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Chapter Thirty-Two
Claire
Chris drives slowly on the ride to my father’s house so I don’t get sick. As usual, Jackie notices everything.
“Why are you driving like a grandma?” she asks Chris. “Claire, are you feeling better today?”
“I feel great. I had a good breakfast,” I reply, knowing how much Jackie prizes a healthy breakfast.
“Good girl. You need to eat well and drink lots of water.”
My heart races as my mind tries to conjure reasons why she would say this. She doesn’t think I’m pregnant. One vomiting fit does not a pregnancy make. She must be giving me advice to heed in general.
Now I feel like throwing up again. The egg-flavored vomit stings the back of my throat and I swallow it down multiple times, all the while staring out the passenger window so no one can see me struggling. Suddenly, I break out in a cold sweat and my chest heaves involuntarily. Oh, God. It’s coming.
“Pull over!”
Chris quickly pulls into a gas station, but I can’t get the door open fast enough. Some of the vomit hits the inside of the car door. The car rental company is going to hate me. The rest of my breakfast comes up, painfully. When I’m done vomiting, my eyes are bloodshot and tearing and the back of my neck is dripping sweat.
Jackie goes inside the gas station to get me some water this time and Chris squats down in front of me as I sit on the passenger seat.
“Are you okay to go? We can do this another time. We don’t even have to go to Vegas. You can just lie down in the hotel room until you feel better. Or maybe I should take you to the hospital. Do you think you need to see a doctor?”
“Chris, I’m fine. Well, not fine, but this isn’t any worse than… than it was with Abigail. It will get better… eventually.”
I bite my lip so hard as I think of her that I draw blood. The metallic-tang makes me gag and I quickly wipe my lips on the inside of my shirt.
Jackie arrives with a plastic bag of goodies. She hands it to me then gets into the backseat without another word. I look inside the bag and find two bottle of water and a bottle of multi-vitamins.
She knows. She has to know.
“What’s this?” Chris asks, holding up the vitamins.
“Well, if she can’t hold anything down, she should at least be taking a multi-vitamin.”
The way she says this as if I’m not in the car worries me. “Jackie, I’m fine. I just can’t stand the smell in this car. And I’m beyond nervous.”
“I know, honey, but you have to take care of yourself.”
Chris kisses my forehead as he stands and I swing my legs into the car so he can close the door. I take one of the vitamins with a small sip of water. Chris sets off down Washington Street again and my stomach begins to hurt the second he turns into the residential housing tract where my father lives. The houses all have red clay tile roofs and rich, green lawns. The overcast sky dulls the shine on the cars, which are all mostly brand new.
My breaths come shorter and quicker the closer we get to his house. As soon as we pull up in front of the two-story house with the cream-colored stucco and the brand new SUV in the driveway, I feel as I might pass out. I clutch the handgrip on the inside of the car door as I stare at the rust-colored door of the house.
Chris grabs my hand and I jump a little in my seat. “Take your time.”
I nod and take a few deep breaths before I open the car door. Chris and Jackie follow and my heart pounds in my ears as I shut the door. He places his hand on my back to guide me forward and I wiggle my fingers and arms, like a fighter about to enter the ring.
“Claire, you’re very pale,” Jackie remarks. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
I nod again as I continue up the concrete driveway, past the box hedges that stand like pillars on each side of the garage door. Walking up the brick-paved path to the front door, I try to imagine that each step is literally making me stronger. It’s much harder to fool our brains into thinking we’re strong than it is to believe we are weak. But if we are taught to see the good in others, we should also try to see the good in ourselves.
I am strong.
I’ve endured the stench and agony of my mother’s death. I’ve battled the loneliness of not having a home. I’ve survived willingly handing over a piece of my soul to two complete strangers after losing the love of my life.
I will survive this.
Chris looks at me as he reaches for the doorbell. “You ready?”
“Yes.”
He presses the doorbell and Jackie links her arm with mine. She winks at me and I finally realize that no matter what happens today, I already have a family.
A woman answers the door, her light-brown penciled eyebrows raised in a question beneath her blonde-streaked hair.
“May I help you?” she asks in a pleasant voice that’s definitely tinged with annoyance at being disturbed at ten in the morning.
Her black yoga pants and baby pink T-shirt hug a youthful body, which betrays her late-forties face.
“We’re here to see Phillip Lungren,” Chris replies, making no attempt to offer our identities because the woman suddenly recognizes him.
“Phil is at work. Are you… you’re not…?”
“I’m his daughter,” I respond for Chris. “Claire… Nixon.”
The woman looks at me and back at Chris then she shakes her head. “Phil didn’t tell me he was related to Chris Knight.”
“He’s not,” I reply, trying not to sound too annoyed. “I’m his daughter. Will he be home soon?”
Her lip curls up then she sighs as she seems to remember her manners. “You’re the one from North Carolina?” she asks as if my father has left a trail of illegitimate children traversing the nation.
“Yes, I’m the one from North Carolina. Raleigh.”
Jackie squeezes my arm tighter. I’m sure it’s a gesture of support, until I look at her face and she appears on the verge of breaking this woman in half. She’s trying to draw on me for support.
“Well, then come on in,” she says, taking a step back to make way for us. “I’m Elsie, Phil’s wife. I’ll call him right now to let him know you’re here. He works less than ten minutes from here.”
She leads us into a living room with black leather sofas and more high-end electronics than I’ve ever seen in a home before. Not even Tristan and his flashy house have this kind of setup.
“Have a seat,” she says, waving at the couches. “Would you like something to drink? I’ve got iced tea, water, juice….” She glances at Chris. “Beer, bourbon, vodka, pretty much any kind of liquor you want.”
Chris grabs my hand as we take a seat and the smell of leather surrounds us as a puff of air explodes from the sofa cushions. “We’re fine, thank you,” he replies.
Elsie disappears into the kitchen, to grab her phone I assume, and Chris whispers in my ear. “Didn’t mean to answer for you about the drink, but I don’t trust this woman not to poison us.”
I laugh softly and Jackie smiles at us. The wistful expression on her face makes me wonder if she’s happy that Chris can make me laugh at a time like this or if she’s nervous. I want to tell her that she has nothing to be nervous about. I’m going to get through this and nothing my father says or does will ever affect my love for her.
Elsie enters the living room and sets her iPhone on the coffee table as she takes a seat on the other sofa. “Phil will be here in about twenty minutes.” Her eyes take everything in, from Chris and I holding hands to the stubborn look on Jackie’s face. “So, you two are a couple?”
“Claire is my heart,” Chris responds and I smile as I get a swooping sensation in my belly.
I never think of Chris as the rock star every one else sees him as. To me, he’s just Chris: the guy who patiently glued the broken pieces of my shattered heart back together. The same guy who cried last night when he discovered I’m carrying his child. It’s always weird when I see others regard him as a celebrity.
&
nbsp; Still, as wonderful as that simple statement, Claire is my heart, makes me feel, I know that this is partially a threat from Chris to Elsie: Fuck with her and you’re fucking with my heart.
“Is Nichelle here?” I ask to ease the growing tension in the room.
“No, Nichelle is on Winter Break. She’s out with some friends right now. You know kids that age. If they’re not at the mall or at home, they’re off getting into trouble.” She snatches her phone off the coffee table and begins typing something. “I’ll text her to see if she can come home to meet you.”
The tone in Elsie’s voice sounds annoyed, as if she knows Nichelle will not come home, but she’ll send the text anyway just to satisfy my curiosity.
“That’s not necessary,” I say. “I don’t want to interrupt her plans.”
“Oh, please. She does the same thing every day. You’re not interrupting anything.” Elsie rolls her eyes as Nichelle responds quickly. “She says she can’t come. She’s sitting inside the movie theater right now.”
I guess she’s not as anxious to meet me as I am to meet her. I try not to let this hurt me—she’s just a teenager, after all—but it stings.
Jackie squeezes my knee when she sees the disappointment in my face. “It’s just bad timing.”
I’m not sure why I put myself in a position to be rejected. I guess we never really know if the path we’ve chosen was the wrong one until we reach the end. The important thing is whether you enjoyed the journey. And telling Chris about the letter from my father only brought us closer. If nothing else comes out of this visit, I’ve already won because I have Chris.
After twenty minutes of awkward conversation punctuated by long silences, the sound of the front door opening makes us all perk up. Elsie grabs her phone off the table again and we all stand up as my father walks into the living room.
He’s thin and tall with ropy muscles snaking underneath his tanned skin. His grayish-brown mustache matches the hair on his head. The yellow T-shirt he wears tucked into his jeans has the word Kelly Co splashed across the left side of his chest in green letters.
