Chapter 5
Hello, Claire.
Since sending her on my little treasure hunt, Claire hasn’t answered my texts. Oh, Claire, this makes me feel a bit uneasy about our relationship. A bit stabby. I hoped she would be more pliable to our situation. I thought she was when she ran around her tiny row-house apartment she lives in this morning, taking off work, making her little bereavement plans. Crying and crying. I truly felt I had her under my control.
I stood just outside the open window to her kitchen and watched her eat her cereal, just as it started to snow. She took one bite then forgot about the rest as she stared down at the table. She’s one of those women who leaves her windows wide open, even when the snow came in, fat flakes melting as they hit down against her curtains. It never crossed her mind someone might be lurking; watching. I’m quite surprised Claire’s never learned to have a better sense of safety or privacy. Anyone could just peek in and watch her. Climb in and hurt her. Drag her out and take her. Hasn’t she ever watched a horror movie? All sorts of horrible things are possible.
I watched with bated breath as her friend walked her to the car this morning, tears in her eyes. The friend’s eyes not Claire’s. Then I stood in the cold, beneath the windowsill while her friend ate the rest of Claire’s unfinished breakfast and left the dirty dishes in the sink. What sort of friends do you keep, Claire? She flipped through a few pages of a book Claire was reading then tossed it to scroll Instagram. Her profile is public, so I heart the idiotic picture she just took of Claire’s book pretending she actually read it. Ah, the greatness of social media: the never-ending pursuit to prove to a few hundred followers that you’re not a lonely, shallow loser and you have a perfect life. Be jealous of me, please. It’s the only way I can feel better about myself. The friend stayed until she got a text that someone was there to pick her up. She left, locking up the front door. They both left the windows open. Those windows are always open. So, I climbed inside. Again. Who wants to stay outside in the snow?
Not me.
A few hours later, the ground is pristine and white. The tree branches in the front yard bend and creak with the weight of the snow. I sit in the kitchen sipping the coffee I made from your last scoop of grounds. It’s watered down and tasteless, but it’s the only thing keeping me awake. Maybe if you’re good, Claire, if you do everything I ask of you, maybe I’ll splurge and buy you a Keurig. What’s that worth to you, Claire?
The GPS on her phone tells me she’s an hour away, somewhere in the mountains. Oh, Claire, are you too afraid to come home in the snow with your car? That thing is a death box. Didn’t I hear once the Radcliffes only drove Porsches?
If you’re not home by nightfall, maybe I’ll stay here tonight and sleep on your bed, Claire. Under your covers. Between your sheets. I’ll wait for you.
I sit back on her couch, kicking up my boots on her coffee table. Bored, I grab her laptop and wonder what secrets I might be able to find. It’s old and heavy. I don’t even need a password. It’s open to her AOL account and I read through all of her boring emails. I click open her file marked passwords and write them all down on the small notepad she keeps next to her empty refrigerator. When I get hungry, I crunch on ice cubes. I don’t want to waste her last pack of Ramen.
What in the world is taking you so long, Claire Radcliffe?
Fine, Claire, while I wait, I’ll pull up my favorite porn site and empty myself all over your pillows.
Once,
Twice,
Three times.
Chapter 6
Claire
I force myself to stay quiet while Vaughn storms through his father’s screw shack. He looks in each room with wild fiery eyes. I hear his disgust when he enters their bedroom and the shatter of glass as he throws one of their framed pictures against the far wall. He slams every door behind him as he stalks around. I kind of don’t blame him. It’s exactly what I did just before he barged in here.
He ends his secret-sex-palace tour with a loud squelch of his wet shoes in front of me. “So, where’s my father’s whore?” he says.
I flinch back at the question.
His lips twitch upward. He’s happy he’s getting under my skin. I shake my head and reach down for the box on the floor. “You Montgomerys never change, do you? Always so vulgar and disgusting.” I start to gather all the fallen items and toss them back into the box quickly. I’ll have to come back when he’s gone. He towers over me as I’m crawling on the floor trying to grab what’s left of the person who gave birth to me. I don’t want to be here any longer. I refuse to submit myself to his wrath. There are too many other things I’m dealing with and his tantrum is the least important.
I look up when he shifts his body in my path. The way he’s scowling down at me makes it’s difficult to ever think our families could have once been so close—or me and him for that matter.
I climb to my feet and hug the box to my chest.
Vaughn steps directly in front of me and grabs the box out of my hands, plopping it dramatically on the table. “I asked you a question. Where’s your mother?”
“Dead.”
Vaughn snickers. I guess he doesn’t believe me.
I stand my ground and glare back at him until the skin around his eyes soften.
“Shit… Are you serious?” he asks.
“Someone found her body here two days ago. She’d been dead for a few days.” I point up to the ceiling. “Hanging from a rope on that beam, right there.”
His eyes snap up to the open beam and back to mine. “She hanged herself?”
I watch his lips as he asks, hating myself for noticing how much fuller they were since the last time he’d kissed me. I need to leave, like yesterday.
I push past him and pick up the box once more.
“And you lived here with them? My father, his mistress, and her daughter? A nice cozy little family, huh?”
The question makes heat shoot up from the tip of my toes to the top of my scalp. “No, this is… I… they called me to come and get her stuff. I didn’t know—”
“Yeah, right.” He leans forward. “You and she lived here on my father’s dime, like two kept women. What did you do to keep him paying for you? I certainly remember all the things you did to keep my attention.”
I slam the box down on the table. Something else inside sounds like it cracks. “This is the first time I ever stepped foot in this goddamn place, asshole.” I want to shove the box at him; hit him with it. Slap at him with my bare hands. “How heartless of a man must you be to skip right over my mother killed herself and accuse me of living here with them? How could you think I would ever be okay with what they did? The thought of them being together all this time tightens around my neck like my own noose.”
He moves closer. His mouth opens to speak, but I don’t give him the chance.
“And you don’t get to bring up anything you and I both did willingly together back then and slut shame me. Ever,” I say through gritted teeth.
“That’s all you’ve got to say on the subject, right? That’s all you have to say after your mother ruined my family? I hope this makes you feel really good, Claire,” he barks, throwing his hands into the air.