Jackson
I DON’T KNOW what is going on in Claire’s head, but if she thinks that I’m just going to put the ladies in the sunroom and leave, she is on something stronger than Tylenol.
Shooting another text to Coach Smith to let him know that I will be in tomorrow and apologizing for today, I begin to wander Claire’s home.
As I walk the main floor, I discover more of the parts of Claire and Sasha’s lives that I missed over the past twenty-two years. I hate to admit that I have made sure to follow any aspect of Claire’s life over the years. Although the emails I sent to her went unanswered, I know that she ultimately read them.
There are photos of the two throughout the entire space, as well as ones with Claire and Zoey and of the three of them together. A photo of Sasha catches my eye and draws me in. A beautiful black and white photo that reflects the passion the kid has. It’s a candid shot and one Sasha is unaware is being taken. There is no artifice whatsoever. Picking it up off the shelf, I notice she is about fifteen or sixteen, sitting below a ballet bar lacing up her toe shoes, the dark wrap cropped cardigan a stark contrast to the pale leotard and white tights. She has one knee curled Indian style under her and the other bent upward so that she can tie her laces. Her head is tilted to one side and the focus in her eyes is laser sharp and determined. Looking so much like her mother, she takes my breath away and transports me back to the first time Claire and I sat up all night and talked. That Tuesday, twenty-three years ago, was the best in my life.
Shaking myself free of my reverie, I realize what there aren’t any of are photos of Mac and Jami. I know that Claire’s anger with her parents was almost violent when I dropped out of society. I didn’t know that it had carried on past their deaths. So certain that her compassionate and forgiving nature would have forged some type of relationship with her parents.
Claire’s home is warm and welcoming. I don’t know how she managed to afford this house or the updates that she has done—with being a single mother while raising a child and finally putting that child through college—but she has, and from what Zoey and Sasha have told me, the changes are amazing. An open floor plan allows anyone to stand at the front door and see almost the entire first floor and feel welcome. Claire has impeccable taste. She really should do something with all the talent she has. It’s while I’m standing in the dining room that I realize I’m more at home in Claire’s house than my own.
The girls are sitting on the cusps of the kitchen-family room area watching me as I pass from one area to another. And although the house offers an open floor plan, each section offers a different décor. You would think that it would be considered cluttered, but somehow it works. Shabby chic is what I think they call it.
The white walls should be cold and sterile, but the splashes of color that are throughout the entire space make it whimsy and fun. Whatever it is, it makes anyone want to come in, sit down and stay a while. It isn’t until I walk into the family room section that I realize that I have made Claire’s wall of pictures. Halfway across the room, I see the only photo of Claire and me. It was a candid picture that was taken by Brad back in the day. We are face-to-face and just staring into one another’s eyes. From my perspective, I can tell that even back then anyone could see the love that I had for Claire. But seeing this photo here in her home blows me away. I have a copy of this photo in my own home.
I’ve been wandering for about an hour and find my way onto the back deck, Dallas and Legs in tow. I was curious about the upstairs and Claire’s inner sanctum but know that is taking too much liberty with Claire’s trust, so instead I force myself out here. Walking around the yard, I enjoy the peace and tranquility that Claire has created. It’s a haven really, one that has become an extension of her home.
The fire pit and Adirondack chairs surrounding it make you want to sit and relax, while the flowers she has planted make the space feel romantic. The herb garden that is on the deck is an old-time planter’s box and keeps the mosquitos at bay. And just like the interior of Claire’s home, the exterior is eclectic and, again, it shouldn’t work but does. The splashes of primary colors, from the cushions and pillows throughout the space to the flower choices, bring you into nature without it overbearing the space.
I return to the back deck and sit on the top step. The girls are hanging out next to me, Legs on my right and Dallas on my lap, and I pet them both, as I just sit and enjoy being in Claire’s space. The back door opening gets all of our attention. Turning, I find Claire standing at the back door, looking fucking inspiring. Nothing has changed about her in the past hour, still minimal makeup, she has taken her shoes off and her hair is slightly messier. There is just something about this woman that makes me smile. Her head is cocked to the right and the wind is rustling the loose wisps around her face. And Claire is attempting to look upset with me still being in her space.