Pete is cut off when Jacqueline appears at Claire’s other elbow with a drink in each hand.
“Everything peachy over here?” Jacqueline hands one of the drinks to Claire, her eyes lingering on Pete’s grip of Claire’s upper arm.
“This is Jacqueline,” Claire says quickly. She clutches the glass so hard that she worries it might shatter.
“So you’re the one in charge of this madhouse,” Pete says, dropping Claire’s arm. He takes the drink from her, setting it down on an end table.
Jacqueline’s eyes narrow. Though she’s smiling, it doesn’t quite look friendly. “You must be Pete.”
Jacqueline holds out a hand to shake.
Pete stares down at it. He looks flummoxed; Jacqueline offering a handshake to Claire when they met was one thing, but Claire can hardly believe the brazenness ofthis. She’s never once in her whole life seen a woman extend a handshake to a man, uninvited. Maybe in the city things are different, but here in Acacia Circle? And toPete? He’s the most traditionally-minded man Claire knows.
“Is this what parties are like wherever you’re from?” Pete says, rather than accepting the shake. Claire gets the feeling he’s referring to more than just her previous city of residence.
Jacqueline drops her hand, along with her smile. “Not at all. I’d actually say this is quite tame.”
The pain in Claire’s palm gets sharper than usual. When she glances down, opening her hand, her scabs have turned into four red grooves in the skin again. Two of her fingernails are tipped with crimson.
“Tame?” Pete says. His voice raises almost to the volume of the music. “This is a nice neighborhood you’re disrupting, you know that?”
“Nice is in the eye of the beholder,” Jacqueline says, never for a moment losing her confidence.
Pete is bristling like a porcupine, while Jacqueline seems unbothered. There’s something of a battle of wills happening, and Claire is astonished to see that Jacqueline isn’t standing down. It’s Pete who finally cedes the silent impasse.
“It certainly is,” he scoffs, putting a firm hand on Claire’s back to guide her away. “Consider any of our future invites rejected. Come on, Claire.”
Claire keeps her eyes on the floor as she follows Pete to the door. He’s just opening it to storm through when she braves a quick turnaround.
Jacqueline is still standing in the wide arched doorway to the kitchen, drink in hand; she raises it to Claire.
Claire waves back. She wiggles her toes inside her sensible shoes, and clenches her fist tight as Pete pulls her out the door.
Pete doesn’t give outright instructions not to see Jacqueline again. He does rant about the party for close to an hour after they get home as Claire applies an ointment to her tender palm, but she tunes a lot of it out. She catches words likeshamelessandforeignbefore he finally turns off his bedside lamp and goes to sleep.
And if he hasn’t given outright instructions, Claire wouldn’t be breaking them by visiting Jacqueline again. Would she?
Claire sits at her vanity by the window for longer than she should, watching the light and movement in Jacqueline’s living room windows as the party continues without her.
Chapter 5
“Hey there, neighbor,” Jacqueline says, obvious surprise turning to a smile as she opens her front door on Monday morning to find Claire on her doorstep holding a Tupperware full of freshly baked muffins. “I was wondering if I’d see you again. I got the idea your husband didn’t like my party much.”
Claire has been scouring her mind for days now for a way to atone for what happened at the housewarming party, and this seemed the most reasonable solution. Baked goods. A normal, neighborly thing to do. Pete had been so rude. Jacqueline didn’t deserve it, no matter who came to her party.
Jacqueline herself is wearing pants today, a dark maroon velveteen fabric with a belt, and a black silk shirt. Once again, she’s barefoot. She looks daring and naturally fashionable.
Claire smooths her hand over her pleated skirt, feeling just as frumpy as usual next to Jacqueline. “Yes, I wanted to apologize for that. Pete is—when he gets tired, you see, he—”
“I understand,” Jacqueline interrupts smoothly, saving Claire from needing to stammer an excuse. She points to Claire’s hands. “Are those for me?”
Claire had forgotten that she was holding the muffins. She thrusts them into Jacqueline’s hands. “Yes! Blueberry bran. I hope they make up for our impolite exit.”
“Sounds delicious,” Jacqueline says, pulling up the corner of the lid to peek inside. “Do you spoil the whole neighborhood like this?”
Claire doesn’t know how to answer that. The truth is that the first move-in casserole was customary, but Claire isn’t usually prone to baking for the neighbors unless there’s a potluck.
Thankfully Jacqueline lets the question lie. She moves aside after a moment, gesturing into the house. “Why don’t you come in for a minute? I’ll fix us that drink we missed out on.”
