Jackie’s shoulder feels warm against her own. Claire’s skin tingles through the fabric of her dress. She wishes that Jackie would use that word again.
“I should make us that drink,” Claire says, springing to her feet. She feels warm, and Jackie’s body heat isn’t helping any. She turns on her heel, striding towards the stairs, and after a pause she hears Jackie follow.
Claire is only just getting the kettle on to boil when three crisp knocks sound at the front door.
She almost drops their mugs. Instead, she sets them on the table, rushing to the window while Jackie hovers near the stove, not yet sitting down.
Claire can only see a sliver of the front stoop from here, but it’s enough to identify Martha’s bright red hair.
“Shoot,” Claire hisses, letting the curtain fall back. Her heart is in her throat. Knowing that Martha could be watching the frequency of her visits to Jackie’s house is one thing but having her actually see Jackie here is another.
What if she tells Pete?
“Is everything okay?” Jackie says.
Claire whirls around. She wrings her hands together, pacing from the window to the kitchen door and back. “It’s Martha. Okay, just—I’ll just go down there and ask her to leave. It’s fine.”
Jackie is quiet for a moment, watching Claire pace.
“She really doesn’t like me, does she?” Jackie says softly.
Claire sighs. She twists her wedding band around her finger. “She really doesn’t like most people.”
“She likes you,” Jackie says. “And you’re worried about her seeing me here.” It’s matter-of-fact, and it makes Claire’s stomach churn.
“Claire?” Martha calls, muffled by the door. Claire can hear the impatience in her voice. “It’s very hot out here.”
“If you have a back door, I can go,” Jackie says. “She won’t even know I’ve been here.” She moves as if to head in that direction, but Claire steps into her way.
“That’s not—it’s not that I don’t want her to see you, Jackie, it’s—she’s just a bit of a gossip. And Pete, he doesn’t exactly know—it’s not that he doesn’tknow, it’s really more that I just don’t mention—”
Knock, knock, knock.
“I’ll be just a moment,” Claire says in a rush. “Please don’t go?”
She runs to the door after Jackie’s tentative nod, opening it just enough to see Martha’s face.
“Finally. What took you so long?” Martha says. She pushes on the door, but Claire holds fast.
“I’m actually a bit busy right now,” Claire says, through the crack. “I’m sorry. Could you come back later?”
“Busy? Doing what?”
“Just busy,” Claire says. She starts to close the door, eclipsing Martha’s shocked face. “I’ll call on you tomorrow, I promise.”
A dainty foot wedges into the crack just before Claire can close the door.
“Claire Davis, do you have someone in there with you?” Martha says loudly.
Claire reels back. It’s as if Martha has slapped her—she stops pushing at the door, which refuses to budge anyway with Martha’s shoe in the way, to stare at her with mouth agape.
“If you’re stepping out on your husband, so help me,” Martha says, her voice getting shrill enough to startle the birds in the acacia tree.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Claire says, opening the door wider in an unsuccessful attempt to get Martha to move her foot. “It’s nothing like that, nothing at all!”
“Then you’ll have no issue letting me inside, will you?”
There isn’t much Claire can do. Martha bulldozes her way in, headed straight to the kitchen, but when the door swings open to reveal Jackie sitting at the table she freezes in place.
