“I don’t even have time for hobbies anymore. That’s married life,” Claire says with a quiet chuckle.
Jacqueline’s smile melts into a look of mild concern. “Is it?”
“I mean, it takes so much time to do everything I need to do,” Claire says hastily, suddenly aware of just how uninteresting she must sound. She worries at her pearls, lifting them to her mouth and tapping one against her teeth. Pete hates it when she chews on them—Jacqueline surely feels the same, and that thought makes Claire drop them again.
“Such as?”
“Clean, and cook, and—and take care of Pete. Mend clothes. Tend the garden.”
Jacqueline’s legs stop swinging. That furrow between her brows is back. “There must be something you like to do, beyond all that.”
Claire’s mind races. Everything that comes out of her mouth seems only to reiterate her own dullness, in contrast to Jacqueline. Jacqueline the photographer, the bohemian city dweller. Jacqueline the enigma. “I do enjoy gardening. And the ladies in the neighborhood sometimes do a book club?”
“That sounds fun,” Jacqueline says. Her tone is polite, but it’s clear she’s not interested in a ladies’ book club.
Claire swallows hard. She traces along the edge of a photo frame—it’s face-down, so she can’t see Jacqueline’s work. She’s desperately curious about it.
“I…like to draw,” Claire says haltingly, fishing for the only thing she ever felt she was particularly good at. Art classes had been her favorite part of the day once upon a time, but by senior year Pete was taking up most of her free time. “And paint. At least, I used to. I won a drawing competition once, in school. Before Pete and I started dating.”
Claire is grasping at straws, but Jacqueline’s smile turns softer.
“Every painting needs a background,” Jacqueline says warmly. “I should have guessed you were an artist.”
Claire laughs. It’s a horrible nervous braying thing. “Oh, gosh, I wouldn’t call myself an artist. It’s not like I was making a career out of it, like you. It was just a silly distraction.”
“Did it make you happy?”
“Yes,” Claire says, with hardly a thought. Ithadmade her happy. She’d sit and sketch for hours, using it as an excuse to go for long walks in the park once her parents had deemed her too old to run around playing and scraping her knees. Her bedroom was full of watercolors, until one day it wasn’t.
Jacqueline leans a little closer, like she’s sharing a cheeky secret. “Then it wasn’t silly.”
Claire isn’t sure what to say to that. Her hands are shaking again, for some reason. It seems to happen every time Jacqueline looks at her for too long with those beautiful, inscrutable eyes.
“I think I’d like to take you up on that drink,” she says, casting her eyes downward. They fall on that darn freckle again. It’s like a single drop of brown paint. Claire wants to smear it with a brush. Or with her finger, even.
Jacqueline is sliding off the desk and halfway to the door before Claire has shaken herself of that strange urge. That light, herbal scent washes over Claire as Jacqueline moves past her—it’s definitely too soft to be perfume. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”
“Oh, you don’t have to get it for me,” Claire says, standing up so quickly that the chair rolls across the carpet.
“We can go together,” Jacqueline says.
Reluctantly, Claire trails her back out to the living room. The noise of the party hits like a wall, and she grits her teeth against the onslaught of it as Jacqueline leads her towards the kitchen. Claire sticks close, hoping against hope that she can sneak through.
Just before the threshold, something catches her arm.
“Thereyou are.”
It’s Pete, of course. His cheeks are red. Claire isn’t sure if it’s due to the beer, or the fact that the kissing in the pool seems to be a group activity, now. Just a glance is enough to make her own cheeks heat up.
“These people are embarrassing themselves,” Pete says gruffly. “Let’s go.”
“But we only just got here,” Claire protests.
“And now we’re leaving.”
“Where are Martha and Walter?” Claire asks, casting her eyes around. She doesn’t see them anywhere in the living room.
“Home, where we should be. This party is azoo.”
