In Her Shadow (20 page)

He smiles, tips his head down subtly as if to greet her or extend his sympathies. She smiles back.

In the fellowship hall Claire and Elle load plates with potatoes, rolls, salad and fish—healthy, for a Hastings meal.

“If you take these, I’ll grab our drinks.” Elle hands Claire her plate.

Claire heads for a corner table. As she sets the plates down and turns to look for Grandma, she nearly bumps into someone.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I—you didn’t.” The man she observed in the sanctuary. “Are you Malcolm?”

“Yes. And you must be Claire.”

Why is she blushing? “I am. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard…about you.” She suppresses the urge to flee, torn between looking into his eyes or at the floor.

“We’ve actually met before,” he says. “You were just a baby then.”

“You knew my mother,” she blurts, more of a statement than a question.

“I did, I’m grateful to say. Quite the young woman she was. I can see that you take after her.”

“Thank you.” His piercing eyes seem to burn into her skin.

“Well, I didn’t mean to keep you. I just wanted to offer my sympathies. I hope you received the—”

“Chocolates!” Claire interrupts. “I did, thank you. They were my favorite when I was little. Mom’s, too.”

“I was hoping you’d inherited her tastes. I think I’ll go check on your dear grandmother. CC agreed to let me take her to dinner tonight. Say you’ll join us.”

“Sure. That’s kind of you.”

“Wonderful. I’ll see you around seven.”

Claire’s skin feels cold, her insides heated, as he walks away. She can’t shake the feeling that she’s seen him before, possibly knows him. But he just confirmed what Grandma said: they haven’t interacted since her infancy. Something in his eyes... His voice... As he turns to face her from a distance she realizes she’s been staring. Caught again, eye-to-eye, anxiety bubbles up inside her. He smiles. She blushes yet again and darts her eyes away.

Elle approaches with Styrofoam cups. “I figured we could use the caffeine. You okay?”

“I just met Grandpa’s cousin Malcolm. He did know my mom.”

“That’s good news, right? Are you going to talk to him about...”

“I’m planning to. Grandma and I are having dinner with him tonight.”

“Great. I told my folks that I’d be sleeping in my old room tonight.” She waves at her parents across the room.

As Elle turns to look around for Malcolm, Claire grabs her arm.
“No, don’t!”

“What’s wrong?” Elle asks.

“Nothing! I mean, I think nothing... This might sound crazy, but something about Malcolm sort of...freaks me out.”

“How do you mean?”

How
does
she mean? Other than a strange familiarity, she can’t put a finger on it. “Like I said, it’s probably nothing. Maybe I’m just nervous about learning the truth.”

“You’ll be fine, hon.” Elle gives her shoulder a comforting squeeze.

As Hank approaches, Claire yearns to rush into his arms and stay there—for good. She contains herself instead, making formal introductions.

“
The
Elle?” Hank asks, hugging her.

“In the flesh. And I hate to admit it, but the stories? They’re pretty much all true.”

Soon Claire is lost in hugs and condolences. As the crowd thins, she finds Grandma at a table with Pastor Jones and his wife. “How are you doing, Grams?”

“Oh, fine. Lovely service, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” Claire hugs her, aware that the “loveliness” of the service encompass only thin margins of her grandmother’s mind. “What do you say we go home and rest some before dinner with Malcolm?”

“That’s a good idea, dear.” Claire helps her with her coat then walks her to the car. She notes a drop in temperature, wondering if she’d feel less anxious about dinner with Malcolm if it was summer.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Claire swaps her funeral attire for jeans and a sweater then heads to the restroom to freshen up before dinner. Glancing at the mirror she observes her pale, drawn reflection. A strange look lingers in eyes that she does not recognize as her own. Get over it, she tells herself.
You’re just tired
. She pats her cheeks, adds a spray of perfume then heads downstairs with Zola.

Jovial laughter fills the air as she approaches the kitchen. Grandma and Malcolm sit at the table sipping tea, chatting like old friends. Before Claire can say a word, Zola growls.

Claire signs
hush
. “No, quiet.” But the dog continues, her nostrils flaring, teeth bared. Claire forces her to sit. “Sorry, my dog isn’t always big on strangers, especially men.”

“It’s all right,” Malcolm says. “She’s just doing her job.”

Claire smiles. “Most people assume she’s a
he
when she does that.”

“That beautiful creature? I can see her femininity. Feminine can mean strong, you know.”

“I’ll take her upstairs.” She pulls Zola’s collar and practically drags her up the stairs. Closing her bedroom door, she tries to ignore the continuing growl.

“Sorry about that,” Claire says, returning to the kitchen. She notices that Grandma is wearing the same blouse and shawl she had on at the memorial service. Malcolm looks dapper in a sweater and slacks. “Should I change?”

“No, it’s casual,” Malcolm replies. “Besides, you look lovely. Much like your mother.”

Claire holds her breath, wondering whether Grandma will lash out at him at the mention of Mom.

“She does, doesn’t she?” Grandma said, tears glistening in her eyes.

Too stunned by Grandma’s warm reaction to reply, Claire suggests they leave for the restaurant. Outside, she watches Malcolm and her grandmother climb into the front of a small black Porsche. Deeming it a snooty car choice, she squeezes into the narrow backseat.
Grandpa would never approve
.

They quickly arrive at the Mississippi Belle restaurant, the popular Hastings eatery that caters to fresh-off-the-boat fishermen, mom-and-pop families and formal affairs simultaneously. A breeze from the Mississippi sweeps tiny bits of ice against their faces as they walk toward the entrance.

Stepping inside, Claire salivates at the scent of fish ‘n chips—her childhood favorite. Your metabolism has grown up, she reminds herself.
Order a salad.

“I haven’t been here in ages,” Malcolm says as they take seats in a tall booth. “Why don’t we share a bottle of wine? What do you say, CC? Or would you prefer tea?”

“Wine would be nice,” Grandma replies. “One glass.”

Malcolm orders steak, Grandma the grilled snapper and Claire a Caesar salad, dressing on the side.

“I see you haven’t inherited your grandfather’s hearty appetite,” Malcolm says.

“How well did you know Grandpa?” she asks.

“We were best friends back in the day. But you know how we men are: competitive. He won Cecilia’s heart, didn’t he?”

“Wow...I never realized.” Claire’s heart sinks as Grandma returns his smile.

Did Malcolm and Grandma
date
? Nausea fills her stomach. Her thoughts continue to whirl as Malcolm speaks of his work as a surgeon and instructor, the chemistry between him and Grandma intensifying. Is she imagining it?

As she pokes at her salad, she notices Malcolm staring at her. “Is something wrong?”

“Sorry, it’s just that you remind me so much of your mother. She left the dressing off her salads too. The best part, if you ask me.”

“No she didn’t,” Claire snaps, immediately feeling foolish. “It seemed to me she loved salad dressing.”

Perhaps
love
was a bit strong—but what does
he
know? When Grandma leaves for the ladies room, her discomfort around this man escalates.

“Claire, I have something I’d like to discuss with you,” Malcolm says. “Privately, if that’s possible.”

Her throat goes dry. “Uh, sure. Can I ask what it’s about?”

“It’s about…well, you, actually.” He pauses. “And your mother.”

Her heart thuds in her chest.
Calm down
—isn’t this what she’s longed for? Details about Mom?
Were you the one she met the day she died? What do you know about the accident?

He reaches across the table with a photograph: Mom holding a newborn. It must’ve been taken shortly after Claire was born.

“Where did you get this?” She snatches it from his hand.

“She never told you, did she? I delivered you, Claire. I performed her C-section.”

“You—you what? That can’t be right...”

“But it is. Your grandparents deemed it best that she come stay with me during her pregnancy, seeing as she was so young. You know how Hastings folks are about having children out of wedlock—back then especially. I’m surprised no one told you.”

“So am I.” She takes a sip of water, struggling to wrap her mind around Malcolm’s assertions about her birth. If what he said is true, what more does he know? She slips the photo into her purse as Grandma returns.

Small talk ensues for the remainder of the meal. With her eyes fixed on her dinner and her thoughts on Malcolm’s disclosure, Claire says little.

“How about some dessert?” the server asks.

“What do you say, ladies?” Malcolm asks. “If my memory serves correct, the chocolate cake is to die for.”

“No thank you,” Claire mutters.

Malcolm pays the tab and they walk to his car. On the way back, Grandma dozes off.

“She’s had a long day,” Malcolm says, glancing at Claire through the rearview mirror. “You both have.”

Claire remains silent until they pull up to the house. “I’ll help her inside.”

“I’ll join you,” Malcolm says then walks around to open CC’s door. As Claire steps out of the car he grasps her arm, so tight she jumps. He whispers in her ear: “Then what do you say we continue our chat?”

“Yes.” Claire pulls away then guides Grandma to the house, Malcolm trailing close behind.

Once the three reach the entryway, a growl echoes from upstairs. Claire turns to look at Malcolm. “I should probably take Zola out. Would you mind—?”

“Not at all. I’ll wait in the car.” He steps outside. Claire exhales, relieved.

Upstairs in Grandma’s room, Claire lays her pajamas on the bed. “You and Malcolm seem close. I’m surprised I never met him. As an adult, I mean.”

Grandma stands at her vanity, removing jewelry. “We were close...back in the day. He’s a lovely man, isn’t he? Such a shame he and Gil grew apart.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, you know how competitive young men can be. And then time slips away so quickly. He’s always checked in on me, though. Malcolm’s a good man. Over-protective, but good.” She walks to the bed and retrieves her nightgown.

“I’ll be right outside. Let me know when you’re ready.” Claire steps into the hallway, wondering if Grandma has secrets of her own. How did Malcolm check in on her—letters? Phone calls? How “close” were they? In either case, she seems to trust him. Seeing Grams light up around another man shouldn’t keep her from trusting him, too.

Several minutes pass. Then several more. “How are you doing, Grams?” No response. She knocks. “Grandma, you all right?’

She cracks open the door to find her grandmother is tucked in bed—one arm rested on Grandpa’s pillow, a single tear streaming down her cheek.

Claire sits beside her and rubs her arm, kisses her forehead. “Want me to stay while you fall asleep?”

Grandma’s eyes widen. She sits up, startled, her eyes darting around the room. They stop on Grandpa’s pillow. “Wh-where is he? Where’s Gil?”

Is she sleep talking? “You know what happened, Grandma. He’s... Grandpa is gone.” Claire keeps her voice calm, caresses her back.

Grandma looks at her, confused. She shakes her head. “No!” Her brow furrows in thought, then relaxes. “He’ll be back... I told him to stay home. He should have stayed home.” She lays back down, eyes closed. “I...love you, Dawn. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“It’s me...” Claire stops herself from explaining, seeing no need for further upset. Her grandmother looks peaceful now.

She sits with her for a few more minutes, hoping she hadn’t observed the kind of dementia that derives from grief and shock. But Grandma was fine earlier, she recalls. Too fine? If she hasn’t improved by tomorrow, she’ll take her to see a specialist. For now, sleep seems like necessary medicine.

She hustles down the hall, grateful to hear Cynthia’s soft snore sounding from the spare room. Even asleep, Claire wouldn’t want to leave Grandma alone. She’ll be fine tomorrow, she tells herself—hoping.

Opening another door, Zola darts out then follows Claire downstairs, her nose to the ground in a sniffing fury.
You don’t like Malcolm, do you?
Chills rise all over her skin.
Why?
She could be picking up on Claire’s discomfort.

As she reaches around in the kitchen drawer for Zola’s leash, the dog growls then barks. “Okay, I’m ready. You sure are amped up tonight. Come on.”

She opens the back door and leads Zola out, unaware of Malcolm’s presence several yards behind her.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Malcolm waits until Claire and the damn dog are in the backyard.
Took long enough
. Don’t they know he has work to do? He supposes not...

With an inward grin he proceeds upstairs, moving swiftly but quietly until he reaches CC’s door. He places his hand on the knob then without a sound, walks in.

Stopped at her bedside, he observes her silhouette. Asleep, she looks like an angel—where Dawn’s good must have come from. But she made a mistake long ago, a big one. One he can’t forgive, even if she was coerced or brainwashed by Gil and his selfish wants. That’s the only logical explanation. Why else would she have chosen Gil over him?

That mistake led him to his Love, though. For that, she deserves something: less pain.

He sits down on the edge of her bed—where Gil slept. A smile curves his lips. If only he could see...

“Gil... Is that you?”

With a gloved hand he covers her mouth then inserts the needle into her neck. “No, my darling CC... But you’ll be with him soon.”