“Oh,” Martha says, as Claire hurries in behind her. “It’s you.”
“Don’t worry, I’m on my way out. I needed a cup of sugar,” Jackie says. She rises to her feet. “But I’ve distracted Claire long enough.”
“Wonderful. Be seeing you,” Martha says snappishly.
“You don’t have to go,” Claire says, but Jackie is already halfway to the door. Claire isn’t brave enough to grab her arm.
“But I should,” Jackie says. She nods at Martha, giving her a smile. “Lovely to see you again.”
“And you,” Martha says, with none of Jackie’s warmth.
The door closing behind Jackie leaves Claire all tangled up like a string of Christmas lights. She’s absolutely sure of one thing—that she’s just made Jackie feel as if she’s ashamed to be her friend.
Claire isn’t ashamed. She just can’t let Pete find out. If he does, Claire is sure he’ll put a stop to it.
“I didn’t see her taking any sugar,” Martha says. She hasn’t yet sat down—she smooths a hand over her belly like it’s a worry-stone. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were making friends with the swinging neighbor.”
“Jackie isn’t a swinger,” Claire says, rather forcefully. “I told you that she invited the whole neighborhood to that party. Are you really spreading rumors over that?”
Martha recoils. The echo of Claire’s words seems to ring in the small space. The look of pure shock on Martha’s face speaks for itself—Claire has never snapped at her like this. She’s never snapped at anyone like this, at least not before the lasagna incident with Pete.
“Sorry,” Claire says, hunching her shoulders and trying to lower her voice. “I just think you’re being unfair, that’s all. She hasn’t done anything to you, has she?”
Martha doesn’t answer. She purses her lips, and then to Claire’s horror, her eyes get shiny.
“I came over to figure out what desserts you’re bringing to dinner on Friday night, but it looks like you have a new best friend,” Martha says. Her voice cracks on the last word, but she turns on her heel before any tears fall.
“Martha,” Claire says, half-heartedly. “Don’t be silly. That’s not—”
The door slams shut.
Claire sinks into the closest chair with a shaky sigh.
“Well done, Claire,” she mutters, folding her arms on the tabletop and setting her forehead on them. “Noweveryoneis upset with you.”
Chapter 10
Dinner with Martha and Walter is an awkward affair.
Pete and Walter don’t seem to notice at all. They talk just as they usually do, blind to the tension that sits between their wives. Pete swigs his wine; Walter noisily shoves salmon into his mouth. Martha picks at her asparagus, clearly still upset, while Claire makes patterns in the hollandaise sauce with her fork.
Claire is successful in her resolve to put on a brave face for the night until the conversation turns to the other side of the street.
“Haven’t seen hide nor hair of that new neighbor since she moved in,” Walter says, topping up his own wine and Pete’s. “She hasn’t come to book club, has she, Martha?”
“She has not,” Martha says tightly.
“Wonder how she affords that big house without a man around.”
“She’s a photographer,” Claire says, before she can think better of it. “She…told me at the housewarming.”
Martha stabs aggressively at a boiled potato.
“A working woman! She’s certainly easy on the old eyes, isn’t she?” Walter says boisterously. Whether he doesn’t see Martha flinch or he simply doesn’t care, Claire doesn’t know. “Bet she’d be a handful, though. Big-city woman like that strikes me as one of those bra-burners. Needs someone to tame her.”
“The looks aren’t worth the trouble, Walt,” Pete says, grinning into his wine glass. “I’m glad Claire has nothing to do with her. Don’t need someone like that putting any ideas in her head.” He says it as if Claire isn’t right next to him. He does it often, but tonight it sets Claire’s nerves on edge.
It doesn’t help that Martha’s head perks up for the first time all night.
