The Plan (11 page)

Loni was all about looks, which made sense, since she was all about makeup. Loni was their resident cosmetic salesperson. She was now a director in the Lottie Mae makeup organization. Claire knew this because Loni never failed to mention it whenever she saw Claire. Or any of the other mothers in their school. Or anyone she ran into at the post office or at the shopping mall or at a soccer game. She mentioned it a lot, right before she tried to recruit you to sell makeup, too.

Claire couldn't believe she hadn't realized Loni would be inside McGord's. How could she have possibly missed the lavender Cadillac outside, the symbol of “making it big” in the Lottie Mae organization, in the small McGord's parking lot?

“And you look so pale…”

“I'm fine,” said Claire. “I just need a little more sun.”

“Yes, you do. Oh, I know!” Loni said, an idea popping into her mind. “Barry and I are having a pool party this afternoon. Around four o'clock. Why don't you come? Everyone would love to see you.”

“I …” Claire wondered how she could get out of this one. Loni wasn't one to take the answer “no” easily.

“Really, dear,” she crooned, her bright blood-red lipstick glaring at Claire like the flashing red lights of a police cruiser. The movement of Loni's mouth was making Claire dizzy. She reached out to grab hold of the grocery shelf to steady herself.

“I'm not so sure…”

“Now, I won't take no for an answer. You remember where I live, right?”

Claire did. It was the very, very large house on Rollingwood Way. At the top of the hill. You could see the extravagant home from the distant highway. Every time they used to drive in that area of the city, the twins always cried out, “There's Polly and Nathan's house!”

Polly and Nathan were the only other twins in the girls' grade. Thus, the four children had bonded. And, by default, Claire had been thrust into the glitzy—or maybe it was gawdy—world of Loni Thompson.

When the kids began school, parents, teachers and kids, alike, all realized referring to “the twins” would cause confusion, since no one was ever sure which set of twins were being referenced. Thus, someone had coined the terms BG twins (for boy-girl) and GG twins (for Claire's girl-girl set). Oftentimes, her kids would be referred to as the GG's, and Loni's kids were the BG's, which always made Claire think the Thompson twins should break out singing “Stayin' Alive.”

The GG's.
Claire hadn't thought about that in a while. She'd been the GG mom.

She wondered if Loni's kids were still called the BG's or if they were now merely called “the twins.”

She didn't want to know.

“Yes, I remember where you live.”

To Claire's relief, Loni's cell phone went off at that moment. “I Feel Pretty” was the ringtone.

Of course it was.

“Oh! Oh! I need to get this! I'm waiting on a big sale to come through.” Loni reached into the side pocket of her rhinestone-studded handbag and pulled out her equally bedazzled iPhone. She pushed the “answer” button and put the phone to her ear.

“Loni Thompson, your very own Lottie Mae sales director! How can I make your face shine?”

Loni answered the phone like that every single time. Even if she
knew who was calling. Even if it was the school nurse calling to say one of her kids was sick.

Putting her hand over the mouth of the phone, Loni leaned over to Claire. “Don't forget, four o'clock. My house. Bring your swimsuit. No need to bring anything else. We'll have all the food and drinks ready. I am s-ooooo excited to have run into you, Claire,” she said, breaking the word “so” into two imaginary syllables.

Claire nodded. She hadn't actually said she'd go to the barbecue, but she realized she hadn't actually refused the invitation, either.

“Ta ta!” Loni whispered with a wave of her perfectly manicured hand, before raising her voice again. “Hello, darling! I was just thinking about your gorgeous skin and how your cheeks would positively shine with the Citrus Blossom.” Loni was back to her call, pushing her cart down the aisle and Claire was left standing alone, wondering if she was now obligated to attend that dang barbecue.

If she showed up, Claire knew it would stun everyone there. Other than Gia, Claire hadn't socialized with a single friend since the accident. There would be a lot of whispers. All eyes would be on her. Everyone would be analyzing how she looked. The thought of walking into such an event, where there would, no doubt, be all the parents of her kids' closest friends, made Claire begin to dry heave. She bent over and put her hands on her knees.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

She hoped no one in the small store could hear her as she gagged on the panic that crept up her esophagus.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't bear to see everyone, all the people who'd been a part of her Mommy Life. She couldn't bear to have them see
her.

But, if she didn't go, they'd still talk. Her absence wouldn't stop that. Claire couldn't avoid the gossip simply by not showing up.

Loni would be sure to announce to everyone who'd gathered that she'd run into Claire at McGord's that morning.

“You will not believe who I saw this morning!” she'd say, delight leaping from her eyes as the keeper of fabulous news.

Once everyone around her had asked,
“Who?”
Loni would say, as dramatically as if she were performing at The Globe Theater, “Claire Matthews!”

“NO!”
all the other parents would cry out.

“Yes!”
Loni would say with glee, busting with pride that
she
was the one with the first scoop on the widowed woman who'd lost all her children.

That did it. Claire couldn't take it. Her parents hadn't raised a wimp. She was not one to back down from a fight. And, though she knew this wasn't actually a battle, she wasn't about to let herself be the center of gossip and speculation for one more day. She could imagine what everyone had been saying for the past year, and that was bad enough.

It was time for them to stop talking.

Or, if they were going to talk about her, it was going to be on her terms.

Regaining her composure, Claire stood tall and hurried down the aisle. She was relieved to see Loni exiting the store as she peeked around the endcap display. Claire hurried to the dairy section and grabbed the milk, eggs and butter and then quickly made her way to the checkout counter. If she was going to get to the party by four-thirty, she was going to need to do some self-maintenance. Claire couldn't remember the last time she'd shaved her legs, or her armpits, for that matter. The state of her eyebrows was even worse. And her hair! Claire quickly rushed back over to the beauty aisle to grab some dye. She couldn't show up with the roots that had now grown down half her head.

If she was going to show up, she was going to show up looking her best.

At least, her best these days. She knew it wouldn't come close to her “old” best, but she could try.

Returning to the front of the store, Claire placed her basket down on the checkout counter and her arm squealed with relief.

“Miss Claire! It's so good to see you in here!”

Claire looked up into the sweet eyes of Irma Jean. Irma and her husband had owned McGord's for close to thirty years. Claire could remember the days when she'd come in there and find Monty Beasley behind the counter. He'd been a man with a smile as big as Texas and a hug so tight, it could squeeze your intestines into your rib cage. The kids had loved seeing Mr. Monty, as they called him. He was never without a lollipop for each of her children, never forgetting the kids' names or their favorite flavors. He made her children feel special, though she believed he made all the children in town feel special, as he knew their names and favorite flavors, too. He was just that kind of man.

It had broken Claire's heart, during his last year, before the cancer finally took him, to see him sitting slumped in his wheelchair, outside the front door of the shop. He was out there every day, greeting the patrons. “Have a good day!” he'd say, smiling that big smile, the one that eventually seemed too large for his shrunken face. “Smile! It's a beautiful day!!” he'd say, as the people would head back to their car. Claire had often wondered, during those days, how he'd found the strength to smile, both physically and emotionally. It didn't seem as if he'd had much to smile about. The twins had been young, but Claire vividly remembered using Mr. Monty and his contagious grin as a teachable moment for Luke.

“Mr. Monty is always smiling!” Luke would say.

“And how does that make you feel?” Claire would ask her son.

“Happy!”

“Do you think he has a lot to smile about?” Claire would prod.

“No,” Luke would answer. “He's really, really sick.”

“And yet, he keeps smiling. And his smile brightens your day. And mine. And everyone who sees him. He must have a good
what?”
Claire would ask.

“Attitude!” Luke would exclaim, happy he knew the correct answer.

“You bet. Mr. Monty has a good attitude. Even when things aren't good in his life, he's doing his best to make lives a little better. Don't you wish we could be like that, too?”

She would always see Luke nod, in the rearview mirror, as he sucked on his lollipop. She'd been thankful for Mr. Monty and the example he'd set for her children. She'd been heartbroken when she heard he'd passed away, about eighteen months before her own family's tragedy. And then, she felt even worse when she'd learned, about six months later, his wife, Irma Jean, had been diagnosed with breast cancer.

“Life really isn't fair,” she'd thought at the time, not realizing how true that could be.

“Thanks, Irma. It's been awhile.” Claire lifted the bread and the rest of her items out of the basket.

“Looks like you needed a cart!” Irma said, eyeing the way Claire rubbed her sore arm.

“I guess I did.”

Irma began to ring up Claire's items. “Listen, love,” Irma said, in that sensitive tone of hers. “I'm so sorry for all your losses. Your babies were like bright rays of sunshine. I miss 'em runnin' around, gettin' underfoot.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Claire shifted her weight. She never knew what to say when someone offered their condolences.

“Oh, dang it! I forgot to grab ice cream!” Claire said, scanning the items on the counter. She'd been so flustered by running into Loni, and then been thrown off guard at the thought of going to the barbecue,
she'd forgotten one of the most important items on her grocery list and there'd only been six original things on there.

“Go! Go!” Irma shooed her away from the counter. “I'll hold your things up here. You go pick out what you still need and I'll ring you up when you're done.”

“Thanks so much, Irma,” Claire said, mouthing a silent apology to the man behind her in line who didn't look thrilled with how long she was taking. “You go ahead of me,” she said. He nodded grimly and stepped forward.

At the freezer section, Claire was grateful to see Irma had stocked both Rocky Road
and
Mint Chocolate Chip. This must be her lucky day. She grabbed one carton of each and stopped at the soda counter and got herself a small fountain drink.

She let the fizz die down and then placed the lid on top. Sticking the ice cream containers in the crook of one arm, she picked up the soda with the opposite hand. The freezing cold temperature felt soothing against her bruised forearm.

As she'd expected, the checkout line was now long and she'd have to wait to finally purchase her items. There was no such thing as a fast checkout at McGord's. Irma knew everyone in town and would, without a doubt, have a conversation with each customer as they reached the counter. Once again, Claire was wishing she had a shopping cart.

Claire couldn't help but marvel at how well Irma looked. The last time Claire had seen the woman, she'd been hiding her bald head under a bright red-and-pink scarf. That had been almost two years ago. Claire hadn't seen or heard anything about Irma since then, but it was clear to see she was doing much, much better. Claire wasn't sure if the woman was in remission, but her hair had grown back. Irma looked good, healthy, happy and content.

Claire wondered how that was possible. The woman had lost her
husband and then nearly her own life. But she seemed to be doing okay these days and that thought made Claire happy.

When she was only one customer away, Claire glanced up at the bulletin board to the side of the counter. The board had been there for years. It was where Claire had found Luke's first babysitter and where Jack had located a company to come out and fix their leaking sprinkler system. When the twins were three months old, Claire had found a Moms-of-Multiples support group on there, too. There was always something of interest on that board.

Claire scanned the papers up there now. Someone was selling a trampoline. A woman named Frances was in search of a caregiver for her aging mother with dementia. A man named Greggory was looking for someone to carpool with to work.

It was the color poster in the top-left corner, though, that caught Claire's eye, just as it became her turn to check out. She stepped forward and placed her items on the counter, still staring at the board.

Callum Fitzgerald: A Message of Hope for a Hopeless World

It wasn't the title that caught her attention. It was the photo of the man above the words.

His eyes were mesmerizing—bluer than any summer sky Claire had ever seen. She couldn't help but feel as if he were staring directly at her from his beautiful face. And, his face was definitely beautiful. Claire knew this wasn't a word men generally preferred to hear when used in reference to them, but she could come up with no better description. He was just
beautiful.