Chapter 14
The week goes on like any other. Claire cleans the baseboards and tries out a new banana cake recipe. She calls her mother to give an update on the goings-on at home, entirely incongruous with how she really feels. Rita sends a new dress in the mail, brownish-yellow with green plaid, and Claire shoves it into the back of the closet. She skips book club; the last time she went she’d almost pressed her nails right through the skin of her palm again to keep from snapping at the other ladies as they talked about Jackie.
On Thursday afternoon, Claire picks the phone up on the third ring just after lunch.
“Davis residence,” Claire says, tucking it against her ear as she rubs baking soda into the silverware. The forks are starting to tarnish, and the last thing she needs right now is Pete noticing. So long as she keeps up with everything at home, he’s less likely to notice her shortcomings.
“Hello, Davis residence,” comes Jackie’s voice through the receiver, low and warm. “Callas residence calling.”
Claire drops a handful of spoons.
“Jackie,” Claire says, scrambling to gather the utensils again without getting tangled in the telephone cord. It’s rare that Jackie is the one to call first. “How are you?”
Jackie chuckles. “I’m just fine. I’m not interrupting, am I?”
“No, not at all. Nothing important, anyway,” Claire says, shoving everything back into its drawer. Polishing can wait. “Sorry. How’s your day so far?”
“My day is just fine. It’s your day I’m curious about. If I’m not mistaken, it’s a special one?”
Claire toys with her pearls. Today is certainly a special day, in the worst way—she called the fertility clinic this morning. She managed to put off an appointment until early December, at least, and she doubts that Pete will question the date so long as there is one on the horizon. “Is it?”
“Did I write down the wrong birthday on my calendar?”
Claire frowns, darting to her own wall calendar. Thursday,Julythe31st. In the stress of this week, she hadn’t even realized.
“You remembered,” Claire says.
“Of course I did,” Jackie says, as if that’s not something marvelous. “Happy birthday, Claire.”
In a humiliating turn of events, Claire finds herself close to tears. She’s been worried since the party that Jackie was upset with her—now she seems completely normal, as if it never happened. And she’s remembered a special day that even Claire hadn’t marked when she woke up this morning.
“Thank you,” Claire says, clearing the choked-up tightness from her throat. “Jackie, that’s—it’s so unbelievably sweet of you to call.”
“So, what did Pete get you?”
“Pete? Oh, he, um.” Claire clears her throat again, looping a finger through her pearls. “Birthdays aren’t really his—”
“He forgot, didn’t he?” Jackie says quietly.
Claire lets out her breath. Lying to Jackie on Pete’s behalf is a waste of her energy, at the end of the day. “I don’t think he’s ever remembered.”
The line is quiet for a moment. Claire could swear she hears Jackie’s fingers drumming on some table surface even through the phone.
“Do you have a minute for me to stop by?”
“Stop by?” Claire squeaks.
“I’ll run quick as a rabbit, I promise.”
Claire darts to the window, her arm tangled in the telephone cord—Martha’s curtains are closed, and her station wagon isn’t in the driveway. It looks as if she’s out. But if she comes back while Jackie is here…
If Claire gets caught with Jackie again, it’s over. She doesn’t doubt that Pete would sell the house and uproot them if she disobeys him this time. She’d never see Jackie again.
But itisher birthday.
“Um. Yes,” Claire says, doubting herself even as she says it. “Sure, yes, I think—that would be lovely.”
Jackie turns up at her door not long after with a smile and a large box wrapped in colorful paper.
