Chapter Seventeen
In some ways, signing the sales agreement on her house felt like Claire’s wedding day. An exuberant celebrant—Adam, the estate agent, could barely contain his excitement over the sales commission. Her dress was a little tight…. She’d put on five pounds over the past ten days. And it was a moment of change that would close a chapter and catapult her life in a new direction.
She watched as Nate leaned forward to sign the document. The pen hovered over the blank space as he sent an unspoken query.
“Don’t even go there,” she warned and, smiling, he signed. Claire added her own signature with a flourish.
“Congratulations, everyone!” Adam retrieved a bottle of champagne from behind his desk. “I know it’s only noon. But I think we’ve all earned it.” Popping the cork, he poured the fizzing liquid into paper cups. Claire turned to the couple who’d been so patient.
Peter and Felicity Durell had the relaxed happy demeanor of two people who’d spent a week reigniting their marriage through a combination of sand, tropical sun and sex. Claire raised her glass in a toast. “I hope you’ll be as happy in the house as we were,” she toasted.
“Thank you.” Felicity was three months pregnant. After toasting, she put the cup down as gingerly as if it was a detonator and smiled at Nate, who looked particularly handsome in dark jeans and a moss-green cashmere sweater that clung to every defined muscle. Remembering her reaction to Nate last time she’d drunk champagne, Claire set down her own cup, untasted. It didn’t help the lust. A light had been switched on inside her and she couldn’t switch it off.
“This time next week, honey, we’ll be home owners.” Peter leaned over and kissed his wife. They’d gone for a quick settlement. Claire needed cash to finish the boat and she wanted to reimburse Nate quickly. She’d already transferred some things to the bach—kitchen appliances, newer beds and linen. All that remained was to box up what she intended keeping and send it with the furniture to storage.
She glanced at her watch and stood. “I hate to sign and run but Nate and I are due at my lawyer’s.”
As long as Jo’s medical checkup went well—please, God—he’d leave tonight, taking a feeder flight from Whangarei to Auckland to catch a connection to L.A.
And keeping busy was the way Claire avoided dwelling on that.
The first thing Jules did when they reached her office was try to talk Nate out of resigning from the trust.
“I’ve changed my mind. I think you’ve got a lot to offer.” She glanced at Claire. They’d discussed this briefly on the phone, but Claire had left Jules to raise the idea with Nate. His choice, she’d stressed. Maintaining the trust would safeguard the bach against the possibility of claims against Claire’s new business venture.
Nate shook his head. “It’s too complicated with me living in another country.”
“Not if we modify the trust so that Claire and I sign for cash withdrawals up to a pre-agreed amount and organize an electronic signature for you.” Jules had agreed to replace Steve as third trustee. She sat back in her office chair and crossed her legs. “Really, you’re only looking at an annual general meeting and that can be done over Skype.”
“Leave it now, Jules,” Claire said after a glance at Nate. “Excusing Nate from the trust was part of our deal when he agreed to come home. I’ll ask Ellie to step in for him.” She’d hoped Nate might have changed his mind, because Jules was right, his advice had proven invaluable, but she completely related to his need for a safe distance.
“Okay… But it’ll take me another few days to sort out the paperwork.”
Nate straightened in his chair. “I thought we were signing everything off today.”
“I figured you’d agree, so I didn’t prepare alternative documents.”
Claire frowned. “But I told you that Nate’s leaving tonight if Jo gets the all-clear.” Nervously she checked her watch. Nate should be getting a call from Dan anytime now.
“Tonight?” said Jules. “I thought you said Tuesday.” Five days away? She thought no such thing, Claire decided. Their friend was trying to play matchmaker.
“Well, where the hell does that leave us?” Nate demanded.
“It leaves us with Jules putting a rush on documents, doesn’t it, Ms. Browne?”
Jules returned a limpet gaze. “It would, except I’ve got back-to-back appointments today and tomorrow. Then it’s the weekend. What say we meet again Monday?”
“No,” Claire and Nate said together.
“In that case—” Nate’s cell rang, interrupting her, and they all tensed.
Nate checked the number and swallowed.
“It’s Dan…. Hey, mate. How’d the specialist’s appointment go?”
“She’s clear.” Dan’s voice was jubilant. “Jo’s been given the all-clear. We’ve passed another hurdle.”
Relief swept over him like a wave so powerful that Nate forgot his annoyance at Jules. “That’s great.” He gave the two women a thumbs-up and they shrieked and jumped up and down, hugging each other. “Dan, that’s great news.”
“You’re telling me…. Hell, my hands are shaking.”
“It’s reaction,” Nate said. He was feeling a little shaken himself. “Can you hear Claire and Jules?” He held out the phone, they yahooed louder, then returned the cell to his ear.
Dan laughed. “We have to celebrate this,” he said. “My God, do we have to celebrate this.” He whooped suddenly, a sound of joy and release. “We’re coming up Saturday night—me, Jo, Ross and Viv. And don’t give me any bullshit about leaving tonight. I need you to celebrate with us, plus you owe Jo big-time for not showing up to our wedding. Tell Claire to book a restaurant in Whangarei. We’ll stay in a hotel. No way is our first baby being conceived in a tent…. Hang on… Yeah, honey, we’re making babies…. Nate, I’ll confirm details later. I have to go kiss my wife.”
Nate rang off and gave the others an update, too elated to immediately consider the ramifications of staying. “That’s fantastic,” Jules said. “And it takes the pressure off the paperwork.”
He turned to Claire. “Looks like you’re stuck with me until Monday.” Her eyes revealed her thoughts when she forgot to guard them and he saw the same mix of dismay and reprieve he felt himself.
He wanted to go only slightly more desperately than he wanted to stay.
* * *
During lunch with Ellie, Nate and Lewis at the waterfront restaurant, Claire made two trips to the bathroom, solely to panic. Her second visit she sat on the closed seat in a toilet stall and obsessively shredded toilet tissue into tiny squares, trying to regain perspective. What was another few days really? They’d handled it so far, hadn’t they?
Except she felt like a marathoner within sight of the finish line who’d just been told the race had been extended another fifteen kilometers. Frankly, Claire didn’t think she had the reserves. Nate had to leave for her to regain her emotional equilibrium.
Sitting jammed next to him in one of the restaurant’s small booths didn’t help. Every time he moved, a warm shoulder or thigh brushed against hers. She knew Nate was as self-conscious as she was because he kept asking the waiter if one of the bigger tables had come free. Even when perfectly innocuous conversation flowed between and around them, their sexual awareness only got stronger for being repressed.
She couldn’t sit here forever; they’d wonder where she was. Standing, Claire lifted the toilet seat, let the myriad scraps of toilet tissue flutter to a watery grave and flushed. Hopefully, Lewis and Ellie would have finished dessert by now; she’d ask for the check on the way back to the table.
She exited the cubicle, washed her hands and grabbed a paper towel, resisting the urge to shred it. She could have kissed Nate this morning, seeing Lewis so happily recalling his dad. Claire imagined that chaste peck of gratitude turning into a carnal, tongue-thrusting, body-grinding… Oh, my God. Returning to the basin, she turned on the tap and splashed cold water on her face, then stared at herself through dripping lashes.
Four more days. She dried her face on a paper towel, practiced her yoga breath and straightened her shoulders. “I can do that.”
She returned to the booth as Nate was saying, “So while we were trying to talk to him—” He saw Claire and stopped.
“Mum, have you heard this story?” Lewis demanded, his eyes shining. “About how Dad and Lee saved a baby’s life?”
“No.” Somehow her son could draw Nate out where Claire had failed—and she rejoiced in it for both their sakes. She slid into the booth, bracing herself against the inevitable touch of Nate’s warm thigh.
“Keep going,” Ellie urged. “You’d been patrolling for weeks, collecting intel.” The slang sounded strange on her tongue.
Glancing at Claire, Nate pushed aside his empty plate. His reluctance to tell stories was to do with her, she realized, and tried not to be hurt by that.
His leg accidentally touched hers. “Where was I?” he said distractedly. At least he was finding their physical proximity as hard as she was.
“You weren’t making any progress with this village headman,” Lewis said. “That’s like the boss, Mum,” he clarified importantly.
“Even though his village was being raided by the insurgents,” Nate added. He picked up his water glass and took a sip. “One visit we were trying to find common ground with him, when this young woman approached Lee. We’d been in the area long enough for him to have treated a few locals—she must have known he was our medic. She carried a little girl, who was feverish, semiconscious. The second he spotted her, the headman started screaming and shooing her away. Sobbing, she argued with him, but he didn’t budge. Other villagers pulled her into a building.”
Claire leaned forward. “Did you follow her?”
“We’re trained to respect local customs,” he said. “If they want help, great. If not, we accept the headman’s authority.”
“But her baby needed medical treatment,” Ellie protested.
“Their country, their rules,” Nate said, and there was a soldier’s inflection in his voice. “It’s tough, but it’s necessary to gain their trust. Except then Lee muttered to Steve, ‘Symptoms match that baby I treated last week.’ Unfortunately, that village sought our help too late, the baby died.”
Claire shivered, her gaze going protectively to Lewis, but though his eyes widened, he said, “What happened next?”
“Through an interpreter, Steve started reasoning with the headman,” Nate said. “The elder kept shaking his head. It was the same week you’d taken a tumble,” he said to Lewis, “and been in the hospital overnight with suspected concussion. Suddenly your dad lost it. He started yelling at the old man, said he deserved to have rebels wipe out his goddamn village if he couldn’t put a child’s life before his pride.”
“How did he take that?” Ellie said, aghast.
“Glared back, not saying a word,” Nate replied. “When Steve ran out of steam, we shoved him in the truck because it was clear he’d blown whatever chance we had of getting onside with this guy.
“Next thing, the headman is standing in front of the bull bar beckoning Lee. We got out. The elder shook his head and pointed. Only Lee.” Nate took another sip of his water. Clearly, he found this difficult.
Lewis propped his chin in his hand. “And then?” he prompted.
“Your dad said no, and the headman walked away. Lee insisted he’d take his chances. He disappeared with the elder, leaving the rest of us to sweat it out, rifles cocked. Thirty minutes later Lee reappeared. Another hour, he said, and the little girl would have been past saving. The interpreter said the old man relented because Steve had lost it. ‘Then,’ said the interpreter, ‘he know you geev a sheet.’”
“What does a sheet have to do with it,” said Ellie, confused.
“A shit, Nana,” Lewis clarified.
Ellie frowned. “Language.” She dabbed her eyes with a napkin. “But what a wonderful story.”
“It is,” Claire said softly.
Nate looked at her. “Later, Steve said that if he couldn’t be there for his own child, he could at least be there for someone else’s.”
Her anger sprang out of nowhere. One second Claire was trying not to cry, the next struggling to swallow bitter words.
“That’s so like Steve,” said Ellie. “Always putting other people first. Just like his father.”
Claire stood abruptly. “I need some fresh air.” Ignoring their astonished faces, she escaped the restaurant and stalked across the waterfront piazza. She stopped at the edge of the quay where she struggled to bring her temper under control by counting the spars and masts of the small yachts bobbing in the marina.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” Oh, no, Ellie had followed.
She’d never told Steve’s mother about her son’s decision to accept one more tour. It would be too cruel to add another “if only” to the ones already haunting Ellie. But today the urge to scream, “Your bloody son broke his word, that’s what’s wrong!” was so strong that sweat broke out on Claire’s forehead. “I’m not feeling well,” she managed to say.
“You don’t have to pretend to me.” Her bangles jangled as Ellie hugged her. “Nate’s story upset you, didn’t it?” Claire tried to return her mother-in-law’s affectionate embrace.
“Yes,” she said tightly. “It upset me.”
“How about I take Lewis shopping for a couple of hours, give you space to have a good cry? You let Nate drive you home and I’ll drop Lewis off later.”
“Bless you, Ellie.” There was no reserve now in her hug.
Nate exited the restaurant, pocketing his wallet, Lewis behind him. Claire avoided Nate’s gaze. Only he had the information to join the dots, understand that this was anger, not grief. “You okay?” he said quietly.
Ellie took charge. “She’s not feeling well. Nathan, take her home so she can have a little lie-down. Lewis, I’m taking you shopping for those Converse skaters you wanted.”
Her son’s worried frown lightened. “Cool, thanks… But are you really okay, Mum?” He glanced at Nate then added valiantly, “I can look after you if you want.”
Despite her distress, Claire was moved. “It’s only a headache.” She touched his cheek. “Nothing a nap won’t cure. You go with Nana.”
She dreaded Nate raising the subject when they were alone, but he didn’t say a word until they were thirty minutes into the drive. “The stories about Steve haven’t helped, have they?” he said. “To forgive him.”
Claire stared out the passenger window. Green fields rolled by, pastoral and peaceful, grating on her nerves. “Don’t take this on yourself. It’s not your war.”
He didn’t respond. A woman, she thought sourly, would have tried to make her feel better, told her it was okay to feel snarly and mean. Nate’s silence felt like disappointment. Claire glared at his profile.
“What do you want from me, Nate?” she demanded. “Reassurance that I’ll always love Steve? Of course I will. You want me to focus on the good times instead of the bad? Okay, let me tell you my favorite memory. After every deployment, Steve would walk in the door, drop his bag, open his arms and holler, ‘Daddy’s home.’ And our little boy would hurl himself at his father.”
Even distressed, she felt the buoyancy, the sheer joy of that moment. “As Lewie grew older he got self-conscious and would hesitate. And Steve would boom, ‘Get over here, son, and give your old man a hug.’” Her voice cracked. “‘Don’t you know, Daddy’s home?’”
She returned to staring out the window. They were traversing the mangroves, nearly in Stingray Bay. Close to full tide, some of the smaller trees looked to be on tiptoe trying to keep their leafy heads above water. Claire knew how they felt. “Steve had a big heart and there was always plenty to go around,” she said bitterly. “But in the end he put the SAS first.”
Nate’s free hand closed over hers, clenched in her lap. “Even if I can forgive him for leaving me,” she said, “I can’t forgive him for leaving Lewis. He needs his dad more than ever and Steve’s not here because he wanted one more tour. When Lewis acts out because he’s lost, because he’s hurting…that’s when I want to rage at Steve. If he couldn’t put me first, he should have put our son first. I should have made him.”
His grip tightened. “Blaming yourself won’t help anybody.”
“Coming from you…” she said with a weary laugh, opened the window, let the wind dry her wet cheeks. “You know the last thing Steve said to me before he left for tour? ‘I swear, honey, I’ll make it up to you when I come home.’ And I said—” Her voice broke, tears streamed down her face. “‘The only promise I need from you is that you’ll stay safe.’”
Loosening her hand from Nate’s, she opened the glove box and fumbled for the box of tissues. “So that’s two promises he reneged on.” She dried her eyes, blew her nose and hardened her resolve. “You ever wonder why I don’t ask for more details of his death, Nate?” The car bumped gently over the uneven ground of the shared yard. “Because I’m so terribly afraid his last thoughts weren’t of us.”
“Of course they were.” He sounded appalled that she’d think any different.
“You don’t know that,” she said, beyond weary. “Nobody knows that.”
The car stopped beside the bach. Nate jerked on the hand brake. “You were,” he repeated fiercely.
Shaking her head, Claire got out of the car. “Believe that if you need to,” she said. “I can’t.”
* * *
Nate stared after Claire as she disappeared into the bach.
Steve’s last words rang in his ears, resonating on a whole new level. “Tell Claire I’m sorry.” Sorry that he was leaving her? Or sorry he was breaking his promise? It dawned on Nate with blinding force that he held the missing puzzle piece that might help Claire forgive Steve.
He’d wrestled with telling her many times after the ambush, desperate to be punished when self-hatred wasn’t enough. But he could never justify the pain that would cause her.
Instead, she doubted Steve’s love, doubted his love for their son. Which pain was worse? The scales that had always been weighted against telling her the truth were now finely balanced. For some ten minutes he sat in the car agonizing.
Which was the lesser evil, which the greater good?
She had to know. For the sake of her relationship with Steve. For the sake of Steve’s relationship with Lewis, because Claire might not always be able to contain her anger. This then was his ultimate penance—telling the woman he loved that he’d left her husband to die.
He glanced at the dashboard clock. They had a couple of hours before Lewis arrived home. Nate could pack and leave before then, because once he told Claire, she’d want him gone. Sick to his stomach, he followed her.
He’d never allowed himself to consider a future with her. This shouldn’t hurt as much as it did.
She was emptying her bag on the dining room table when he walked in. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said, picking out a Tylenol bottle from the debris.
Nate forced himself to say the words. Forced himself because it was the right thing to do. “Steve didn’t die instantly.”
Claire turned. “What?”
“The explosion twisted the front of the Humvee and trapped his lower leg.”
“Oh, my God.” She fumbled to pull out a chair and sat down hard, her expression stricken.
Nate looked at the floor because it was the only way he could finish telling this. “I tried to free him after we’d stabilized Ross.” Involuntarily his fingers flexed. He could still feel the weight of the crowbar, slippery with blood and sweat, still recall his increasing desperation as he strained every muscle to bend the twisted bull bar.
His body might be standing in a living room in Stingray Bay, but he was back in Afghanistan, struggling to free Steve. “We were under heavy fire,” he said. “They had an RPG launcher. With every shot, their aim improved.” There was a tremor in his voice, a tremor in every limb. “Steve told me to go,” he rasped. “I did.”
He heard Claire suck in a breath. No sugar-coating this.
“I told him I’d come back for him, but we both knew there wouldn’t be time for that. As I hauled Ross over my shoulder, Steve said…” Nate lifted his gaze, met Claire’s shell-shocked eyes. “‘Tell my family I love them. Tell Claire I’m sorry.’” He returned his gaze to the floor. “I should have stayed. I used Ross’s life as an excuse to save my own. In battle, a soldier has only one certainty. That his brothers will never leave him…” The trembling in his limbs reached his voice. “That he’ll never be abandoned.” His eyes burned, but he would not cry. He had no right.
Instead, he waited, arms held rigidly by his sides, for whatever punishment Claire wanted to mete out. If she told him to crawl out of here like the yellow-bellied coward he was, Nate would do it. For the first time he registered that his shoes were flecked with grass—the mowing contractor had been in their absence.
He could hear Claire’s breathing, halfway between a sob and a gasp, but made no move to touch her. That would only be adding insult to injury. Her chair scraped across the floor as she stood up.
Claire stumbled into him, her arms encircling his waist. She rested her cheek against his chest. For a moment he stood frozen in bewilderment. “What are you doing?”
Her arms tightened—such a powerful clasp for a small woman. “It’s not your fault.” Then she began to cry, great wrenching sobs that forestalled further argument. Gently, Nate freed his arms, shepherded her to the couch and held her while she wept.