In this moment, Claire wants to be different. She wants to be daring. She can’t imagine Pete scolding Jackie for not having dinner on the table—Jackie would push back, like she did at the housewarming party. She’d stand her ground.
Why shouldn’t Claire?
“I wanted to work, too. Remember?” Claire says. Her voice is thin, but she gets the words out. “I had a job at Anita’s arts and crafts store, and you asked me to quit.”
Claire had been so proud of herself for getting that job in high school. Anita was a kindly older woman who gave Claire the freedom to sketch in her downtime, and for a time, when Claire’s mother had been busy planning her second wedding, Anita had been like the parent Claire was missing. She gave advice, and taught Claire to cook. She’d even allowed Claire to stay the night a few times while her mother enjoyed extended visits at her soon-to-be-husband’s house.
“I had you quit so that you could stay home and take care of the house,” Pete says loudly. “I gave you a gift, and this is how you repay me? With laziness?”
“Please don’t speak to me that way,” Claire says, as calmly as she can. Her fingers are tangled in her pearls, but her voice is steady.
Pete steps closer. He peers at Claire, squinting, before rolling his eyes. “Oh, Claire, don’t start crying. You know I hate it.”
Claire rubs her eyes. They’re dry, but she realizes now that they must be red like Jackie’s were. She’s grateful that he doesn’t suspect the real reason. “I lost track of the day. It won’t happen again.”
“I should hope not. Martha manages to keep an immaculate house, and she’s pregnant,” Pete says, loosening his tie and throwing his jacket over the back of a chair. Instinctively, Claire picks it up to be hung in the closet. “There’s nothing stopping you, is there? My mother raised four sons and she still managed to get a damn lasagna out by dinnertime.”
It's a backhanded jab. Another reminder that Claire hasn’t given Pete what he wants.
Claire smooths her hand over the soft cotton of the jacket. There’s an imperfection in the weave near the collar. The brief bout of confidence that drove her to talk back to Pete is leaking out of her. Pete’s voice has been raising for the entire conversation, and the volume has the effect it always does.
Claire deflates.
“Yes, dear.”
Fighting is useless. What can she really do besides grin and bear it? Pushing back only reminds Pete of all the ways Claire is failing him. She has no idea why she even tried. Her indulgence this afternoon was a mistake.
Pete is cold with her for the rest of the night. It means a break from some of Claire’s wifely duties, at least, and for that she’s grateful.
By the time Claire wakes up the next morning fresh and sober it all seems a bit embarrassing. The way she acted. The way she’sbeenacting when it comes to Jackie. Disobeying her husband, causing friction in her marriage. She wishes she was as strong as Jackie is, able to buy a house and have a job and live on her own, but she isn’t. She never has been.
She’s Peter Davis’s wife.
Chapter 9
Claire doesn’t call on Jackie the following day.
She finally plants the spring flowers. She scrubs the kitchen until the linoleum is gleaming. She goes grocery shopping, glancing around the corner of each aisle as if she’s expecting Jackie to jump out from behind the milk fridge in one of her hip designer outfits. It feels unimaginably dull to shop alone, after doing it with Jackie.
She makes it all the way to bedtime without serious incident. She makes dinner and cleans the dishes and tidies the kitchen, and she mends some loose threads in Pete’s favorite tie while he watches his evening news. The anchor talks about anti-war protests in L.A., a theft in Tulsa, and a new dance club opening in Fresno.
“Why don’t we ever go dancing anymore?” Claire says, suddenly.
“Why would we?” Pete says. His attention is more on the television as the broadcast shifts to syndication.
“Because it’s fun,” Claire says. She tries to stave it off, but the memory of dancing with Jackie yesterday is clearer to her than the screen she’s watching. She can remember how Jackie’s hand felt in hers. Her laugh in Claire’s ear. The exhilaration of spinning her around the living room like a fool.
It had been silly, and Jackie didn’t tell Claire to stop. She seemed to like it that way.
“I’m too tired to dance, Claire,” Pete grumbles. “I work for a living. And besides, we won’t have time for any of that once we get a family started.”
Claire swallows. A second mention in as many days is more than usual, and it sets her nerves on edge.
“You know, Dr.Martin gave me a call at work the other day. He offered the number for some specialist in the city,” Pete says, sending cold fissures down Claire’s back. He fishes in his pocket, finally producing a business card and handing it over to Claire without taking his eyes away from the television. “Says the man is a miracle worker.”
Claire takes the card with an unsteady hand.
Dr.Kirkland, Fertility and Prenatal Specialist.
