Chapter 68
The morning sun was low in the sky when Claire awoke the next day. Nick was still sound asleep beside her, so
she climbed carefully out of bed, trying not to jostle the mattress and wake
him up. She tiptoed out of the guest
bedroom and into the hall, wondering if she was the first one up. The house was very quiet. Creeping to the back of the house, she found
the door to her parents’ bedroom halfway open.
She stuck her head in to peek and saw that the bed was unmade, but her
mother was not in it. Just as she was
wondering if her mom had come back to sleep at all, Claire padded into the
kitchen and found a short note from her.
Kyle &
Claire,
Already
gone back to the hospital. Don’t worry;
I called ahead, and your dad is doing fine.
Take your time getting up here, and make sure Amber and Nick get
breakfast.
Love,
Mom
Claire smiled. So typical of her
mother – she was always concerned for everyone else. Deciding to take her advice, Claire started
hauling ingredients out of the cupboards and fridge and assembled them on the
counter. If she couldn’t go to the
hospital yet (because she wasn’t going to leave Nick behind, and she didn’t
want to awaken him either), she could at least make sure she had breakfast
ready for Nick, Amber, and Kyle when they got up.
The bacon was almost done frying and she’d just finished scrambling the
eggs when Amber waddled in, dressed in fuzzy slippers and a long nightshirt
that stretched tightly across her very pregnant stomach. “Mmm, something smells good,” she commented,
running a hand over her round belly.
“Morning,” Claire greeted her with a smile. “Yeah, I decided to make breakfast while I
waited for everybody else to get up. Mom
already went back up to the hospital, but she said Dad’s fine.”
“Oh good,” said Amber, returning the smile. “And thanks for making breakfast! I’m sooo hungry… this baby’s gonna be a
little chowhound, I can already tell!
This eating for two thing is tough stuff – I feel like such a pig
lately.” She grunted as she lowered herself
into one of the kitchen chairs, and Claire laughed.
“Hey, look on the bright side – at least you have an excuse to pig
out.”
“Ugh, not for much longer I don’t,” Amber replied, sticking out her
tongue. “I’ve gained so much baby
weight, I’ll probably never lose it all…”
“Well, if you wanna try aerobics or Tae-Bo or something once you’re
feeling up to it, lemme know; I’ll do it with you,” Claire offered. “I could definitely stand to get toned.” She flexed her right arm and made a face at
her puny bicep. She’d never been
particularly ripped, but months of lying around, weak from cancer treatments,
had robbed her of the muscle mass she’d once had, and she still hadn’t built it
back up yet. Though she felt pretty good
these days, she didn’t have the stamina she’d had before either. It wouldn’t hurt to start working out
regularly and try to get herself back into the kind of shape she’d been in in
college, before leukemia had ravaged her body.
Amber smiled. “I just might take
you up on that, Claire. Thanks!”
“No problem. Want some breakfast
now?”
Just as Amber opened her mouth to say “yes,” another voice cried,
“NOOOOOO!!!” Claire looked up as Kyle
leapt melodramatically into the kitchen and practically threw himself between
his wife and the plate Claire was loading with food. “You can’t eat that!” he sputtered to a
startled Amber and then rounded on Claire.
“And you… what do you think you’re doing, trying to poison my wife and
child?!”
Claire rolled her eyes and set the plate down, picking up a spatula
instead and brandishing it threateningly at her older brother. “Are you making fun of my cooking?” she
demanded, raising her eyebrows in an attempt to look serious. “Cause so help me, if you are…”
“He’s not,” a second male voice interjected, and Claire glanced over in
surprise to see Nick wander nonchalantly into the room. Although he’d dressed in a t-shirt and
shorts, he looked as if he’d just woken up – his hair was sticking up in odd
places, and his cheeks were rosy from sleep.
“Cause if he was,” Nick continued, his eyes shifting to Kyle, “he’d have
to answer to me.” Raising his
eyebrows, he puffed his chest out and tried to look menacing, but only cracked
himself up instead. “Just playing, dude;
you could totally take me.”
Amused at Nick’s unexpected
playfulness, Claire smiled. Her brother
did too, replying, “Maybe, but I’d be too afraid to – I’m sure you have
bodyguards who could kick my ass.”
Nick laughed along with him before
telling Amber good morning and then crossing the kitchen to Claire. “I think your breakfast looks awesome,” he
told her, pulling her in for a quick good morning kiss. His arms lingering around her waist, he
added, “It’s good to see you guys playing around. I take it the word on your dad is good?”
Claire nodded thankfully and told him
what her mom’s note had said. “I want to
get ready and run up to the hospital when we’re done eating, but she said to
take our time; there’s no hurry.”
Nick nodded too. “That’s cool.
We’ll eat, and then I’ll go up with you… if you want me to, that is.”
“Of course I do,” she replied with a
smile, “as long as you don’t mind.”
He shook his head. “Wouldn’t
have flown back three days early if I minded.”
Her smile was brief, as his words reminded her of why he was supposed
to fly back that week anyway. “Hey,
guys?” she asked, turning to address Kyle and Amber, as well as Nick. “What are we gonna do about
Thanksgiving? Mom’s not gonna want
everyone here if she has to take care of Dad, but Grandma and Grandpa Ryan are
flying in on Wednesday…”
“Well, she won’t have to do anything; we can take care of the cooking
and cleaning and everything,” Amber offered immediately, giving the most
obvious solution.
“I don’t know… you know how Mom gets,” said Kyle, speaking more to
Claire than his wife. “She’s pretty anal
about the house being perfectly spotless and all that, especially when Dad’s
parents are coming. You know she’ll
probably try to clean everything all over again, even if we do it first.”
“That’s true. Maybe we shouldn’t
have it here,” Claire replied, without stopping to think of a good alternative.
“Where then? I guess we could
try it at our house… but I don’t know if everyone will fit. Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, you, Nick, Amber,
me…” He ticked off the numbers on his
fingers and cast his wife a doubtful look.
She shrugged helplessly, her brow furrowed. Their starter home was the perfect size for
them and a new baby, but simply too small to house the whole family for the
holidays. Claire doubted they would all
even be able to squeeze around the small, round table to eat.
And then Nick spoke up. “What
about my place?” When all heads turned
to him, he inclined his head towards Claire and amended, “Our place. I mean, it’s big enough…”
Claire could have kissed him, but she held back, watching her brother’s
expression as he raised his eyebrows in surprise, tipped his head in
consideration, then nodded slowly. “Hey,
that would be cool,” he said, then added, “If you’re sure.”
Claire glanced up at Nick, who looked back down at her and smiled
before turning back to Kyle. “Sure, no
problem. We’re almost family,
right? It’ll be great.” His tone was casual – he was playing it cool,
as if it were no big deal either way – but Claire thought she could pick out a
hint of excitement in his voice. Sure,
it probably made him feel good to be able to offer up his spacious house for
the holiday, but she suspected it was more than that. As long as she’d known him, he had never (as
far as she knew) hosted any kind of big family gathering for the holidays. He’d spent last Thanksgiving with AJ and his
mother, and Christmas at Howie’s parents’ house; from what she gathered, he’d
been spending holidays with his surrogate brothers’ families, rather than his own,
for years. After the stories she’d heard,
she couldn’t say she really blamed him, but she still felt sorry for him, for
her family was such a big part of her life; she couldn’t imagine going months
without talking to them the way he did.
She was glad, therefore, that he was beginning to feel like a part of
her family, and the more the idea of hosting Thanksgiving at his beautiful
house sank in, the more she liked it.
“It will be great!” she echoed Nick with a burst of enthusiasm. “There’s enough extra rooms to have Mom and
Dad and Grandma and Grandpa stay – even for you two to stay, if you want
to. And the dining room is huge, so we
won’t have a problem seating everyone for dinner. Speaking of dinner, I was thinking of getting
Mom’s recipes and doing the cooking myself…”
Her voice tapered off on that last suggestion, as she braced herself for
more of Kyle’s teasing about her cooking.
Just as she’d suspected, he instantly clutched his throat and feigned
that he was choking, until Amber smacked him and shot him the sort of
disapproving look only a wife could give, which got him to stop. “That sounds perfect,” Amber said, “and I can
come over on Wednesday and help you with the cooking.”
“Only if you feel like it,” replied Claire. “I’m sure I can handle it. I gotta start sometime, right? Might as well be this year.” She smiled with confidence, and at that
moment, with everything falling into place, it really didn’t sound like too
large a feat to accomplish.
***
By Wednesday, however, Claire was a basket case, and Nick was afraid if
he stayed in the house with her for too much longer, he’d go insane
himself. He’d hired his cleaning lady to
come early and give the house a thorough cleaning, but just an hour after she’d
left, Claire was running around the house, checking to make sure that the
bedspreads in the guest rooms were unwrinkled and that there was no hair in the
drains.
“You haven’t met my grandmother!” she told him almost hysterically,
after he had laughed at her. “She’s so
anal about this kind of stuff! I think
I’d die of shock if I ever found a speck of dust in her house. This place has got to be spotless.”
In between running rampant with a Swiffer cloth to get rid of the
inevitable specks of dust that lurked in his house, she was also buzzing
around the kitchen, littering the counters with pots, pans, and all kinds of
ingredients in her frenzied attempt to put together the dishes she’d stick in
the oven in the morning to cook for their Thanksgiving dinner the following
afternoon. The last time he had popped
in, the room looked as if a tornado had just roared through it, so he’d sought
shelter in his studio, where he sat now, scrutinizing a very rough cut of the
song he’d written for her, which he’d recorded by himself in LA the week before
as a demo.
“And when I didn’t want to live for
me, you made me live for you,” his own voice crooned in his ears. “So the least I can do is return your
favor… know that I’ll always be by your side…”
A knock on
the door interrupted the second chorus, and he tore his headphones off. “Come in!” he called and watched as the door
swung open.
Claire’s
face appeared, looking sheepish. “Hey,”
she said. “Any chance you’d want to run
to the store for me and pick up a bag of cranberries? I didn’t buy any because Amber’s making the
cranberry sauce, but I forgot Grandma’s stuffing recipe calls for them too, and
I just don’t know if I have time to-“
“I’ll go,”
he volunteered dutifully, standing up.
She’d already had to run back to the grocery store at least twice that
morning to pick up ingredients she’d forgotten; he figured it was his turn
anyway. “Just cranberries?”
She paused,
thinking. “I think so. I’ll call you if I think if anything else,
‘kay?” Flashing him a toothy grin, she
chirped, “Thanks!” and darted in to kiss him on the cheek before scurrying back
to the kitchen. Shaking his head in
amusement, Nick swiped his demo CD and followed her, grabbing his keys on the
way out of the house.
He popped
his demo CD into his car’s player and automatically joined in to his own
singing as he whipped the car around his circular driveway. He hoped this song would make the final
tracklisting for the album. Raw as the
demo was, he liked it (although maybe he was biased, having written it). When he’d shown the guys his lyrics and sang
a few bars of his intended melody, they had liked it too; in fact, it was Kevin
who had helped him put together a piano arrangement for the tune he’d come up
with, and Kevin’s light piano playing could be heard beneath Nick’s voice on
the track. The ultimate question was,
would Claire like it?
She will, he thought assuredly, switching to
the radio as the song came to an abrupt end.
After all, what girl could resist a guy writing a song for her?
He
continued to think of his fiancée as he navigated the car to the grocery
store. Though he couldn’t help but
chuckle at the image of her running around like a headless chicken, trying to
make sure everything was in order for her grandparents’ arrival for the holiday
later that afternoon, he was also a little worried about her. She’d been under a huge amount of stress this
week, what with her father and now all these Thanksgiving preparations that
she’d somehow ended up in charge of.
He knew she
could handle it, but at the same time, he wished he could be more helpful. Offering up his house for her family’s
Thanksgiving was about the best he could do, considering she’d hinted that he
was better off staying out of the way when it came to the cooking and cleaning,
and when it came to her dad, Jamie pretty much had the consoling part down pat.
He frowned
as he thought of Claire’s high school sweetheart. There was no need to worry about Jamie for
the time being – he’d left for home early that morning, to go back to his own
family for the holiday. Still, the fact
that he’d even been there pissed Nick off.
Deep down, he understood why Claire had called him too. He remembered last December, when she’d
abruptly booked a flight to Iowa to be with Jamie after his own father’s heart
attack. When the situation had reversed itself,
of course she would want support from him – she’d known he would understand.
I did too though, he thought somewhat forlornly. I understood… But when it came to comforting her, Jamie
had sort of left him in his dust.
He sighed,
hoping the whole situation had been left in the dust by now. Jamie was gone, Claire’s dad was on the mend,
and tomorrow he’d join her family – his soon-to-be in-laws – for a nice
Thanksgiving dinner that would hopefully lift everyone’s spirits. He was looking forward to it – meeting her
grandparents, sharing dinner with her family, almost as if they were his
own. He couldn’t remember the last time
he had been with his own family for Thanksgiving; it was just kind of a given
now that he would spend it with Brian and Kevin’s family, or the Doroughs, or
AJ and his mom. At least this year he
would feel more like he was meant to be there, as Claire’s fiancée, not just
the unfortunate friend with the dysfunctional family he wished to avoid on the
holidays.
His mother
had actually called him earlier in the week to invite him over for
Thanksgiving; she’d sounded rather upset when he had told her he was already
back in Florida and would be spending the holiday with Claire’s family. He was expecting a repeat of the fight they’d
had before Christmas a good seven years earlier, when he had chosen to be with
his girlfriend Mandy’s family instead of his own. But her next words had surprised him.
“Well, how
about Christmas then?” she’d pressed him eagerly. “You could always bring her too, if you
want. And I’d love to meet her parents,
considering you are marrying her.
Maybe we can all get together for the holidays! Then I could help her and her mom with the
wedding plans…”
Nick
thought that sounded like a terrible idea, but he’d vaguely told her he would
talk to Claire about it. He hadn’t, of
course – there was no way he would subject her nice, normal family to his crazy
one, and he’d whisk Claire off to Tahiti to elope before he’d let his mother
interfere with their wedding.
Still, he
supposed he should be glad he and Jane were back on speaking terms and that
she’d finally warmed to the idea of him loving another woman. Or maybe that wasn’t it at all; maybe she
just felt guilty and missed him. He
figured it didn’t really matter; he’d already decided that this kind of
relationship was the best he was ever going to have with his mother – a phone
call now and then, the occasional sniveling message on his answering machine or
voicemail, and maybe, once in a great while, a visit. He regretted the situation, for his
estrangement from his mother had separated him from the rest of his family
too. But someday, things would be
better. The kids would grow up, move
out, and break free from her clutches.
Maybe his dad would someday too.
But for now, he’d resigned himself to spending another holiday without
seeing them.
He jerked
the steering wheel suddenly, sharply making the turn into the supermarket
parking lot he’d nearly missed. Pausing
his thoughts to concentrate on his driving, he drove up and down the aisles,
looking for a parking spot.
***
Hours
later, Nick was pulling out of an entirely different parking lot – that of the
Tampa International Airport. He had
accompanied Claire there to pick up her grandparents, who had flown in from
their home state of Maryland and were now sitting in the backseat of his
Durango. He drove carefully, making sure
to stay at the speed limit, for he wanted to make a good impression on them.
After all
of Claire’s panic over the way the house looked and how well the food was going
to turn out, he had expected Arthur and Sonja Ryan to be fussy and strict, but
so far they had been nothing but pleasant.
Nick was relieved; he wanted to like Claire’s family and have them like
him in return, for they were going to be his in-laws, and he knew it was them
with whom he’d be spending most of his holidays from here on out. He had no desire to show Claire what
Christmas with the Carter Clan could be like.
He listened
in silent amusement as Claire caught up with her grandparents, resolvedly
enduring her grandmother’s critique of her appearance (“Your hair looks lovely,
dear. Oh, I am glad it’s grown out
again,” she commented, then pulled a 180 and added, “But you know, you do look
awfully thin, sweetheart; are you sure you’re eating right?”) and her
grandfather’s continual, “What? What was
that?” to which Sonja would snip, “Oh, Arthur, turn up your hearing aid!”
But once
they’d arrived home and were seated around Nick’s living room, the conversation
turned to Nick. They asked him all the
standard questions, including ones about his “band,” as Claire’s grandpa Arthur
called it. Nick quickly realized that
although they had been told what he did for a living, neither of them had the
slightest clue who he was. That was just
as well with him; he found it refreshing.
“Well
actually, no, I usually don’t play any instrument; see, it’s more of a vocal
group really – we sing,” he explained patiently. “You know, like five part harmony?”
“Ohh, like
the old barbershop quartets!” Sonja exclaimed, joining her hands
delightedly. “Remember, Arthur, how we
used to ride into town to see that one group perform? Oh, what were they called?”
“What was
that?” asked Claire’s grandpa, cupping his hand behind his ear.
“Yeah, we’re,
uh… something like that,” Nick replied with an awkward chuckle.
“Oh, I just
love singing groups!” beamed Sonja. “Now
what part do you sing, dear? Wait, let
me guess – bass? You’re so
broad-shouldered; men who are broad always seem to sing bass.”
Nick
glanced over at Claire, who was hiding a playful grin, clearly enjoying
this. Turning back to her grandmother,
he smiled and answered, “Actually, no; I’m more of a tenor.”
“Oh, a
tenor! Now that takes talent! I’m sure you have a lovely voice. We’d just love to come and see one of your
performances, wouldn’t we, Arthur?”
“Say
again?”
“I said,
we’d love to-“
Nick’s
thoughts wandered as Sonja repeated her sentence; he suppressed a smirk as he
pictured Claire’s eighty-year-old grandparents surrounded by masses of
shrieking teenagers at a Backstreet Boys concert. “Well, uh… yeah, if you want to, I’m sure I
could work something out with the guys,” he said noncommittally.
“Oh, that
would be lovely!”
***
“Your
grandparents are a riot,” Nick said to Claire that night, as they lay in bed,
waiting for The Daily Show to come back from its commercial break.
Claire
smiled, glad he had gotten along so well with them. “They’re something, aren’t they?” she replied
with a laugh. “I love ‘em to death.”’
She had
been so worried about what they would think of everything – Nick, his house,
her cooking (although tomorrow would be the real test for that) – especially
her grandmother, who, though she meant well, could be incredibly nitpicky. But it was her grandma who had pulled her
aside when Nick was out of earshot and whispered what a nice young man he
seemed to be.
“And very handsome too,” she’d added, an almost girlish smile
alighting her wrinkled face. “Such a
shame, though, about his leg. Sometimes
I just don’t understand why the good Lord puts young people through such
ordeals.”
Her eyes, dulled by sorrow, focused on
Claire, who smiled tightly and replied, “Sometimes I don’t either… but
everything happens for a reason, you know.
I think maybe in our case, the reason was so Nick and I would find each
other.”
Her grandmother beamed at her and
squeezed her arm affectionately. “You’re
a good girl for being there for him.
Some women wouldn’t, you know. An
old classmate of mine fell in love with a young Marine. Oh, they were absolutely smitten with each
other… she’d write to him while he was stationed far away, and he would come
home to visit her whenever he had leave, even if it was only for a few
days. But then he was badly wounded in
the War… lost both of his arms, poor soul.
And Patsy… well, the poor girl, she just couldn’t cope.”
Claire shook her head slowly. “That’s
terrible,” she declared. “I’d never
dream of leaving Nick just because of his leg.
I loved him before, I loved him after, and I always will love him. It hasn’t changed anything.”
The memory
of their earlier conversation caused Claire to look over at Nick again. He’d returned his attention to the
commercials on TV; a small chuckle escaped his slightly-parted lips as the
flickering light cast from the television played off his face, seeming to tint
his skin different hues. Smiling, she
reached beneath the sheets and patted his thigh, thinking of how nice it was to
have him there.
She’d had
trouble sleeping lately, what with the burglar scare, doubts about their
relationship, and worry over her dad; not to mention, she’d been plagued with
bad dreams, which left her flushed and drenched in sweat, her heart racing as
if she’d just sprinted a mile. But
tonight, she was sure she’d have no problem falling asleep, for Nick was there…
and besides, she was exhausted.
She yawned
just before Nick rolled towards her, having interpreted her touch in a
different way. His hand found her hip
under the covers and trailed down across her bottom before working its way back
around to the front. She reached down
and intercepted it as it was sliding up her shirt, his fingers light on her
stomach. “Mm, Nick,” she murmured,
dragging his hand out from under her shirt and pushing it down upon the
mattress. “Not tonight.”
“No?” he
asked with a questioning frown.
“I’m really
tired,” she replied apologetically. “And
hot,” she added as an afterthought, kicking her legs up and out from under her
half of the covers. The room seemed
stuffy all of a sudden; she felt as if she were burning up.
“Yeah you
are,” Nick said, his tone sexual, his eyes panning up her body from toe to
head, lingering on a few select areas.
She
groaned. “Nick… my grandparents are
right down the hall!”
“We can be
quiet.”
She shook
her head. “No. Not tonight.
I’m sorry, I just don’t feel like it,” she said, then added quickly when
she saw his face fall, “It’s not you, it’s me.”
He frowned,
but nodded and rolled back over onto his back, pulling the covers tighter
around his chest. He didn’t speak for
the rest of the TV show, not even during the final block of commercials. When she realized he wasn’t going to, Claire
heaved a sigh of annoyance and rolled out of bed. She was tired and hot, and the combination
was making her cranky. Nick’s pouting
was not something she could take right then.
In the
comforting silence of the dark kitchen, Claire poured herself a glass of ice
water and drank it quickly, savoring the icy trail it left on the way down her
throat. She paused to take a peek into
the fridge at the arrangement of dishes she’d prepared for tomorrow’s feast,
dishes which she’d just have to put in the oven, along with the turkey, in the
morning. Pleased with herself, for
everything had seemed to come together very nicely so far, she let the
refrigerator door shut and set her empty glass on the counter. Then, yawning, she wandered back up to bed.
Nick was
lying in his classic sleeping pose when she came into the bedroom – flat on his
back, his arms across his chest, his eyes closed. He always looked so cute that way that she
could not stay frustrated with him, and she smiled despite herself. As she climbed back into bed beside him, the
thought hit her that he might be faking – another way of pouting – but she
supposed it didn’t really matter. If he
was, she’d play along.
“Night,
Nick,” she whispered and placed a feather-light kiss on his cheek before
rolling in the opposite direction and wearily closing her eyes.
***