by Gina Watson
The apartment was just as he’d left it. His heart seized in his chest when his gaze landed on the electronic frame. A picture of Clara running through the halls at the hospital was currently displayed. He kicked the door shut behind him and took the frame off the base. He walked to the couch and plopped down, his limbs numb. His blood slowly pulsed through his body as silence surrounded him.
A new set of pixels molded into a picture of Clara on her stomach, legs bent behind her, smiling under a beach hat at the apartment pool. A cracked sob escaped his chest.
To say he couldn’t live without her was modest. Without her he’d surely suffer. Death was preferable to the torture he’d endure without her light in his life.
After an hour had passed he realized his body was in a state of shock at the loss.
Two hours.
The clock screamed the time. He’d been home for …
Three hours.
Provocative shades of orange and red mocked him into a lull between sleep and alertness. The sun slowly set.
Why did his parents die? He’d asked himself that question a million times. One decision had changed the course of all their lives. Dad had won flying lessons at a fundraising event he’d almost not attended. Mom had been sick the night of the event, but she’d told Dad to go to the event without her. He recalled Dad not wanting to leave, but then Jackson had told him he’d take care of her. He scrubbed his face with his hand. If Dad had stayed home, he never would have won the tickets that led to their eventual death.
When he’d made love to Clara the first time he’d found the answer to his destiny. If he lost her, they died for nothing.
Four hours.
Dusk was a time he’d always hated. He’d sit and wait for his parents to return from work. He was alone, like he was now. Eventually he’d realized they were never coming to take him from this darkness.
Five hours.
Just as Bug was never coming back now.
He yelled. For how long he didn’t know. A knock at the door interrupted his plummet into the burning hot center of the earth.
He opened the door.
“Oh, hey, Mr. Porter.”
“Hey, kiddo.” He rubbed his bulbous nose. “Looks like you’ve joined an underground fighting ring. Thought you might want some company. I’ve got a pizza coming. Not on my diet I know, but I always say if we give up what we love we may as well be dead.”
Mr. Porter nervously chuckled and turned toward the sounds of a car motor. “Oh, there’s the boy now.”
Mr. Porter was wise and had known great pain as he’d struggled, along with his wife, as she lost her battle with cancer. He’d spent one of his lives and was back to live out the second without the woman he loved. Jackson wondered how many lives the guy had.
Mr. Porter met the pizza guy at the car. Soon he stood before Jackson holding a hot sausage pizza in the air.
They sat on the couch and ate while watching sports news. Three pieces of pie later Mr. Porter spoke about the weather.
“If Camille were around she’d be gearing up to plant her bulbs in the ground.” He cleared his throat. “I may have to give it a go myself and see if I can get them to grow in her little garden on the patio. She loved caladiums.”
He wiped his face with a napkin. “I saw Clara this morning.” Mr. Porter didn’t look at Jackson as he spoke, but stared at the TV. “Seemed pretty upset. Said you’d broken up with her. For what it’s worth, when I watch you two together, it reminds me of Camille and me, when we were much younger of course. I loved her fervidly and was just glad she let me.
“How do you survive without her?” Jackson’s voice cracked.
“She’s all around me. I even find myself speaking aloud to her. If I’m lucky I’ll have a dream-filled sleep. We’re together again only she’s not sick. In the dreams we’re just doing mundane things like folding laundry, but the love and laughter we share make the task full of passion.” He scrubbed his face and sighed. “Some days are easier than others.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Jackson knew Clara had taken several meals over to Mr. Porter’s apartment after his wife had passed.
“My great love is gone, yours isn’t. Whatever it is that’s keeping you apart isn’t greater than the love you have for one another. You cling to that and it just may give you something to hold onto as you make your way through the shifting sand.”
Jackson nodded. The old coot was crazy. He went to the fridge and retrieved two beers, handing one to Mr. Porter on his way back to the couch.
Jackson remembered closing the door behind Mr. Porter. He didn’t remember much after that. He was sprawled on his stomach across the couch, drool leaked from his lips and created a puddle beneath his cheek. Early morning light from the window pierced his skull. He groaned and rolled to a sitting position. Five empty beer bottles cluttered the floor around him. The clock read seven o’clock. Damn, he was late for work.
He quickly showered and changed clothes. At least he hoped he was late for work. Clay may have had him terminated. He stuffed a change of clothes for the hospital in his backpack and gathered his keys, locking the door behind him.
Sitting behind the wheel of his Honda, he turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. He pulled out the key and then tried again. “Perfect!” The Honda had been eating through batteries lately. A buddy had told him he needed a new alternator, but he had neither the time nor the money for such a luxury.
He hopped on his bicycle. Given the hour he’d probably get to the station faster by bike than car anyway. As he pedaled he thought about Clara. She always hated when he took his bike over the bridge that crossed the Mississippi River. He missed her fretting over him and squeezing him tight before he set off on his bike ride. Thoughts of shifting sand and clinging to a great love made their way through his brain and he wondered where they’d come from. His great love was gone. And now he was completely alone with no love, no family, no Bug. Hell, he hadn’t even had time for friends. He was closer to Clay and Augie than he was to anyone except Clara. He’d lost them all when he’d lost her.
On the bridge traffic moved swiftly and more than once he felt a car crowd him as it passed. He could have sworn a Buick had connected with the right pedal on his bike, but maybe it was just the wind and noise. After all, he hadn’t crashed. Recalling last week’s wreck he refocused and rode defensively.
He was relieved to be pulling his bike into the station bay. He rolled it to a stop and looked up only to lock eyes with Clay. They both froze and then squared off. Jackson lamenting loss in his corner, and Clay pawing like a bull in his. Jackson had no strength left in him to fight. He hoped they could speak civilly, but if Clay wanted to attack him, Jackson wouldn’t put up a fight. He’d actually welcome the pain. His body had been numb since he’d watched Clara fall to her knees as he’d driven away.
Jackson held his palms in the air surrender style. “We broke up.”
“That doesn’t make any of this okay.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t.” Jackson looked off to the side before bringing his gaze back to Clay. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, but I do love her, more than my own life. I would have died trying to make her happy.”
Clay crossed his arms across his broad chest. “Spare me the details. And that’s bullshit. If you loved her and wanted to keep her happy you would have never touched her.”
“I wanted to marry her.”
Clay’s enormous deep laugh filled the space. “Over my dead body.”
Jackson swallowed the thick rope of saliva in his mouth. There was nothing he could say that would make Clay understand why he needed Clara. “Do I still have a job here?”
“I can’t fire you for raping my sister.”
Jackson grimaced. “It wasn’t like that.”
“It was exactly fucking like that.” Clay’s yell was so loud it hurt Jackson’s ears and he wanted to cover them, but he fought the instinct. “Just stay out of my fucking way.”
Clay turne
d and walked out, leaving Jackson standing between the trucks. Firemen and paramedics currently on duty had come out to the garage to see what caused the commotion. Jackson glanced around, but nobody would make eye contact or even speak to him.
He spent the morning of his shift inspecting gear and completing inventory of the rig.
Around one-thirty a call came through of an explosion at one of the refineries. Jackson hopped onto the fire truck and Clay drove the crew to the site. It was strange to Jackson that he felt an innate need to be near Clay. The man hated him, but Jackson felt closer to Clara by being near Clay. He could also hope that one day his supplemental family would once again acknowledge him.
The fire had long been put out. Jackson and Clay worked side by side treating workers with minor burns and smoke inhalation. They worked as a duo with efficiency afforded by years of emergency experience together. After the last victim had been treated, they worked diligently to clear the area of all bio-hazardous material.
Jackson loaded the last red trash bag into the truck while Clay stowed equipment next to him. “Clay, I need to ask you something.”
“If it’s about work, go ahead.”
It wasn’t, but Jackson chose to ignore the warning in his tone. “Has anyone been over to check on her since yesterday?”
“What’s yesterday?”
“We broke up yesterday.”
Clay slammed a metal storage door closed on the truck and turned to Jackson. “She has her family now. Don’t worry about it.”
Jackson frowned. “Can you just ask Eve to go check on her? Please.”
Clay harrumphed all the way to the driver’s side, but pulled his phone out and called Eve.
When he hung up, Jackson asked expectantly, “Well?”
Clay exhaled through his teeth. “She’s on her way over.”
Jackson’s shoulders sagged in relief. He knew Clara had left her best friend behind at Tulane and would ultimately be alone with her pain. The thought of her suffering in her little apartment all alone caused acid to burn in his throat. He wanted to gather her in his arms so they could mourn the loss of Bug and Cracker Jack together.
Chapter 13
Clara sat on her couch surrounded by wadded up tissues. She was supposed to be working, but she’d called in sick because she couldn’t stop crying. Luckily, she was off for the next few days.
She’d checked her social media, email, phone, and instant messenger accounts relentlessly. She’d heard nothing from Jackson. Not even a status update.
As soon as she’d updated her status to feeling heartbroken a lot of her friends messaged her to find out why. She couldn’t very well tell them. No one had known about their relationship. Yet she felt a strong desire to speak to someone. Maybe she needed to hire a counselor. Or maybe a psychiatrist was more what she needed. She felt utterly devastated and depressed.
You’re not good for me … I need something different.
Those words haunted her. They’d taken root inside of her and were starting to grow into something ugly.
She’d come up with a list of reasons why she wasn’t good for him. Even wrote them down. The scar on her back burned as she contemplated it as one of the reasons. An image of Lexi formed in her mind. What could she do to act more like Lexi, to look more like her?
A knock at her door had her scrambling to scoop all of the tissues into her arms. She dumped them in an empty planter behind the TV. Shoot! Her place was a mess and so was she. Whoever it was now pressed on the buzzer. She went to the peephole and looked through. Just Eve.
Clara opened the door.
Eve’s wide eyes settled on Clara. “Oh my God. Clara.” She offered a sympathetic smile.
Clara frowned and rubbed her hand through her hair to mat it down while Eve walked into the living room and took a seat on the couch.
“Your face is so swollen. Are you okay?”
“I’ve been upset. I think I cried for twelve hours straight.”
Eve looked around the space. “Have you never unpacked?”
Her stuff was still in boxes and her framed pictures leaned against the wall stacked against one another.
“Um … I don’t really … I kind of lived with Jackson.”
Eve leaned forward and touched her knee. “Tell you what will make you feel better. How about I order Chinese food and we hang your pictures?”
Clara leaned her cheek against the back of the couch. “I don’t want to stay here.”
“All right, then you can come stay with Clay and me.”
She pulled her knees to her chest.
“You know you’re twelve years younger than Clay.”
“Yes, but I was twenty-three, not sixteen, when I met him.”
“That doesn’t matter. We’re only ten years apart. You’re twelve!”
Eve placed her palm on her forehead. “Clara, I don’t think that’s the issue.”
“Well it should be!” Clara screamed through her tears.
“No, it shouldn’t. Clay loves you. Jackson took advantage of the St. Martin’s generosity when he had sex with you at the estate when you were sixteen. That betrayal is what has upset Clay so much.”
“But it wasn’t like that. Please, Eve. You’re the only one who can talk to him. You’re the only one he has patience with.” Clara stopped, not really wanting to spill the next words because they were so intimate, but she needed to make Eve understand. “I needed Jackson’s touch that day. He sensed that. He has a way of always knowing what I need. Sometimes even before I know.”
She removed her old baggy T-shirt and turned. Eve’s gasp for breath was sharp against the quiet of the living room. “I had a bad accident. If he hadn’t been there I would have died. I was left with horrid scars. I thought it would have been better if I’d died because at least I wouldn’t have to see the scars everyday for the rest of my life. Scars that I wanted to make disappear.”
She put her shirt back on and turned around to face Eve. “I almost had some really painful surgeries, but Jackson talked me out of it. As a teenager I thought the mutilation of my back was the end of everything. Thought no one would ever take a second glance at me. But that night Jackson made me feel beautiful and wanted and sexy and loved.”
Eve swallowed. “Clay hadn’t told me about your accident. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for my accident or sorry about me and Jackson?”
“Both.”
Clara grasped Eve’s hands in hers. “I can’t exist without him Eve. Please, you’ve got to help me. Be my ally against Clay. Help me make him understand. I’ve known Jackson for twelve years and during those twelve years I always knew he was the only man for me. Always knew we’d live our lives together. He’s not just a phase, he’s life to me.”
“You seem so much older than eighteen.”
Clara nodded. “I know. I’ve always been kind of strange. It’s hard living under a microscope. I was the youngest of seven. Six older brothers who would move entire mountain ranges if I needed them to. And that part of it is wonderful. But it’s the meddling they do in my personal life that’s not so wonderful. I used to wish I’d been born first or as a boy because then they wouldn’t overly protect me as they all do. Don’t get me wrong, I love every last one of them. But I need to be able to make my own decisions and mistakes and just to live my life the way I want to.”
“I’m glad you weren’t born as a boy.” Eve smiled at Clara, her gray eyes sincere. “I believe in you Clara Grace. I understand what you want. I’ll be your faithful ally. But I won’t lie to Clay. I won’t keep things from him either.”
“I understand and I’m sorry about New Orleans. I hope everything is okay now. I can talk to him if you want.”
“Oh, honey I took care of him. Don’t you worry. He can’t stay upset at me.”
≈
That night Clara helped Eve with dinner. They prepared lasagna with salad and garlic bread. When Clay walked through the door, Eve wrapped herself around him like she hadn’t seen h
im in six months. Like those soldiers’ wives at the airport gates when their men come home. They engaged in an intimate embrace and kissed for several minutes. Sighs and moans could be heard as Clara walked toward her room to give them the privacy they clearly needed. It was like they’d forgotten she was even in the room. Cookie, the papillon mix they’d acquired during the hurricane trotted behind Clara.
She crawled into bed and let the blue feeling take her where it wanted. She cried. Not the gut wrenching, can-barely-breathe-through-the-tears crying she’d done all day and night, but steady slow-moving tears. Eve and Clay’s intimacy made her ache for Jackson’s embrace and the light scent of his cologne mixed with the mint of his breath. Her eyelids became heavy and she let them close.
“Clara Bear.”
Clay stood over her next to the bed. “Time for dinner.” He patted her head and then leaned in and kissed her hair. “Glad you’re here.”
She followed him to the kitchen.
As they ate Eve and Clay spoke about their plans to purchase a vehicle for Eve.
“I don’t really need a car. I like to walk.”
“It’s not safe for you to walk everywhere.”
“If safety requires loss of my freedom then I’d rather take my chances.”
“No. You can’t just think about how the danger affects you. If something were to happen to you, I’d be devastated.”
Eve huffed. “Fine, Clay, I’ll drive everywhere, but promise me you’ll take me for long walks as soon as you get home.”
His hand covered hers. “I promise to walk with you to the ends of the earth.”
“Oh vomit!”
They both turned to Clara. “Er … sorry … I’m just really missing Jackson. Did you see him? At the station today, did you see him?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“And what?”
