“I don’t want you seeing her anymore, Claire. And that’s my final word!”
Rather than going into the bedroom where she’ll soon have to share the space with him, Claire darts into the upstairs bathroom and locks the door firmly behind herself.
She can hear Pete’s heavy steps coming up the stairs. He goes straight to the bedroom, slamming the door, and the house goes quiet.
All the anger that propelled her here leaves Claire’s body at once. Her legs seem to quiver—she sinks down onto the closed toilet seat, shaking like a leaf.
She just raised her voice at Pete. She pushed back at her husband. Sheargued. She’s going to pay dire consequences for it she’s sure, but in the moment it felt good in a way Claire couldn’t have imagined.
Maybe Jackie would even approve.
When Claire finally emerges, Pete is already sleeping. He’s facing the wall, snoring away as if nothing is weighing on his mind. He’s given Claire her rules, and now he has nothing to worry about. She’s not to see Jackie again.
Claire sighs.
She sits heavily at her vanity, combs her hair, and lays out her things. Her necklace goes in its box, her hair pins in their dish, her wedding rings on their shiny plate. Every piece of her orderly life accounted for.
With all her layers removed, Claire looks to Jackie’s house. There’s a light in one of the windows. Claire wonders what it might be like to go there, now. To disobey Pete and show up at Jackie’s door and tell her everything that happened at dinner.
Would Jackie be in that robe she wore the other day? Would they retire to the conversation pit, where Jackie would lounge and give Claire whatever bits of wisdom she can spare? Would she bring out that marijuana again, to help Claire relax? Would Claire partake?
Pete snores loudly, startling Claire from her thoughts.
Sneaking over to Jackie’s is a ridiculous daydream, and nothing more. But Claire refuses to stop speaking to Jackie just because Pete doesn’t like her. If she’s very careful not to alert Martha, she can still make their friendship work. She’s sure of it.
Taking a slow, deep breath, Claire sets down her hairbrush and climbs into bed.
~ ~ ~
Monday morning dawns bright and sunny after a rainy weekend. Pete puts on a new tie over a clean, ironed shirt. He reads the paper, grumbling again about degeneracy and shoddy police work as he reads a cover story about some anti-warprotests. He eats his eggs, packs up his briefcase, and leaves for work after a quick peck on the freshly-shaven cheek from Claire.
The moment Pete’s Cadillac rounds the corner, Claire picks up the phone. Jackie answers on the third ring with a curt, businesslikeJacqueline Callas speaking.
“Good morning, Jackie,” Claire says, making herself comfortable at the kitchen table. “It’s Claire Davis calling.”
Jackie’s voice warms up immediately. “And my day gets brighter. What can I do for you?”
Claire twirls the cord around her finger, smiling foolishly into the phone. “I just wanted to talk. And to…well, to apologize, in fact. For what happened last week with Martha?”
“Oh, Claire, don’t worry about that,” Jackie says. Claire can just imagine her waving a casual hand, quick to forgive. “I understand.”
“Even so, it was incredibly rude of me,” Claire says. “I know I must have given a terrible impression, but I very much enjoy our time together. Martha is just quite…”
“Territorial?” Jackie drawls.
“I was going to say sensitive,” Claire says, though not without a smile.
“Of course you were. You’re a kind person.”
“And you’re too kind tome,” Claire says. “I’m glad you aren’t upset.”
“Of course not. I’m happy to hear your voice,” Jackie says. Her voice is warm and easy. Already it’s lifted a weight from Claire’s shoulders.
“Any fun plans for today?” Claire says. “Some high-fashion photoshoot you’re jetting off to?”
“I’m actually reading a cookbook.”
“Oh, dear,” Claire blurts.
