“And how would you know that?”
Normally, Claire would easily share something so inconsequential with Martha. They’re friends. They share burdens around housework or cooking, irks about theirhusbands or their in-laws. Being honest about her tea with Jackie should be no different, but something stops Claire this time. The sharpness in Martha’s tone. The memory of Martha’s curtains fluttering closed as Claire returned home after her last visit.
“We’ve talked at the mailbox once or twice,” Claire says.
Martha hums, but she doesn’t sound convinced. Claire sets the garbage bin down, and she bites her tongue.
“I really should go,” Claire says, grabbing for her purse. “I have a huge shopping list for Easter.”
Martha’s face turns more sympathetic. “Oh, dear. Is the whole gang coming like usual?”
“All three of Pete’s brothers, and their families. Of all the holidays in the calendar year, I might just dislike Easter the most.”
It’s not that Claire objects to the tradition of Easter, per se, but it’s the holiday in Pete’s family rotation which Claire is expected to host. Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July fall to Pete’s two older brothers and their wives. Christmas is always hosted by Rita. Pete’s younger brother Alan, being the baby of the family, is lucky enough to not be expected to host anything besides the occasional birthday or family cookout.
Hosting for Pete’s family means a house full of nieces and nephews, running about and knocking things over. It means the usual criticism from Rita. It means trying to make conversation with her sisters-in-law, with whom she has almost nothing in common. And worst of all, it means she needs to shop for a meal to feed sixteen people and carry it all home by herself.
Pete left extra money for the shopping, at the very least. Claire tucks it into her purse, and she’s just heading out the door fully prepared for a terrible afternoon lugging ham and potatoes home when she hears a shout.
“Claire?”
It’s Jackie. Her hair is tucked up under a kerchief, and she has a set of big sunglasses on her face. Claire was right—she’s about to get into her car, and she waves at Claire from the opposite side.
Claire waves back. Jackie looks genuinely happy to see her, which wipes away the annoyance of the morning. “Afternoon! Heading out for a drive?”
“Heading to the store, actually,” Jackie calls back. “I’m short on groceries.”
“Oh, how funny. That’s where I’m headed,” Claire says.
“You aren’t walking there, are you?” Jackie says, putting a hand up to further shade her face from the sun.
Claire herself just squints into it—Pete has always said that sunglasses make a woman look too uppity.
“I usually do.”
“The nearest grocer is two miles from here,” Jackie says incredulously. “Why don’t you let me give you a lift?”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” Claire says, though she very much wants to.
“Why not? I’d like the company. Besides, what if I have to grab something on the top shelf?” Jackie says. She flashes a cheeky grin as she sidles around the car to open the passenger side door. “I might need you.”
Claire stifles a giggle. She has very little willpower when it comes to the new neighbor, it seems. And besides, hitching a ride will cut at least two hours out of her busy day. “In that case, I suppose I have to help.”
“Hop in,” Jackie says, rounding the car again and sliding into the driver’s seat. “I’ll even let you drive back, if you want.”
“I don’t drive,” Claire says, bounding over the slight dip between their lawns. As she makes her way around to the open passenger door, the sunglasses hide Jackie’s eyes from her, so it’s difficult to read her expression.
“Not ever?”
“No. I don’t have a license. I’m too clumsy to operate a vehicle,” Claire says. She settles on the beige seat—the car smells like fresh leather, warm and rich in the spring sun. “I used to crash my bicycle so often that my mother made me wear knee-pads.”
Jackie’s eyebrows raise behind her sunglasses. “How often isoften?”
“Weekly,” Claire says, chuckling as she fastens her seatbelt. “I hated how my skirt would blow up, and when I tried to fix it or hold it down I’d end up getting all tangled up.”
“That sounds more like you needed to wear pants,” Jackie says.
“My mother would have laid down on the train tracks before letting me wear pants.”
