Chapter Fifteen

 

 

 

Claire wrenched her eyes open, panicked thoughts tearing through her mind. The sheets were a mess! Where was the other pillow? Did she have a showing today? Did she have time to fix the bedroom? As clarity began to rear its head, one last thought crept in. Who was the body spooning her?

She only moved her eyes, taking in the visions in her sightline. She relaxed slightly as she realized she wasn’t in one of the showroom apartments she lived in while trying to sell them. The memory of the previous night came back, and she allowed herself to dwell in the warmth of Matt’s embrace, feeling the sensation sink into her bones.

Her panic returned shortly, though. She needed her phone. She had to get back. The deadline was looming, and she had barely a week to find a buyer. She wriggled out from under Matt’s arm and scooped up the clothes from the previous night, retreating to the bathroom.

She returned, dressed and armed for the battle she expected to find. Instead she found Matt seated at the desk, a pair of jeans pulled on and two mugs of coffee on the surface.

“Morning,” she greeted him, wincing at the stilted sound.

He turned with a grin for her. “Good morning.” He offered her one of the mugs. She took it with a brief nod of thanks, enjoying the heat and brisk wakeup from the caffeine. Matt turned back to the oversize pages, his arms folded as he considered them. Claire peered over his shoulder.

She was no stranger to blueprints and the shape he had drawn was all too familiar. “Isn’t that—?”

Matt nodded. “Parker’s place. I’ve made a few changes, of course, but it’s just always been in my head.” He pointed. “Here… The kitchen’s a little more modern. I kept the two staircases, and I added pocket doors for partitioning off private areas. There are fewer bedrooms that I made bigger. I never understood why three people would need a seven-bedroom house. I don’t even remember what the other rooms were.”

“What are you doing with it?” Claire stared into her past, remembering the sewing room and the library and Allison’s doll room that had filled some of the unused bedrooms.

“I don’t know.” Matt sipped his coffee. “I keep playing with it, changing this little thing and that room. I keep thinking when it’s perfect, I’ll see about buying the land and building it, but it was never right before.” He turned to face her and took her hand.

Claire froze. She could see the glow she had been feeling radiating from his features. His smile was so open and inviting. He wanted her to stay. He would ask, too.

“I have to go,” she blurted. She saw the question in his eyes as he leaned back. “I have—you know—work and appointments. I should really go. My car is still at the hotel.”

Matt nodded. “Right. Let me grab a shirt.” Once he was dressed, they walked silently to the truck.

The drive was quick, but when they stopped, Claire looked around in surprise. “Matt, what are you doing? I have to go. Where are we?”

Matt sighed. “I thought so.” Claire stared as he got out of the truck and walked a few feet away before he stopped.

She jumped down from the truck and followed, looking around at the well-manicured grounds and the stone markers. Pausing beside him, Claire stared down at the stone at her feet.

“You said you’d visited, but no one had seen you. You say we’ve all changed, Claire, but I couldn’t believe you’d changed so much that you wouldn’t tell someone you were back home, even just for a visit.”

The engraved ‘Mark and Sharon Wallace’ began to blur as Claire stared. The tears dripped down her cheeks and she saw droplets of water appear on the marble.

“Why didn’t you visit, Claire? Why couldn’t I call you?”

Something in Claire broke and the sobs brought her to her knees. Matt knelt beside her, rubbing her back and placing a supportive hand on hers. As she sniffled through the last halting breaths, she asked, “What happened? I know you were there.”

“I was,” Matt replied. “It was just an icy night. Your dad did everything right, from what everyone could tell, but the car was going too fast when they spun into the tree. I was the fourth person there, but your mom was already gone. We got your dad in the ambulance, but he didn’t make it to the ER.” At Claire’s silence, he continued.

“The funeral was supposed to be small. We didn’t announce anything because we hadn’t heard from you, but half the town showed up. Your parents were loved, Claire, a lot.”

Claire nodded. She laid a hand on the marker for her parents’ grave and sent up a silent apology for the pride that had kept her from coming home all those years ago. She ran a finger over the small bouquet that sat beside the gravesite. “Such a good guy, Matty,” Claire murmured, sniffling.

“What?” he asked, sounding confused.

Claire stood, blotting at the tears on her lower lashes. “The flowers. They’re hydrangeas. Mom’s favorite. No one else would have remembered.” Claire turned, walking back toward the truck. She had to finish cleaning up her mess, make them proud of her again, or it was all for nothing. She would have missed the funeral and every day before it for nothing.

“Claire!” he called after her.

Claire turned back, drawing every ounce of steel to her spine that she could muster. “What?”

Matt looked at her, his face painted with desperate disorientation. “Why won’t you talk to me? What happened is you were gone and I went out of my mind trying to get ahold of you. I called everywhere I could think of that would maybe, possibly, try to help find you. But you were nowhere!” His question became a tirade as Claire tried to keep her expression at the practiced cool serenity she had adopted.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here, Matt.”

“Fuck that!” Matt’s outburst rocked her. “I know you better than that, Claire. I know you, and you know it. You would have been here if you’d known. I know how much you loved your parents, and I know how much it hurt them when you never came back. Where were you? What was so important that you couldn’t be bothered to answer a fucking phone call, Claire? Where the fuck were you?” he demanded.

“Homeless!” she shouted back, shocking them both. She shook her head then stalked back toward him. “I was sleeping in my car while my parents died in theirs. I have fought and cried and died every day to fix my life, and I don’t need you telling me how I fucked it up!”

Claire’s venomous stare took in the horror in Matt’s eyes. “Fuck you, Matt Brannon. You don’t get to tell me you know me. You have no idea who I am.”

Claire turned, walking away from Matt and the truck with her head high and silent tears streaming. The muttered curse came from behind her then she heard him run to catch up. She slapped his hand away before he could catch her shoulder.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

Matt recoiled, the hurt plain in his gaze. “Claire—” he began.

“No.” Claire held up her hand, stopping whatever feeble, pitiable apology was on his tongue. “I have to leave. Just leave me alone and forget I was here.” She turned away again, dialing for a cab as she left the man she could have loved.

 

* * * *

 

Hours later, Claire trudged through the crowds on the Chicago streets. The extension on the car rental had emptied her available cash for a cab home, but the luggage she carried was nothing compared to the weight on her heart. She felt herself jostled by people who rushed by her and only marginally noted their frustrated, vicious shouts as they tripped on her rolling suitcase.

She checked the messages in the lobby of the condo she had bought and would lose everything on in less than a week. The elevator ride to the twenty-eighth floor seemed interminable. She unlocked the door and let it slam behind her. She looked around the open room. Her gaze traveled over the cream furnishings. The kitchen beckoned her, but she knew she would only find empty cupboards and takeout containers. She stared unseeingly at the neutral carpet and walls, and she felt trapped in a prison of beige. The ceilings were too low, the walls too close, and the floor-to-ceiling windows faced the building next door, cutting off the view of the distant horizon over the lake that separated her from West Haven.

Claire dropped her suitcase and garment bag to the floor in the entry, not able to bring herself to care about the inevitable wrinkles in her coveted business suits. She kicked out of her shoes and left a trail of travel-stained clothes as she trudged to the condo’s saving grace. Standing in the center of the six-headed shower, Claire let the sobs rack her body again in a place that could never be home.

The water turned cold before she crawled out. Wrapped in a towel, she sat on the edge of the bathtub, numb until the shivering forced her to move. She laid the towel to protect a pillow on the king-size bed from her damp hair and she cocooned herself in the duvet, shivering herself to sleep.