“Oh?” Martha says, setting her fork down demurely. “I see Claire crossing the lawns pretty frequently to visit her.”
Claire’s stomach sinks to the floor.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Pete scoffs. He turns to Claire, who stares down at her half-eaten salmon. The other half is currently churning in her stomach.
“Claire? Didn’t you spend the afternoon with our dear neighbor just the other day?” Martha says. There’s a pinched, satisfied sort of look on her face. A small revenge for Claire’s emotional slight. Claire has never seen her look quite so vindictive.
Claire’s nails find their home on the inside of her palm.
“Is that true?” Pete says. His knuckles are stark white around his fork.
“She needed a cup of sugar,” Claire says. She keeps her eyes aimed at her plate. “We had tea. That’s all.”
Walter piles more potatoes onto his plate. The clatter of the serving spoon against the bowl makes Claire’s skin feel itchy.
“Is this why you’ve been slacking off lately? You’re spending all your time socializing with that tramp?” Pete says.
Claire says nothing. Something is bubbling in her stomach. It’s hot and acidic, and it makes her want to snap at someone—at Pete’s furrowed brow, at Martha’s smugness, at Walter and his noisy eating. Swallowing it down is like trying not to vomit all over the dinner table.
“Well, that ends today,” Pete says when Claire doesn’t answer. He chuckles indulgently, looking to Walter, and his grip on his fork relaxes. “Suffice to say, you won’t be associating with her again.”
Claire is sure that if she stayed silent, the topic would pass. The spotlight would leave her, and she could put her head down for the rest of the meal. But that hot, bubbling feeling has onlygotten worse, and whatever is holding it back starts to dissolve the moment Pete confirms Claire’s persistent fear.
You won’t be associating with her again.
In a surge of indignance, Claire snaps. “You can’t control who I see.”
A hush falls over the table. Walter pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. Martha’s eyes go wide, looking back and forth between Claire and her husband.
Pete’s moustache twitches. “We’ll talk about this at home,” he says. Six words. Deceptively simple, and they’re just enough to cool whatever mania caused Claire to speak up.
The rest of dinner is even more awkward. Usually Pete would stay to share a few drinks with Walter, but tonight Claire avoids her usual post-dinner chat with Martha and says their goodbyes early.
Pete’s demeanor changes the moment they step into their own house.
“You embarrassed me tonight,” he says. It’s a quiet anger, but Claire doesn’t doubt it could get worse at any moment.
“I’m sorry for when and where I said it, but I don’t want to stop socializing with Jackie,” Claire says, trying to keep her tone even. “There’s no reason—”
“This is not a discussion,” Pete says loudly. “You should want nothing to do with her, or the people who were at that party.”
Claire flinches at the volume, but she doesn’t step back. Her heart pounds against her ribcage. This is the second time in as many months that Pete has been given cause to shout at her, and in both instances it’s been Claire’s fault. Fighting didn’t help at all last time. She should lower her head, apologize, and do what her husband says.
But that bubbling, acidic feeling is rising further up her throat again. Here, with no audience, Claire can identify it.
She’sangry.
“She came over for tea, Pete,” Claire says forcefully. She doesn’t quite match Pete’s volume, but it might be the closest she’s ever come to actually shouting. “For Christ’s sake, I’m not going to startswingingjust because we spent an afternoon together.”
Pete balks. For once, rather than fearing the fallout, Claire is flooded with a kind of exhilaration. A freedom. Standing her ground with Martha had been one thing, but this is another altogether. She’s not going to back down, this time.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” Pete says.
Claire strides past him, heading to the stairs. “Nothing. I just don’t see why I can’t be friendly with a neighbor.”
Pete catches her arm as she passes. He pulls it taut until she jerks back from the first step, his grip tight on her forearm. “Clearly it’s getting in the way of your duties as a wife.”
“I’ll make sure it doesn’t,” Claire says, yanking her arm away. She storms up the stairs, fueled by adrenaline, and Pete calls after her.
