matter. One day she was just there, and then the next day she was family. Though she works for me and is often quick to agree with whatever opinion I voice about my family, maybe at one time she'd had her own relationship with my father. Johnathan certainly hadn't discriminated, and as far as older women go, Elaine isn't bad to look at.
"How did you end up tangled in the madness that is the Boudreaux's?" I ask, watching her for any sign that she may have been more than a loyal family friend at one time. I thankfully haven’t seen any photos of her with my father, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t fall prey to him at some point.
"Hmm?" She seems surprised by the question. Her thin lips press together, and for the first time since I've known her, I get the feeling she’s trying to hide something. "Oh, it was a long time ago. A friend gave me your mother's number when I was trying to find a job, and we stayed in touch. You know your mother was just that easy to get along with." Elaine shrugs. "So, what's on the agenda? I heard something about Rhea color coding an itinerary?"
I laugh. "I guess Claire's been a good influence on her. Unfortunately, she also doesn't say no to my sister. We're going dancing tonight."
"Oh?" Elaine smiles. "That sounds... nice."
"Not the word I would have chosen." I mutter. But my phone rings in the next moment, so that Elaine never has to know which euphemism I'd have chosen. "Excuse me." I apologize, standing up and accepting the call.
Elaine waves me off, unconcerned, and I walk away to take the call in private. I don't speak until I reach the edge of the patio, where the stone gives way to white sand. "Jack? That was fast."
"Well, I'm not done digging yet, but I thought you may like to know what I've got so far."
"Oh?"
That isn't good. Jack wouldn't call to tell me something arbitrary unless he'd finished his investigation. The fact that he's called back already means that there is, in fact, something wrong with Claire.
"Your girl's a ghost."
"I assure you she's not." I say quietly. I think of our bodies pressed together when I threw her to the ground by the pool, and the way she looked like she wanted me to ravage her on the kitchen counter. She is very much real.
"You're right. She's half a ghost. Claire Elizabeth Monroe, born March 24th, 2002 according to her school records. She's had twelve different addresses from kindergarten to the present.”
Twelve addresses. I’d have thought she was a military brat if she hadn’t already told me she grew up in foster care. Twelve addresses in twenty one years means she doesn’t even average two years with each family she was placed with. It’s pretty sad, honestly, but I don’t get to contemplate it because Jack plunges onward. “Never had anything less than an A, graduated with a 4.0, attends Darrington University on scholarship. She wrote her admissions essay on how she wasn't sure what she wanted to do with life, which is a bit ballsy when you're asking for a scholarship. Her favorite color seems to be green, she's a natural brunette but clearly dyes her hair blonde, she doesn't discriminate in her taste for music, and she looks pretty fucking great in a bikini from what I saw on her Instagram."
I tense at the thought of Jack scrolling through her pictures. I'd asked him to look into her, but that doesn't mean I want him to look at her. Are there a lot of photos of her in a bikini online? I make it a point to check. "So, what's the problem, Jack?"
"Problem is that the girl has no birth certificate. I did a quick search, but there's no live birth certificate for Claire Elizabeth Monroe on that day anywhere in the U.S."
I’m silent as I consider Jack's words. How is it even possible to not have a birth certificate? Shouldn't the school have one on file? Wouldn't she need it to get a driver's license or a job? "That explains the passport." I say, more to myself than to Jack. "I mean, you said yourself she's had a lot of different addresses. Is it possible that it got lost with one of the families she was with when she was young?"
