Secret Desire(9)

Clair wasn’t about to give up, not after spending the first eighteen years of her life in this small, pink and white room and fighting this particular window.

“All right.” She ground her heels into the smooth pine planks along the floor.

She squatted and repeated what her old horse trainer had always said. “Use your legs, girlie.”

Claire pounded her fist against the frame. Little by little the window followed a path upward. Finally she stood in front of the open window, enjoying the cool evening air. Claire wiped her arm across her forehead and moved to sit on the ledge, fanning herself with the hem of her nightgown.

Low and lilting, familiar notes drifted upward into the room. She couldn’t make out the tune but you couldn’t mistake that someone was whistling in the yard next door. She felt a tug at her chest and sat upright.

She glanced over her shoulder and through the window into the semi-darkness that made her neighbor’s yard a mystery. But no puzzle. She’d crawled, walked, and run inside that yard as often as she had her own and for longer than she remembered. She and Fran and Dustin. Fran didn’t hang out with them much if it meant getting dirty. She and Dustin had found plenty to keep them busy. Running through the pastures, swimming in the creeks and lakes, laying in the tall grass talking about the future.

They were friends until one day, when she and Dustin rambled through the backwoods, they’d climbed over one of the fences and their hands had touched. They had backed up a step, shy suddenly, and both aware of something dawning. For a while she bathed in Dustin’s admiration. He made her feel special, as if he could see inside her, deep inside where she kept her secrets.

No longer the mirror image of another girl. No longer the person who people mistook or stared at because she was a replica. No longer Fran’s twin.

Dustin’s expression had told her that he saw into her heart and soul. And she’d let him in, shared that special part of herself that otherwise she held back. They had exchanged one innocent kiss and Claire knew, without a doubt, he’d stolen her heart. To this very day, he’d not given it back.

Instead, he’d trampled over the only gift that was hers to give. He’d tossed aside her emotions without a word or explanation. Became Fran’s boyfriend and ignored her. It was worse than being an identical twin. She went from special to nonexistent, and so she had fled, rather than bleed from a wound that reopened each time she was near him.

She realized suddenly that with the lamp light coming from her nightstand, whoever was downstairs could see up into the room. At least, that’s what she remembered from when Fran and she were teenagers and trying to figure out if Dad was still awake. She’d chanced climbing the gnarled tree outside her window a few times to avoid having to make excuses to him.

Fran and Claire had shared this room since birth. Inside the bedroom their lives were displayed in awards, photographs, girlish keepsakes. They were the only children of Maggie and John Robertson.

And now their parents were gone.

She finished the thought, expecting to feel something beyond hollow. Tears still hadn’t come. She’d felt a peculiar calm after she’d spoken with Fran the day before, letting her know of their parents’ deaths. Instead of anxiety, all she perceived was the inability to draw an effortless breath. Torn and ragged. Each breath since yesterday had required some sort of extra effort.

Claire had arrived home when shadows were their longest and the sun was on the far side of the fields. There was utter silence in the house. She hadn’t been home since the winter holidays, a couple of years ago. How did the time slip by so fast? Her stomach churned and she stopped the line of thought. It was easier to focus upon her writing to slip past her problems. She’d never argue her coping skills amounted to an overabundance of avoidance.

She didn’t need to be reminded that the deadline to submit her latest article loomed. She pulled out her cell phone and noticed only one bar flashed in the corner. She shouldn’t be surprised. Out on the edge of town, the closest cell tower was more than ten miles away. She pressed speed dial number 7 and listened to Mike’s voice message. She waited for the beep.

“Hey, this is Claire. I’ve arrived. I’ll find web service and submit the piece early tomorrow.” She gnawed her lip, ignoring her imaginary personal critic who motioned enough said. “Email me if you have questions.” She scrunched up her face at sounding the least bit needy. The critic rolled condescending eyes.

She and her sister had left their small hometown for colleges on opposite coasts. Fran had never come back home after graduating high school and now worked on Wall Street. Her sister had spent her college breaks in highly sought after internships in New York, D.C., and Boston, whereas Claire had joined the Peace Corps and traveled around Europe and Asia.