Claire Knows Best (5 page)

“Yes. I need to take care of some things here. Do you mind?”

He gives a little shrug and drops his gaze to his lap. “Are you coming to stay with us at Daddy’s?”

I choke back a knee-jerk flippant comment and steady myself. “No, sweetheart.”

“Why not?” Jakey pipes in.

Oh, maybe because watching Rick and Darcy cuddle might cause hives to break out all over my body. Because smiling when I want
to scream might cause an uncontrollable twitch in my eye. I take a breath. But to find an acceptable excuse for my son . .
. that’s the task. “Because Darcy is too busy getting ready for the baby to have extra company.”

A frown forms between his eyes like he’s trying to make the connection. “Are you going to come over later to see us?”

His wide blue eyes are making me feel like a slug. “Not tonight, honey. I have to figure out where I’m staying, and I’ll have
to go shopping before the stores close.” Which I estimate is in about two hours.

Tears well up in his eyes. “Okay.” He slides out of the van and wraps his arms around my waist. I gather him close.

“It’ll be all right, sweetie. We’ll all be back home before you know it.” Just before they climb into Darcy’s SUV, I hug each
of my children long and hard and even Tommy hangs on just a bit longer than he normally would. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Greg stands silently behind me as we watch them drive away. And I think it hits us both at the same time. There is no way
I can stay with his mother. I mean sure, she’s a lovely lady and she came to Darcy’s rescue during the whole Christmas luncheon
thing last year. (Darcy wanted to decorate with new decorations including a blasphemous—

according to the pastor’s aunt—Christmas tree. The entire women’s group sided with the ancient woman out of habit until the
voice of reason, in the form of Greg’s mom, came to Darcy’s defense.) So I have a lot of admiration and affection for Mrs.
Lewis. But I think we’ve jumped the gun a bit with our impulsive grasping at straws to get me out of Darcy’s clutches.

Judging by Greg’s oh-dear-Lord-what-have-I-done silence, I’d say he’s thinking the same thing about now.

In theory, it seems like a good plan, but even in the best of circumstances, living with someone can cause a bit of a strain.
Problems between his mother and me might dampen my relationship with Greg. And I’m not the easiest person to live with while
I’m in writing mode. I don’t like to be interrupted even for nice reasons—like supper.

Greg’s worried expression adds to his telltale silence, so I decide to put him out of his misery. “It’s okay, Greg. I honestly
don’t need to stay at your mom’s. I can probably sleep on my couch downstairs.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. My mom is going to be delighted to have you.” A quick cough into a large tanned fist is the first sign
of a man trying to avoid facing the harsh truth.

“No, seriously. It wouldn’t work.” I give him a little fingertip tap on the arm. “I’m really not very good at being company,”
I say with what I hope is a quirky I’m-letting-you-off-the-hook grin. “I leave my shoes and clothes thrown around. I never
put the lid back on the toothpaste. And I’ve been known to go through other people’s medicine cabinets just to see what kinds
of prescription drugs they’re taking.”

I smile as Greg starts to laugh and slings his arm across my shoulders. I’ve accomplished my goal: make Greg feel less awkward
over his silly flub. Imagine, inviting your girlfriend to stay with your mother. But then, this sort of brings me back to
my original problem, which is how to get out of Darcy guilting me into staying at Tara.

Okay, I shouldn’t joke about Darcy’s home. It’s not really Tara. Close, though. But it’s lovely. Gorgeous, if a bit pretentious.
That’s my ex-husband for you. Darcy fits the home well, but then Darcy would fit a trailer or an apartment or a three-bedroom
house in the suburbs. That’s just the kind of person she is. She’s adaptable and attempts to make everyone around her feel
special.

Still, that doesn’t mean I want to spend two weeks or two months or however long it’s going to take for my home to be fixed
in her house. Darcy just doesn’t get it. To her, we’re just one big happy family. Especially since some major healing has
taken place between Rick and me during the past few months. But just because I’m no longer considering hiring a hit man for
the guy who cheated on me then left me to raise our kids alone, that doesn’t mean I want to sit across from him day after
day at breakfast and supper and pretend I’m the long-lost sister come to visit. I’d rather max out my credit card on a clean
but cheap hotel.

Greg’s cell phone chirps out “Here I am to Worship” and he gives me a shrug. “Speak of the devil,” he whispers before expelling
a cheery “Hello, Mom. We were just talking about you.” Hesitates. Frowns a little. “How’d you know?”

My heart stops. How’d she know what?

“Uh, yeah, she’s right here.” He hands over the phone. “Mom wants to talk to you.”

I scowl and take the phone. “Hello, Mrs. Lewis.”

“What have I told you about that?” her stern voice asks.

“Sorry. Helen.”

Greg chuckles and I punch him in the arm. He clamps his other hand to his arm as though I’ve mortally wounded him and pantomimes
his pain, trying to crack me up. And it’s working. I’m forced to turn my back to him or laugh in his mother’s ear. And then
I’d have to explain it. Better to just look away.

“I hear we’re going to be roommates for a while,” she says.

“Uh, well…” I’m fully aware of the fact that I’m blathering like a dum-dum. But what’s the deal with this woman? Radar?
“I—what do you mean?”

“I just got a call from Darcy, thanking me for putting you up for a while.”

Darcy! That little sneak was checking out my story! I’m insulted, really. She thought I was lying? Well, okay, I guess I sort
of was. But actually, Greg’s the one who brought it up. All I did was innocently jump on the bandwagon. I can hear my mother’s
voice in my head, “Oh what tangled webs we weave…”

“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, Helen. Greg only mentioned it as a possibility. I’m in the process of making other
arrangements.”

“Don’t be silly. I’d be happy to have you stay. You can sleep in Greg’s old room.”

She sounds genuine enough, but you never can tell for sure. Helen Lewis is from the school of polite society and un-wavering
hospitality—the same one my mom attended.

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure how long it’s going to take to fix.”

She skitters away my concern. “I’ll be glad to have the company. There’s even plenty of room for you to bring your children
with you as well.”

“That’s kind of you. But they’re at their dad’s.” I can just imagine Darcy’s outcry if I try to take the kids to someone else’s
home. She loves to keep the family close.

“All right, then. Just you.”

And just like that, I’m staying with Greg’s mom for an indefinite period of time.

D
arkness has fallen over my sleepy little south-central Missouri town by the time I reluctantly pull out my emergencies-only
credit card and rack up about five hundred dollars’ worth of items I can’t do without.

Against Greg’s wishes, I went upstairs to see if I could make it into my bedroom to grab a few things after all, but he was
right. The tree is so enormous it’s blocking the hallway to my room. I wanted to crawl over it, but Greg hauled me bodily
down the steps when I so much as mentioned it. He was more than likely right. And what a hunk he is when he’s being all protective.

Only now I’m homeless and five hundred dollars in the hole—although I did find a great bargain on a pair of size 10 Gap jeans
(size 10!)—and have been forced to call Rick and ask him to let me use one of his laptop computers until I can get mine replaced.
He doesn’t have a problem with it, so we swing by there. Gives me a chance to hug the kids again.

I have to bite back a wicked, nanny-nanny boo-boo grin when Rick just stands there helplessly as Darcy disappears into his
office and reappears with his brand-new IBM ThinkPad and tells me to keep it as long as I need it. I know without a doubt
he never intended to let me use the new computer. Evidenced by his grunt and jerky nod when I ask him if he has everything
backed up.

After being my escort through the mall and over to Rick and Darcy’s, Greg pulls his Avalanche alongside the curb in front
of my broken house so I can get my minivan. My heart sinks as I look upon my humble abode with fresh eyes. I can only wonder
about the extent of the damage to our things. My throat clogs as I think of my desk. The one Mom gave me when Daddy died.
How many nights did I see him studying the Word at that desk? I don’t know if I could bear for it to be demolished. And what
about Ari’s canopy bed she’s had since she was six? Or Tommy’s Hot Wheels collection?

As if sensing my mood, Greg takes my hand. Such a simple act, but profoundly comforting. I lean my head on his shoulder and
allow the tears to fall. Slow, soft. I won’t allow myself to sob uncontrollably, but neither can I hold back the pain. We
stay there for a long time until finally I remember the time and realize I can’t come and go as I please at all hours of the
day or night if I’m staying with another person. I sit up and grab a Kleenex out of my purse. “It’s going on ten o’clock.
I should probably get over to your mom’s.”

“I’ll follow you in my truck and help you carry stuff in.”

I nod, grateful that he isn’t planning to have me go alone.

“Sadie’s still over there anyway, and I need to bring her home. We’ve got school in the morning.”

“Oh.” That’s right. The world must go on.

He gets out of the truck and opens my door for me. A little ritual we started on our first date and we both like. It’s one
of those things that stuck. I’m not holding my breath that he might keep it when we get married, but I sort of have a feeling
Greg might be the exception to the rule that says once a guy gets married he stops doing all the considerate things that caused
you to fall in love in the first place.

I head to the back door and open it, reaching for my bags.

“Claire, wait.” He takes my hand.

I give a little embarrassed laugh. “Oh, that’s right. You’re following me over there. No sense in creating an extra step,
is there?” I shut the door.

His smile sparkles beneath the street light. “No. There’s not. But listen, I want to talk to you about something else.” We
walk slowly, hand in hand until we reach my driveway, which is thankfully on the other side of the house from where the tree
fell. At least I still have a minivan to drive.

“What is it?” I snicker and nudge him with my elbow. “Cold feet about having me stay with your mom?” I chide. “Afraid she
might show me some pictures of you in diapers?”

A deep breath lifts his shoulders. And suddenly the warm, muggy spring night gives me a chill. He looks down into my eyes
with such intensity I’m getting a little freaked out.

“What’s going on?”

“You know, you don’t necessarily have to stay with Mom.” He says it like that. Just out of the blue. After two hours of shopping
and planning he’s changed his mind?

I frown, my heart running a little faster at the seriousness of his tone. He truly doesn’t want me to stay with his mom. “Hey,
Greg. If this makes you uncomfortable, I can stay at a hotel or a bed and breakfast.” I have to admit, I’m a little offended,
despite the great Joyce Meyer preaching that warns against a spirit of offense. Still, who is he to suggest it and then take
it back? “Just call your mom and tell her I said thanks anyway.”

“Wait. Don’t fly off the handle.” He pulls me close until we each have our arms wrapped around the other’s waist and I’m staring
into eyes filled with tenderness.

“I never fly off the handle. Besides, you’re the one that brought up having me stay with her in the first place. So why’d
you change your mind all of a sudden?” I’m pouting like a teenager or a young bride. I’m fully aware of the manipulative properties
of this. But something inside of me has digressed in the past few hours ever since Greg started with the whole “Me Tarzan,
you Jane” routine. My independence swung away on the vines of a strong alpha male. And I discovered it might be kind of nice
to have a guy take charge.

“It’s not that I don’t want you staying with her.” He presses his forehead to mine and I melt at his hero-like action. “It’s
just that I want you staying with me.”

My stomach turns somersaults. “Let’s not even consider that possibility. We’ll get ourselves in trouble if we do.”

“What I mean is…” he hesitates. “I mean, what if we just go ahead and get married?”

“What?”

“You know we’re headed in that direction, anyway. I wanted to wait until Christmas to give you a ring.”

Oh, that’s so sweet. I smile and press a kiss to his lips.

“So, what do you say? Tomorrow we can apply for the license and be married in a week.”

For one second of fantasy, I consider it. I really do. Even though I’ve tried not to be the impulsive type lately. The thought
of no more lonely nights, having someone to lean on when I need to be weak—those things appeal to me. And let’s face it, Greg’s
perfect. He’s the kind of guy any girl would kill for. So what’s wrong with me that I can’t force a “yes” from my closed-up
throat?

Rick, the toad-sucking cheater. It’s all his fault. He’s ruined me for other guys. And, believe me, it’s not because he set
the bar so high that other men don’t have a chance to measure up. Just the opposite. I expect guys to let me down.

So far Greg’s been just a little
too
perfect. Know what I mean? What kind of guy checks the tires on his girlfriend’s minivan and takes it in for an oil change?
What kind of guy cooks Chinese (because restaurant Chinese is too high in sodium and calories when I’m on a diet) and brings
it to me at my desk so I can keep working on my deadline? Oh, and then to top it off, cleans up the kitchen and quietly goes
home to spend a Saturday night alone?

Like I said: too perfect. I keep waiting for Hyde to show up and shred my heart into a million and one pieces. I guess it’s
just that I feel too safe. Come on, even Jesus said, “When they cry peace, safety, then shall sudden destruction come upon
them.”