“Yes, but…” Jackie cuts herself off, biting her lip, “but it doesn’t matter.”
Claire hardly hears that second part. The first is what’s most important—theyes. Whatever Claire is feeling, whatever she’s embroiled in, Jackie is in it, too.
“Why? Why can’t we do this?” Claire says. She doesn’t bother to mask her desperation. One hand goes to Jackie’s hair, then to her beautiful face, tracing the outline of her jaw as she’s secretly ached to do all these months.
Jackie leans into it, pressing her cheek into Claire’s palm even as she denies her. “You’re married.”
“You slept with Mrs.Wilson,” Claire protests. “And others. Like that woman the night of the moon landing—you went to the bedroom with her.”
“They were different. Their husbands were sleeping with other people in the next room. Everyone was aware of the circumstances. Your husband isn’t a swinger, Claire.” Jackie’s eyes threaten to spill over, and she bites at her lip so hard that Claire can see the little indents left behind. “I can’t do it. Not like this. Not again.”
Though Jackie is denying her, Claire’s heart still soars. Once more, Jackie’s words are telling.
Not again.
Claire is different than those two other women, because Jackie sees her the way she saw Valerie. Someone who will ultimately choose safety over love.
Claire has already made the opposite choice, but Jackie doesn’t know that yet.
“I left him,” Claire says simply.
For a moment, only the music from the party is audible. Jackie’s brow furrows. She shakes her head a little, as if she’sletting the information filter through her brain; when Claire raises her hand, Jackie’s eyes fix on her bare ring finger.
Claire agonized over it for months, but now that she’s here, the choice seems easy. She feels more just from standing close to Jackie than she ever did for her husband. He’s harsh where Jackie is soft, thoughtless where Jackie is kind. He’s a pair of shackles, and Jackie is a car on the open highway.
“That’s…” Jackie whispers, seemingly tongue-tied. “You’re…no. That’s absurd.”
The crease between Jackie’s brows is deep. Claire wants to press her fingertip against it, and so, for once, she does. She does what she wants to do. She smooths out the wrinkle, letting her finger drift down the arched bridge of Jackie’s nose. “You know, that’s what Pete said. And Martha. But here I am. I think absurd suits me.”
“You told them? You actually…” Jackie’s eyes are still fixed on the spot Claire’s wedding ring used to be, following Claire’s hand. “When?”
“I left on Halloween.”
“That was months ago.”
“I know. I’ve started over,” Claire says.
Jackie’s eyes have finally stopped darting to the doorknob. “You left your whole life?”
“It was barely a life,” Claire says urgently. “I’ve been miserable since before we even got married. I just…I didn’t know there was another option.”
Jackie’s mouth is in an anxious twist, her teeth pulling at her lower lip. When Claire moves her hand to cup Jackie’s face again, Jackie catches her wrist.
“Your palm,” Jackie says. There’s a quiet wonder in her voice.
Claire follows Jackie’s eyeline to the silvery scars. Jackie has only seen them red and irritated.
“No more bad habits,” Claire says.
Jackie’s thumb traces over the lines. Mixed with the smoke in the air, it brings back a memory so strong that Claire can feel the weight of Jackie’s head in her lap, and soft hair cascading over her thighs.
“I’m working at Anita’s shop. I’m living on my own. I’ve given Pete the papers,” Claire pushes on. “I’m never coming back here, now that I know who I am.WhatI am. Now that I know how I—” Claire’s voice quavers, and she swallows hard to control it. “How I feel about you.”
“And how do you feel?” Jackie whispers.
Claire closes the scant distance between them. Jackie’s breath is coming quick, almost as quick as Claire’s, and it’s up to her to make the final leap.
“That I want this,” Claire says, all in a rush. “I want you. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
