“I understand.” She began to shake and wrapped her arm around her waist.
“Do you want me to call your sister? I called you first.”
“No, Bob, I’ll call her. Thank you. I’ll come back home. I just need a day to get away from here.”
“I’m so sorry. Do you need a ride from the airport?”
“I’m not certain. If I do, I’ve got your number. Thanks again.”
Claire hung up. Something expanded in her chest. Something that dug in and didn’t want to let go. Was it grief? There were no tears ready to spill. No sobs. Nothing.
She had to call her sister. It was nearly eleven on the East Coast. She stood up from her place on the floor. She picked up her smartphone, staring at the screen where Fran’s name and number were displayed. Her chest condensed, unwilling to expand further. She sipped small breaths.
Before her on the table, the screensaver scrolled over her laptop. She tapped on the space bar and the screen lit up, displaying black typeface on an off-white page. Her words. No, she couldn’t hide there. Not now.
She paced the length of the living room with her phone in hand. She stopped pacing as the past swept over her in dizzying hues.
Memories of life back home always shredded her composure. The idea of her parents…absent…she couldn’t form the word. A lump grew in her throat, cutting off her breath. The thought of returning to Mill Spring to an empty home twisted and extended, taking up way too much space, until it was too painful and overwhelming to hold any longer. She exhaled sharply.
She walked over to the window. She couldn’t freak out. She’d just go back to Mill Spring and do what needed to be done.
Go. Do. Leave.
Claire repeated the directions as she pressed her nose against the glass pane. Besides, Fran would be there and undoubtedly take control. She threw herself onto the sofa. The idea of going back unleashed a vortex of memories that swirled around her once more. Her throat constricted, making the act of breathing a chore.
She strove for serene and calm images. She stretched out and folded her arms across her stomach. Claire imagined calm water, a cloudless azure sky. She tried to feel the warmth of sunlight. A difficult feat considering that it was drizzling outside and the apartment was damp. A chill penetrated her sweatshirt; she shuddered and opened her eyes. So much for positive thinking.
Claire massaged her forehead and scalp, trying to soothe way the wave of tension that threatened to turn into a nasty migraine. She closed her eyes again. She had to let go…think about the meadows back home…most likely golden from the sun…his deep laugh filling the air.
Her eyes flew open. She steadied herself with a long, deep inhalation followed by another until the image of the Dustin faded. She dug her nails into her palm. She wouldn’t give in to thinking about him. His image faded, slipping away into gray mist.
Trying to face going home without losing out to an anxiety attack was clearly next to impossible. Who was she fooling? Just last month her parents had relayed the unsettling news that Dustin had returned after doing so well.
It was a simple fact, not difficult at all. He was back. What did it matter?
But Dustin Murray had not just moved back, he’d moved right next door to her parents.
Claire sucked in a deep breath trying to dispel the image of Dustin, the man whom she once trusted only to have him break her heart.
She must stop. If she continued to think about him she’d be doomed. This had to be some sort of displacement where she wasn’t dealing with her grief. She wouldn’t use another, older heartbreak to avoid coming to terms with the sadness that she had yet to feel. This was nothing more than textbook Elisabeth Kübler-Ross avoidance.
She dialed Fran’s number, wondering how many minutes she’d have to spend watching Dustin and her sister becoming reacquainted.
“Hello, Fran?” It was her sister’s voice mail. She had no words ready. “Oh, Frannie, this is Claire. Call me back. It’s urgent.”
She tossed the phone on table. There was no way any of this was going to be easy. She needed a to-do list. Perhaps she’d do the smart thing and get a hotel. There was no shame in avoidance.
Damn, she’d perfected a stealth ability to move unseen in life and in her writing. Why should going back home be any different? Oh, yeah, the feeling of having her chest ripped open the last time she’d seen Dustin and trusted him with her heart.
Chapter Three
The phone rang. Claire stopped packing. The screen displayed her sister’s Manhattan office telephone number.
“Hello, Fran? Oh God. Fran I don’t know—”
“Claire, what’s wrong?” Fran interrupted, irritation flaring in her tone. “Just spit it out.”