The car jerks as Theo takes a corner hard. He drives the same way Jackie does—with a flagrant disregard for his own safety. But he gets them across town in one piece. The car is quiet except for Claire occasionally giving Theo directions until he pulls up in front of the Cozy Corner. The upstairs windows are all dark—Claire is probably going to have a time waking Anita up.
“Here we are,” Theo says. “Your new life awaits.”
“My new life,” Claire echoes. She’s not entirely sure how to feel about that. She knows this is her cue to leave, but her legs feel heavy.
“Go on. Find your feet,” Theo says. He pats Claire’s thigh, like Claire has seen him do to Jackie on occasion. It should seem very silly, considering he’s in a wig and a dress, but Claire has already become accustomed to it. “You’ve got my number.”
“Thank you, Theo,” Claire says quietly. She opens the door, finally willing her legs to move. “For everything.”
Anita answers the hammering on the door in her nightgown after a few minutes, groggy and squinting. When she sees the bag in Claire’s hand, her eyes widen.
“Did you…?”
“Is your offer still open?” Claire says. Maybe she should be feeling emotional, in tears, even, but instead she feels buoyant. Filled with purpose.
Anita gasps. She clasps Claire’s face between her hands—it’s as if Claire has just told her the Beatles are in town. “Thank god.”
Claire laughs, her face squished between Anita’s palms. Her excitement makes the whole thing feel a little bit less insane. At least one other person besides Theo doesn’t think she’s a madwoman for walking out on her life. “That’s not the reaction I’d expect from anyone else.”
“You know how I felt about that boy. He dimmed your spark,” Anita says. Her eyes widen dramatically. “Oh! That means you’ll need a job.”
“Yes. So I was hoping that—”
“When can you start?” Anita says.
She doesn’t say a thing about the clothes.
Chapter 23
For the first time since she was a teenager, Claire sleeps in.
She wakes around nine thirty on the first of November. Usually by this time she’d be up and dressed, have breakfast made, and be busy with the first of the day’s chores. Now she rises in her nightgown only when she hears the sizzle of pancake batter hitting a griddle.
“Blueberry pancakes?” Anita says over her shoulder, when Claire has poked her head up over the back of the couch. “Orange juice is in the fridge—could you pour us some?”
Claire never gets blueberry pancakes anymore. Pete prefers chocolate chip or banana, so she digs in with gusto. She feels ravenous—where normally she’d stop after one, she devours six pancakes easily with a glass of juice and a coffee.
“I think I want to start looking for a place to live,” Claire says, once the plates have been cleared. “I don’t want to be in your hair for too long.”
“I don’t mind having you here,” Anita says. “Don’t feel any pressure to leave on my account.”
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re allowing me to stay,” Claire says.
Anita re-fills Claire’s coffee. She pushes the cream and sugar towards Claire without her asking, and while Claire mixes them in, Anita watches her with a smile.
“You know,” Anita says thoughtfully, “I hardly recognize you today.”
Claire doesn’t doubt it. Having not brought any of her products with her, her face is bare. Her hair is unbound in its natural curly state, and tangled from sleep.
“I’m sure I look a bit of a mess,” Claire says. She fiddles with the ends of her hair. It’s been so long since she wore it in anything but an updo that she hadn’t realized how long it had gotten.
“Not at all,” Anita says. She leans across the table to clasp Claire’s upper arms, squeezing them tight. “And that’s not what I mean. You’re taking up space again.”
Claire isn’t sure what that means, but Anita is beaming, and it makes Claire feel as if she’s finally done something right.
“I’m not really sure what my next step should be,” Claire says, cupping the warm coffee mug in her hands. “I don’t even know what made me leave, in the end. I just snapped last night. I don’t even know anyone who’s gotten divorced.”
Anita stirs sugar into her own coffee. She methodically taps the spoon against the rim of her cup, sets it on the table, and takes a sip. “You do, actually.”
