Claire
THE GIRLS AND I have just come inside and I have given them a treat when my phone sounds off with a Google alert. Walking over to my phone where I left it on the kitchen table, I pick it up to check the message. I only have an alert set for the team, so I’m curious as to what news was announced that I’m unaware of.
Just as I’m swiping to wake the screen up, my phone starts to ring with Jackson’s ringtone. Rolling my eyes, I wait until the fifth ring to pick up. Because as much as I don’t want Jackson around, I also can’t seem to stay away from him either. He is the one person that I feel truly connected to, and as much as I fight that connection, I also want it.
Finally picking up the phone, I say, “Really, Jackson, you just dropped Legs off. She is fine. Seriously, you are worse than Zoey!”
I am barely able to finish my comment when Jackson’s words hit me. “Claire, have you seen the news this morning?”
He is agitated and I can hear the frustration in his voice. Thinking that it has something to do with either Sasha or Zoey, I respond, “What’s happened? Who’s hurt?”
“Everyone is fine. I am on my way over right now. I should be there in about fifteen minutes. Do me a favor and don’t turn on the TV or go on the internet until I get there.”
The mother in me surges forward and all I can think of is if my girls are okay. “Jackson, I am seriously starting to worry here. Now tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Do what I say, woman! Jesus what is wrong with you McEvoys!” he shouts into the phone. Then with a deep breath in and out he follows up in a much softer tone, “Please, Claire. Sasha and Zoey are fine. For that matter so are Derrick, Ben and Suzie. Just please, have a cup of coffee and go play with the dogs until I get there.” Then he hangs up on me.
“What the hell was that all about?” I say to Dallas and Legs. They are sitting in the door to my sunroom, heads cocked to the right, looking just as confused as I feel.
Unable to actually do as I have been told, because hello I had enough of that while growing up, I grab a bottled water out of the refrigerator and wander the main floor of my house. I know that something is going on, and by God, no one I love better be hurt or Jackson will find himself in some major pain. Trust me, I could seriously hurt the man. After what happened with Brad that summer, I made sure that no one EVER got the upper hand on me.
I spoke with Sasha earlier; she was distant but fine. Shocker a twenty-two-year-old being distant! She has finally decided on a major, thank goodness. For a while I thought she was going to take the “professional student” route. She has chosen Communications. Plus, her internship with the team begins tomorrow. She is going to be working directly for the new VP of Community and Corporate Relations. I couldn’t be prouder of her.
Standing in my living room, I look around and wonder if I should rearrange the furniture. It’s what I do when I’m worried. I used to do it in the middle of the night. It soothes me and helps me burn off unwanted energy when I can’t sleep. Chuckling, I think back on how Sasha would run into the furniture when she was younger. It wasn’t so funny when Children’s Services came calling one afternoon though. It was then that I realized my crazy compulsion could get my daughter taken away. The bruises that she got by tripping over and walking into furniture were not easily bought by the social worker. Worse was the humiliation of having to explain that I didn’t sleep at night, so I’d rearrange the furniture for shits and giggles and to stem the panic and anxiety attacks that overtook me; now that was embarrassing.
But Mac wasn’t about to let Sasha get taken away. It wouldn’t look good for him, so he proceeded to make it go away with the guarantee that Sasha would never have an unexplainable bruise again and if so, he and my mother would file for full custody.
That would be the fucking day!
I started therapy with Dr. Jacobs the next morning. I still don’t sleep well at night and when I do sleep, I have to have a light on. Always. It’s gotten worse since Sasha moved in to the dorms last year. Most nights I sleep on the couch with the kitchen sink light on and the TV going. Funny how I know every sound in my house and it is only at night that those sounds—the normal sounds of a home settling—scare me to death.
But I like the way the house looks and rearranging the furniture would tip both Zoey and Sasha off that something is bothering me. So instead I walk over to one of the wingback chairs and shift it a little to the right. Cocking my head in contemplation, I realize that it doesn’t look good. The small move throws the entire look of the room off.
The doorbell rings, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I do a quick shift of the chair, setting it back to its original position. Nodding that things are back to rights, I head over to the door; but before I can answer it, Jackson just walks in. “You need to lock your doors, Claire,” he says in greeting as he stomps past me and makes his way into my kitchen.
The main floor of my house is an open floor plan. With the only doors and walls belonging to the bathroom and my office. I need to be able to see everything around me and not feel caged in. That is another issue for me since Brad. When I bought this little Cape Cod ten years ago, I felt so claustrophobic because of the walls. It took me two years and a lot of research and DIY projects, but I got my open space and was finally able to breathe in my own home.
I’m not a hand wringer. That’s just not what I do. I no longer allow the anxiety to completely take over anymore. Instead, I straighten my spine and tackle a problem head on. But if I was a hand wringer, I’d be wringing them like mad right now. I can feel the anxiety and panic start to rise within me. That all too familiar light headedness, accompanied by the rush of heat that overtakes me, is consuming. And if I wasn’t freaking out internally before, I certainly am now that I have seen Jackson’s face. I haven’t seen that look since the night that changed both of our lives twenty-three years ago.