Leave It to Claire (32 page)

“Are you going to be okay all by yourself, Mom?” Ari asks after the boys have bounded toward the house and are already descending
upon poor Darcy. The kids are maniacs on Christmas Day. Between the excitement of new gifts, the sugar-filled, carb-loaded
blueberry pancakes they had for breakfast, and all the chocolate Santas they found in their stockings and ate before breakfast,
she’s going to have quite the time trying to corral them.

“I’m going to be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Ari’s just closing her door when I see Rick coming to greet me. You’ve changed, I keep reminding myself. You can face him
now in a spirit of forgiveness.

I watch his ears and nose go red from the cold. I roll down my window. “Merry Christmas.” It’s halfhearted at best. But I’m
putting forth this effort. Faith in action. Determination to heal from my wounded past.

His eyebrows lift as he returns my greeting. “Did you have a good morning with the kids?”

“Try to beat my gift to Tommy.” I give him a cheeky grin.

“You got him the skateboard, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

He tosses back his head and gives a hardy laugh. “Claire, so did I!”

“No!”

“I guess we’d better confer from now on.”

To his credit, he doesn’t mention that he’s tried to reach me at least a dozen times in the past month. And no way I’m bringing
it up.

“So, I’ll let you get in and enjoy your day with the kids.”

“Uh, Claire. Before you go. We want you to come in for a minute. We have something to tell you.”

Oh, Lord. Here it comes. I open my mouth to take a rain check, but his hand covers mine.

“Please.”

I gather a steadying breath and nod. “Let me roll up the window.” He steps back as I do so. I kill the motor.

As I follow him into the house, I try to rationalize. Maybe they’re not going to tell me Darcy’s pregnant. Maybe they’re building
a new house and given my reaction to this one, they’ve decided they need to break it to me gently. Perhaps they’re moving
to Indiana or Chicago or anywhere besides here.

Darcy is radiant as we step inside. She is wearing a gorgeous red-silk pantsuit with a poinsettia-decorated scarf. I look
down at my jeans and Rudolph sweatshirt, and once again I feel like the nerdy chubbo next to the gorgeous cheerleader.

She hugs me enthusiastically. “Merry Christmas! I made apple-cinnamon muffins. Do you want one?”

“No thanks.” I am finding it difficult to muster any responding enthusiasm. “We had blueberry pancakes.”

Her expression drops a bit. “Oh, then the kids probably won’t want any either.”

Oh, why do I always love her so much? Forced laughter finds its way to my lips. “These are my kids, remember? They’ll find
a place for your muffins. You’ll be lucky if there are any left for you and Rick.”

She smiles at this and I feel Rick squeeze my elbow. Okay, hands off, bud. I move away oh-so-subtly. I have to congratulate
myself for not recoiling and jerking from his thank-you gesture.

“Well, then. What’s this you need to tell me?”

“Let’s go into Rick’s study.” Darcy leads the way, her heels clicking on the ceramic tile.

Once we get inside the room, she moves in close to her husband.
Her
husband. Rick slides his arm around her and draws her ever so slightly closer. I steel myself.

Darcy’s eyes fill with tears. “Claire, I’m pregnant. We’re telling the kids today, but we wanted you to know firsthand from
us.”

The tunnel is dark, and even though I knew what was coming, I still find myself sliding toward that place of obscurity. My
heart is racing. I drop to the closest seat, which happens to be Rick’s office chair.

“Claire?” Rick moves toward me. “You okay?”

I hold up my palm and he halts.

The shock is wearing off and anger has risen to the surface. The past couple of weeks, I’ve known she was probably pregnant.
I’ve waited for the announcement and imagined my cool and levelheaded reaction. But faced with the reality that Rick is getting
a second chance at a great life with a beautiful, perfect wife and most likely a perfect kid, I blow a gasket. I stand. “Congratulations,
Rick.” The venom flies from my tongue as everything on my mind spews into the room. “It isn’t enough that you ruined one family.
Here’s a good idea. Why don’t you start another one?”

I turn to Darcy. “Enjoy him until you lose your figure, honey. Because that’s about how long he’ll stick around. One consolation.
At least you’ll have a baby to love. And the child support will make a nice little nest egg for Junior’s college tuition.”

I fly past the black-leather chair and maneuver around the couple as they stare, dumbfounded. I yank open the door and beeline
for the exit. If I don’t get out of this house . . .

“Claire Everett, you stop right there!”

I do. Because I’ve never heard Darcy’s voice trembling with anger and outrage. I whip around. She stands before me, her face
bright red, tears streaming down her face.

“Take it easy, sweetheart,” Rick says.

She turns on him. “Don’t tell me to take it easy. Will you go away and let me deal with this? Your kids are waiting to spend
Christmas with you. Go feed them muffins and stop hovering over me.”

I think Rick’s more shocked than I am. Regardless, he meekly obeys her order and disappears toward the kitchen.

“Well?” Inside I’m feeling nerves I never knew I possessed. I don’t like being confronted. I do the confronting. I turn to
mush when it’s reversed.

“I know it’s hard for you to be the one who got left behind. The one who was cheated on. The woman scorned. But once and for
all: I DID NOT COMMIT ADULTERY.”

Sheesh. Tell the whole neighborhood.

“I know that, Darcy.” I’m proud of my calm response, spoken in an even tone that will elicit a calm exchange from her.

“You know, but you don’t act like it’s true. You treat me like the other woman.
I’m not
the other woman. I am married to the man I love, baggage and all.”

Hey.
Now I’m baggage? Besides, that wasn’t the calm reply I was going for with that whole “even tone” thing.

“I’ve tried and tried to be your friend. I’ve been nice to you, loving to your kids, gone the extra mile because I understood
your feelings. I knew you were hurting and I wanted you to know that it’s okay.

“Do you know how difficult it is to follow in your footsteps, Claire? You were the childhood sweetheart. The mother of his
four kids. The smart woman who worked two jobs so you could bank every cent of child support. The gritty ex-wife who not only
tried to write a book but finished it even while working so hard. And then you even got published. For the love of Pete, Claire,
who does that? The one who is now a bestselling author. A local celebrity. Do you know what I’m considered? The doctor’s arm
piece. Eye candy. The stupid blonde midlife-crisis bimbo. And you have the audacity to reduce my wonderful pregnancy to something
less than the single most amazing event in the history of the universe?”

I can’t even speak. I can’t defend myself. I haven’t got a leg to stand on. How can I explain to her that it’s Rick, not Darcy,
that I’m angry at. That if Darcy were married to anyone else, I’d be the first one to congratulate her on being pregnant.
The fact is, I just can’t stand the thought of his happiness when I’m all alone, raising the four kids we had together before
he walked out. Darcy sees none of this inner struggle. And now that she’s finally letting it all hang out, I find she’s not
quite finished.

“Do you think I don’t feel hurt? All my life I’ve been the bastard child. The result of my mother’s affair with a married
man. Oh, yes. You didn’t know that, did you? I grew up in a town with two thousand residents. My mother was a wild child,
my dad a local realtor. He wanted excitement, she wanted love. He got what he wanted. She didn’t. She got pregnant and ostracized.
I never had a chance in that town. So don’t tell me I don’t understand. Every time I passed my father’s wife on the street,
I saw the pain in her eyes. Pain that I caused her because every time she saw me, she remembered what her husband did. I see
that pain in your eyes every time I look at you, too.

“But I am not to blame here. I didn’t even know Rick until you two had been divorced for three years. Why can’t you just give
me the chance to love my husband, love my sweet baby, and yes, Claire, love you.”

I start to speak this time. But Darcy doesn’t give me a chance.

She stomps past me and opens the door. “I want you to leave my house, Claire. Until you can treat me with some respect, you
are not welcome here.”

My jaw drops. My stomach churns. I step outside with my head high.

The door slams shut behind me. Time stands still as I wait on the porch, trying to make sense of what just happened.

I hear Darcy’s heartbroken wail on the other side of the wooden door that separates us. My own tears form and come fast. I
make it to my van amid sobs, crank the motor, and drive away. I stop at the park a block away. In the parking lot, in front
of a deserted pond, I weep. I weep for Darcy, for her father’s wife, for her mother, for me. For all the women of the world
who have been the victims of infidelity. I cry for hours. It’s Christmas Day, and while the rest of the world celebrates family
and friends, I’m all alone.

I
t’s lightly snowing as I pull into my driveway. Normally, I adore a soft
It’s a Wonderful Life
-ish snow. But right now my head is aching and my nose is stuffy from the tears. Not much could lighten my mood.

The last thing I want to do when I walk inside my house is talk on the phone. It’s ringing. I try to ignore it, but even in
my state of depression I can’t resist the urge to peek at caller ID.

Greg.

“Claire? What’s wrong? Your voice sounds funny.”

“Just an emotional morning.”

“Sounds like you need to come be with people. Mom and Sadie and I want you to come down and have Christmas dinner with us.”

I feel my eyes well up again. How sweet of them to think of me.

“Greg, I’m so sorry. I would love to any other day, but I need to be alone right now. Okay?”

“I understand. If you want to come by for dessert later, you’re more than wanted.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind. Good-bye.”

I hang up and flop onto the couch. I look around my messy living room. The wrapping paper and gifts the kids had to leave
behind are still lying all over the place. The remnants of our morning together.

Anger shoots through me. I hate that I had to give up my babies today. I hate that I don’t have one family member to have
Christmas dinner with. I’m so angry with Rick at this moment I could just yell. So guess what? I do. “I HATE THIS, GOD!”

I picture them sitting around the dining room table, Darcy radiant and perfect, Rick carving the turkey or ham or whatever
they’re having. The black-and-white TV sitcom family. “Gee whiz” and “Oh, golly.”

I kick at a pile of wrapping paper. What’s the point of even trying to make a decent home? I can’t give my kids what Rick
can. Not anymore. They’re going to have a little brother or sister now. Are they even going to want to live with me when they
can be a family with two parents and a baby over there? I wouldn’t put it past Darcy to go get a puppy. From the Humane Society,
of course.

The Christmas decorations are really bugging me all of a sudden. The kids are staying at Rick and Darcy’s until New Year’s.
So what’s the point in leaving the tree up? And it’s not like I really have much else to do.

In a split-second Grinchy decision, I stomp up to the attic. The kids tossed everything everywhere. No rhyme or reason to
how these decoration boxes are thrown around. I head to the corner of the attic to grab first the boxes for the ornaments.
Under the boxes I find my old wooden rocking chair. The one my mother handed down to me when I was pregnant with Ari.

I drop the boxes and pull the chair from the corner. There are some scars from four babies’ worth of use. I can’t resist the
urge to sit. Memories move across my mind like a slideshow as I rock back and forth. I wrap my arms around me and longing
washes over me in waves. A longing for that American Dream life I’d so hoped for as a girl in love with the captain of the
football team. I almost had it all. Almost.

We were so proud when we brought Arianna home from the hospital. I rocked her until late into the night. Then I laid her gently
in the cradle Rick made for her.

The cradle. Where is that? I need to see it. In a frenzy, I toss boxes and keepsakes here and there. If anyone saw me in such
a state, they’d think I had lost my mind.

I expel a relieved sigh when I spot the wooden cradle tucked between an old bookcase and a footlocker my grandfather used
during the Korean War. I kneel beside the little bed and run my hand along the curved headboard. It rocks a slightly crooked
arc. I remember how proud Rick was when he showed this to me for the first time. His baby would sleep in something he made
with his own hands. Something that cost him more than money—which was good because we never could have afforded to buy a cradle
back then.

Rick’s new baby will have anything he or she could possibly dream of. I can only imagine the layette Darcy is planning.

A twinge of something akin to pity pinches me. Darcy won’t see the joy of a young husband presenting her with something like
this.

I’m still feeling sorry for them when a thought comes to me. I reject this unwelcome scenario immediately. But it returns
with more force.

Let it go, Claire. It’s time to let it go once and for all.

I know that sweet, still voice. And I’m filled with a sense of awe to be on the Lord’s radar. Still, He’s asking me to do
something I don’t know that I have the strength to do.

My grace is sufficient.

I rest my head on top of the cradle and tears slip down my cheeks as I picture each of my babies lying there. In the cradle
made with their daddy’s hands.

My heart softens toward Rick. He truly did set out to be the best husband and father he could be. Life happens. Hurt happens.
We say things we don’t mean. Things we regret but are too stubborn to take back.