Thought I Knew You(22)

A shiver went through me, and I fought the desire to turn my head and kiss the tender spot between his collarbone and shoulder, where I’d kissed once before, years ago, and been crushingly rejected. A person isn’t meant to live without the touch of another person. Before Greg left, how long had it been since we’d made love? Two months? Maybe.

A wave of longing went through me, and I brought his hand up to my lips and kissed his palm.

He let out a small gasp. “Claire.” His voice was raspy. I’d heard it before, and I knew what he would say next. We can’t.



Drew and I always had missed opportunities, blown chances. Fear, ego, and good common sense, those were our enemies.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand. His eyes were dark with desire, clouded with conflict, as he searched mine.

I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of freshly washed laundry and something else distinctly male, distinctly Drew, like musk and sandalwood.

“Drew,” I said, clutching his wrist as he gently rubbed his thumb over my lips, which naturally parted, the longing low in my belly.

He closed his eyes, his breathing ragged. “I know. Me, too.” He leaned forward, touching his forehead to mine. “But you know we can’t. Not now, not like this.”



His words echoed back to me from fifteen years earlier, a memory of the prom, the sensation of his collarbone under my mouth, the humiliation that had followed then. Deep down, I knew using Drew to physically exorcise my pain and grief would damage beyond repair the one relationship keeping me from falling apart.





Greg had been missing for one month. All the women in the Mommy circles knew what had happened. Most people were kind and offered words of comfort, but when I ran into Nicole Lambert in Super Fresh, instead of her usual bubbly, “Hi, how are ya,” she cast her eyes down and pretended not to see me.

I tried to understand. If Greg had died, then people could say, “I’m sorry for your loss,” and move on. There would be a viewing or a funeral, closure not just for me, but for the community. The women could offer condolences, then go home and kiss their husbands, make love, and reaffirm that it couldn’t happen to them. But the uncertainty, not to mention lack of an appropriate Hallmark card, made women question themselves. Did Greg leave us? And if he did, because we had seemed so happy, could their husbands leave them? But my problem was not their problem and since there was no way to officially acknowledge my pain, many people chose the option of unofficially pretending it wasn’t there. Because of the anger I carried at all times, I didn’t care about the discomfort of others. I reveled in it. I was a vampire, and other people’s discomfort was my sustenance.

“Hi, Nicole,” I said loudly.

She nodded curtly at me and quickly pushed her cart past the milk she surely needed for her three children.

The only person who didn’t avoid me like the plague was Sarah, who called several times a week, sometimes to relay some bubbly gossip about her life, a distraction I welcomed. Other times, she’d just call to check-in and accept my moods however she found me. I found myself looking forward to her calls. She treated me like a person. Like I was normal.





Drew stayed another week. He helped me adjust to everyday life, giving the right amount of distraction to aid in the transition. I got out of the bed every morning because small hungry bellies didn’t care if I wanted to pull the covers over my head and hide for the day, or the week. I tried to resume our routine of kid activities.

At night, after I put the girls to bed, I’d sit in Greg’s chair, a physical and sensory barrier between Drew and me, while Drew would take the far corner of the couch. We’d talk and laugh easily, as though our near miss had never happened. Briefly, I wondered if the air between us would shift, but it didn’t. Perhaps it was purely accustomed to the years of pulsing electricity, high-voltage moments intermingled with the steady line of friendship. An electrocardiogram of our relationship.

Before he left, he pulled me into a longer than normal hug. Part of me wanted to cling to him. Stay. Stay and fill the hole in the house. Impractical, of course. Probably also unhealthy.

“Are you going to be okay? Alone?”

I assured him we would be fine and promised to call. As he drove away, I waited on the front steps, hoping he’d come back. I knew he couldn’t, but I stood paralyzed, unable to face the emptiness of the sleeping house, truly alone for the first time in my life.





Chapter 12



Amazingly enough, my body continued to function even when my heart felt eviscerated. I could breathe. I could talk. I made dinner, did laundry, ran the vacuum. However, I didn’t think. I couldn’t feel.