The Plan (6 page)

The pressure of that squeeze was all the force she needed to let go.
As she held Jack's pillow close to her face, breathing in what was left of her husband, she took a deep breath and began to weep.

•  •  •

“I think today would be a good day to take a shower,” Gia said.

Claire glanced at her friend and then back at the television screen. An all-day marathon of
Project Runway
was on. The designers had been tasked with creating an outfit out of a burlap potato sack. Seriously. Claire picked up the remote and turned the volume up.

“Oh, no you don't,” Gia said firmly. “You can't tune me out.” She snatched the remote from Claire's hand and clicked the TV off as Claire sat up in protest.

“Hey!” Claire said, bolting up in bed. “I want to see what Pamela and Jesus come up with. They're not doing very well.”

“Wow. She speaks,” Gia said sarcastically. “Come on. Get out of that bed. You're going to hop into the shower and I'm going to change the sheets and do some laundry. Throw your clothes out of the bathroom door when you take them off.”

“I'm perfectly comfortable, thank you very much,” Claire said, falling back down into the mound of pillows.

“Well, I'm not comfortable. You stink. My nose will never be the same again. The doctor said you could take a real shower when we got you home over two weeks ago, so that's what you're finally going to do. And we're going to open some windows in here,” she said, crossing the room and yanking the cord to raise the blinds. The clatter they made going up hurt Claire's ears.

“No, don't,” she said, shielding her eyes from the bright light. “Put them back down.”

“I will not put them back down,” Gia said, unlatching the locks and reaching to the bottom of the window to tug it up. Claire felt a breeze float across her nightgown. She pulled the covers up to her chin.

“I mean it, Gia. Close the window. Put the blinds back down and
give me that damn remote!” She didn't mean to sound so harsh with Gia, but seriously, the woman was getting on her nerves.

“No,” Gia said again. “I will not. Get up.”

“No.”

Gia and Claire glared at each other across the foot of the bed. Gia folded her arms in front of her, a look of dispassionate irritation on her face.

“I can stand here all day.”

“I can lie here all day,” Claire countered.

“Then I guess we're at an impasse. I wonder who can outlast the other.”

Claire gave Gia one more glare and then flung her legs—with as much force as she could muster these days—out of the bed. If she knew one thing about Gia, it was that the woman would not give up. When they were in college, she'd won the MS dance-a-thon, wiggling her body for twenty-six straight hours until every other co-ed had dropped off and she was the only one left boogying. Claire would never win in a stand-off.

“Fine,” she said and gave an exaggerated huff so Gia knew she wasn't happy.

“You can huff all you want. Just get in the shower. And grab some new clothes on the way in. I hope the ones you're wearing haven't molded themselves to your skin.”

Claire opened the top drawer of her dresser and pulled out a pair of old cotton panties. Not pretty, but functional. Reaching into the drawer below, she grabbed an equally old tee.

“Don't forget shorts or pants of some sort. You're not going to walk around in nothing but a T-shirt all day. You need to put on some semblance of an outfit.”

“I won't be walking. As soon as I'm bathed and you've made yourself happy by changing the sheets, I'll be getting right back in bed,”
she said, though she did reach into another drawer to grab a pair of Jack's boxer shorts. They said “Farticus” on the butt. Luke had begged Claire to let him use his allowance money to buy them for Jack one Father's Day. Her son had thought they were the funniest thing he'd ever seen and nearly laughed himself off the kitchen stool as Jack opened the wrapping.

“It's going to take more than changing the sheets to make me happy. But, I might smile once you're clean. And make sure you wash your hair, too. Unless, of course, you're beginning dreads.”

If this had been any other time in her life, Claire would've had a quick comeback regarding the dreads remark. Out of the two of them, Gia was the much-more likely woman to sport such a look. When describing Gia, Claire usually used the term “Bohemian Chic.” Gia was a stunning woman, with long, blonde hair that fell all the way to her waist. Whereas Claire was most comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt, Gia's style was all about flowing lines. Her long, gypsy skirts were almost always fastened with a drawstring and she usually donned a bell-sleeved peasant top, if she wasn't just wearing a plain white tank top. Gia's hair nearly always had a band in it, and if not a band, then a braid of her own hair wrapped around her crown.

Gia's individuality was clear by the way she dressed. She was a stubborn woman who'd never had the desire to conform to the fashion styles of those around her. Most days Claire loved Gia's tenacity.

Today was not one of those days.

Claire turned with her clothes in hand. Gia was stripping the bed.

Claire had to admit, the sheets
were
beginning to have a certain funk. She always did enjoy what she and Jack referred to as “Hotel Day”—the bed made up with fresh, crisp sheets. She and Jack had celebrated it as sort of a holiday in their bedroom. It was the closest they'd come, in years, to anything resembling a romantic getaway.

“Hotel Day!” she'd shriek as she'd jump on the bed and roll around, the smell of Tide wafting up as Jack would laugh at her.

“It's the small things in life that make life worth living,” he'd say, as he'd crawl in next to her. More times than not, they'd then participate in an activity which would leave the sheets no longer clean.

Claire smiled to herself. Most of the time, the memories of Jack were too painful to remember. She'd push them aside as if swatting a fly interrupting her picnic lunch. But sometimes, one would creep in that would make her heart a little bit lighter. For a split-second, she'd forget the way the story ended and just focus on a piece of the tale.

Her smile faded, though, as she realized Gia was tugging the pillowcase off Jack's pillow.

Claire's clothes dropped to the floor and she lunged at Gia, wild as a lion attacking a wildebeest.

“No!” Claire screamed, yanking the pillow from Gia with such force, Gia cried out. She'd been so focused on the laundry, lost in her own thoughts, she hadn't seen Claire coming. Frankly, she was surprised Claire could move that quickly after the beating her body had taken.

“Geez, Claire!”

“Not this one. You can't change this one.” The tears began to flow again. She was ashamed of the smile from a second earlier. She couldn't forget—ever. Not even for a millisecond. It was a betrayal. Disloyal. Disgusting. She collapsed back on the sheet-less bed and pulled the pillow close to her as her body resumed its fetal position. She buried her nose in the soft fabric. Jack's scent was becoming fainter, but it was still there.

“This is ridiculous,” Gia spat at her, losing her characteristic cool. “You can't
not
wash that pillowcase forever. It probably smells more like you than it does him by now.”

“Shut up,” Claire hissed.

“No. I will not shut up. Get up. I mean it, Claire.
Get up!”
She tugged at Claire's arm. “I can't make the bed if you're in it and you reek!”

“I do not!”

“You do! Have you smelled yourself?!”

Claire remained silent. Truth was, she had kind of smelled herself and it was a little gross. She did need a shower.

“Listen, sweetie,” Gia said, calming down a bit as she sat next to Claire. “I won't wash the pillowcase. And, if it makes you happy, I noticed Jack's laundry basket is full. There are probably a dozen shirts that smell like him in there. You can get one of those when we do, eventually, wash his pillow, okay?”

Claire nodded slowly.

“Now, get up.” Gia stood up. Her voice was stern again. “Now!”

Claire wanted to tell Gia she was being a bitch. A big one. But she kept her mouth shut. She was afraid Gia would get so mad at Claire, she'd leave. Claire couldn't let that happen. It'd been nearly three weeks since the funeral and Gia had spent every single night at Claire's house. Claire knew what a sacrifice that must be. Gia was single. She had a single person's life. But, the only time she was away from Claire was when she went to work each day. And within thirty minutes of getting off her job as an elementary school teacher, she was back at Claire's house—except for the days when she stopped at the grocery store on her way home. If it wasn't for Gia, Claire would've certainly starved to death by now. Not only would there be no one to buy food for her, there'd be no one to feed her. Claire had only ventured downstairs one time since they'd been home. Gia had been at work and Claire had suddenly gotten a craving for apples and peanut butter. She'd slowly made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen. She'd gone so far as opening the fridge door and grabbing an apple out of the crisper drawer. But then, the thought of cutting the apple and getting the peanut butter out of the pantry had seemed too daunting a task, so she'd left the apple on the counter and shuffled back up the stairs again, getting back in bed. And that's where Gia had found her four hours later.

“Okay,” Claire said softly and got off the bed again. Gia was holding the clothes Claire had dropped to the floor. She shoved them into Claire's arms.

“Don't get out until you smell like a rose in June.”

Claire nodded and went into the bathroom. Gia closed the door behind her, with a little bit too much force, reminding Claire she was supposed to stay in there.

Claire placed her clothes on the bathroom vanity and looked into the mirror. What she saw would have been horrifying if she hadn't just seen it yesterday when she'd come in here and accidentally caught a glimpse of herself as she washed her hands.

She looked like a shell of her former self. Gaunt and gray—the gray being both her skin and her hair, as she hadn't dyed her roots since before the accident. She'd been horrified when she started going gray in her late twenties, though it made sense. Her mom had been completely white by the time Claire was in high school.

Claire lifted her finger, which was skinnier than it used to be, and rubbed at the skin below her eyes. It looked as if she had purple eye shadow there, but it didn't come off. Her eyes, which once sparkled so much Ella had said they looked like fairy eyes, now had a dull sheen to them.

The bruises on her face from the accident had nearly faded and all that remained was an icky yellow tone on her forehead and her left cheek. Claire hadn't escaped the accident injury-free, but the agony in her heart had been so much worse than the actual physical pain from her injuries, the bodily wounds had never even registered on the scale. She had a head laceration, which had required twenty stitches, in addition to her two broken ribs, a collapsed lung, numerous bruises and contusions and a fractured collarbone. The worst injury, though, had been to her abdomen. She'd been impaled by a piece of metal from the car. It wasn't until the surgery was complete,
and she was in recovery, that she'd felt any pain. Claire hadn't even noticed the dagger-like shard in her stomach and knew nothing until Gia told her about it after the surgery.

“It punctured your uterus. They thought they'd have to do a hysterectomy, but luckily, the doctor was able to repair the injury.”

Luckily.

Claire had nearly snorted over the word. If she was anything, it wasn't lucky.

And what could be more symbolic than the impaling of her uterus?

After the initial hospital stay, she'd never gone back to the doctor. When Gia realized there was no way she was going to get Claire out of the house, she'd somehow convinced the doctor to do a few house calls. It probably hadn't been that difficult. Bell Springs was a small town and most everyone who lived there was doing everything they could think of to help Claire during this difficult time.

Claire turned away from the mirror and twisted the faucet on in the shower. She held her hand under the stream until the water got warmer. Then, slipping out of her clothes, she stepped into the hot cascade. It felt good against her thin, cold frame. Gia had been right. Claire did need to shower.

But she still couldn't avoid the question of why?
Why
did she need to be clean?
Why
did she need to change her clothes? For what purpose? To what end? There was no one to see. No one to talk to. Nowhere to go. Nothing. There was just
nothing.

And, as that realization once again washed over Claire, more scalding than the water, she rested her head against the shower and began to cry.

“There's someone here to see you,” Gia said, standing in the doorway to Claire's bedroom.

“I don't want to see anyone.”

“I know.”

Claire turned the volume up, just a few notches, on her TV show. Today, the marathon was of women who kill their in-laws. The channel she normally watched had an
Everybody Loves Raymond
marathon playing, a show Claire and Jack had always enjoyed—especially because of the twins in the show—but these days, she couldn't bear to watch any show that involved a family.

Murder was a much safer bet.

“Why are you still standing there?” She could see Gia in her peripheral vision. The woman hadn't moved an inch.

“You're getting very bossy,” Gia said, not smiling. She'd been much more curt with Claire in the past few days—or was it weeks? It all blended together.

“Sorry,” Claire said, but she didn't sound like she meant it. The breaking point for the current murderer had been when her mother-in-law had said her chicken pot pie tasted like pig slop.
The nerve.