“We’ll see.”
Claire recognized her sister’s put-off as an indirect refusal. This was a subject to be put on the shelf until later.
“Fran, do you want anything from the house? I don’t know what to do with everything.”
“Find a company that handles estate sales. Let them take care of the business of tying the final knots. I don’t want a thing. Keep my share to help with your move to the East Coast. I love you. Thanks for taking this on.”
“I’ll let you know how things go. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Claire let go of the phone, sat back, and hugged her knees. She wasn’t surprised by her sister’s lack of interest or willingness to give up her portion of the sale. Fran didn’t need the money or the visit to a small town she’d long ago forgotten. One less minute back home would be something Fran would gladly forgo.
The sound of whistling grew louder. Claire scrambled to the nightstand. She turned off the lamp and walked to the window. The moon had risen over the trees, casting a silvery hue to the yard across the white picket fence. Claire peered down and noticed a window that emitted a golden glow, most likely coming from the kitchen, if she remembered correctly.
A shadow lengthened around the corner of the porch, and then she saw him. Dustin walked slowly and carried a tire in each hand. He’d changed from the tall, lanky boy she’d kissed and had grown up with into a man. A man with a physique that spread into broad, muscular shoulders.
Suddenly it didn’t seem as though years had passed since they’d sat on his porch, drinking toasts to each other, preparing to go off to college. She tried to remember where he’d gone, but all of sudden her mind went blank. Her mouth was dry, and she licked her lips.
Dustin walked toward the back of the house, following a well-lit path to the barn. Light poured out around him once he opened the door. She gasped and leaned forward, trying to get a better view of his muscled back that cut an inverted triangle into the darkness framed by the light. The way he swung the tires made ripples move along his arms.
Her chest constricted into something that she remembered and usually desperately avoided. She clung to the window frame, unsure of what to do.
He changed his whistle yet continued to stand in the doorway. She watched him. For a moment he seemed to face her window. She stepped behind the curtain, unable to move away from the window. A large dog bounded from the yard into the barn. He chuckled, releasing a rich laugh that lingered even after he disappeared inside.
She carefully moved away from the window, aware of a sudden weakness in her knees. This was a fine mess. She was home and staring out her window at her sister’s old boyfriend.
How pathetic.
She grabbed her laptop case and went downstairs. She could at least get some writing done on her secret set of stories. Her lovers there were perhaps imaginary, but at least it was better than yearning for someone she could never possess. She pulled out the head chair and placed her laptop on the polished oak dining table. Her attention turned to her recent work in progress that required some fine-tuning. Late at night, she found it possible to be creative without her own personal critic sitting on her shoulder and harping too loudly.
She scanned the dining and living rooms as the computer booted. So many memories. Fran was right. She needed help letting go of the things in her parents’ house. She needed to concentrate and focus her attention on her future. Dwelling on the past would serve no one and was of no help in achieving her goal, forging a future unfettered by past regrets.
First, business. She opened a computer file and selected the piece she’d written for Ethos. She read each paragraph and made a few changes. The story was ready for submission tomorrow.
She crossed her legs. Now she could get down to pleasure. She opened her personal writing file and glanced up, waiting for the document to appear. Her mother’s stained glass lamps cast a soft light and created a homey feel that she’d almost forgotten. She sat at the head of the table where her father had presided over evening meals, bravely sitting night after night with three opinionated women.
She stopped reminiscing when traces of shared meals with Dustin invaded her head. She forced her attention to her latest manuscript. She dove into the words displayed across the laptop screen, and within moments she was swept away reading, rewriting, and editing the piece. She came to the last sentence and saved the new version of her story.
She laughed thinking about what she’d written. The idea of being a woman in charge. Her current heroine was a power broker inside a cosmopolitan corporation and didn’t focus on a standard plot. She pushed the woman to exercise a high level of control while exploring erotica that mixed business with pleasure. The tension between her characters provided an outlet for Claire’s fantasies and gave her a very necessary escape route.