Quicksand

By Adrienne Baldwin

Claire has spent her life attempting to create order out of the chaos of her past. She has done everything she is supposed to do to show the world she has the perfect life. She has a successful career, she has an adoring husband, she drives a beautiful car, lives in a gorgeous home and wants for nothing. All of her energy has been spent creating a life others would love to have. But all of the work to create this facade is only to hide her own struggles to be the person she feels she is expected to be. When her life is turned upside down due to the death of her grandmother, she is forced to confront a past she has been running from her entire life. A past littered with a confusion of truths and lies. In order to keep from suffocating, she stays in one place. She doesn't fight but keeps pretending her life is what she wants it to be. She won't let anyone help her get unstuck by pulling her to a safe place. But she doesn't realize she is still slowly fading.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adrienne Baldwin
• Release date: Jun 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301933143

Adrienne Baldwin

I am 28 years old and currently live in Birmingham, Alabama. I recently finished my Masters in Social Work and am moving to Phoenix, Arizona to complete my PhD. I have been writing since 5th grade and attended my first writer's conference for elementary and middle school children. Most of my time was spent writing poetry and short stories but I always wanted to write a novel. But I never had the time. Then I was fired from a job I hated and a few weeks later my father surprised me with a laptop. I believe that was the universe telling me I no longer had an excuse to put off my dream. Writing will always be a major part of my life and I hope to keep publishing novels until my fingers are too brittle to move. I hope you enjoy my work and please feel free to give feedback. The worst thing I can do as a writer is remain stagnant in my skills. Your advice and criticism can help me continue to develop and continue telling stories you want to hear.

Book preview

Quicksand

Adrienne Baldwin

Published by Adrienne Baldwin

Smashwords Edition

Cover Art by Amy Veneziano

Art By Amy

Copyright 2013

Discover other titles by Adrienne Baldwin at Smashwords.com

Even They Have Secrets

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author and encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com. Thank you for your support.

Chapter 1

Grandmother Claira wanted my mom to name me something really southern like Blanche, Magnolia, or Juniper. She was initially disappointed when my mom said no, but soon was honored when mom named me after her. I am blessed to carry on her name. When my family...

Claire pauses for a moment, her throat beginning to close and head beginning to spin as she recollects memories of her grandmother. She takes a tissue out of the pocket of her slim black pants and blots under her eyes. She momentarily stares at the mascara lining the tissue. It was a novel concept to publicly show emotion. But it was impossible for her to maintain her unique state of homeostasis in these particular circumstances.

was taken…

She doesn’t know if she can finish the sentence, yet alone the eulogy. A couple of years of therapy sessions twice a week still had not given her the strength to talk about what happened to her family without being overwhelmed into silence. Saying it out loud was more difficult than the nightmares that have persisted for the last 28 years.

from me when I was young, she was the person who took care of me. She was the one to support and nurture me. And she was the one who convinced me that I would be stupid to not marry Lewis.

She takes a moment to collect herself.

I would not be the woman I am today without her. I will carry her spirit with me for the rest of my life, and continue to live the life she wanted for me. I love you Grandma.

She had more to say to the hundred and fifty or so pairs of eyes staring at her. She had more words of love and admiration for the people sitting in the wooden pews waiting for a serious and sincere show of grief.

I’m not going to let them see my pain, she says to herself as she steps down from the microphone. As she steps onto the hard wood floor, she feels her black pumps slip, and she catches herself before she falls. I wonder if they noticed, she thinks to herself, making her way down the front stairs of the altar. She hadn’t been to a Catholic Church in 20 years, and had to request instruction from the Priest on the proper behavior when approaching and retreating from the podium.

Before putting her head down out of respect for her Savior, she looks into the eyes of the bronze statue. For a moment she believes she can feel His love. She can feel his arms around her; his warmth taking away her pain and suffering for just a few seconds. As soon as she realizes that she is feeling something besides anger and sadness, she is thrust back into reality by the touch of her husband’s hand on her back.

Come on back honey. It’s okay, Lewis whispers to her as he turns her around and guides her back to their spot in the second pew. Claire sits silently throughout the rest of the service.

There is Aunt Bonnie, she thinks to herself and shakes her head. Bonnie frequently came to Claira when she needed money, but her absence was noticeably felt when she had been able to find another funding source. And her visits were frequent, and grew closer and closer from every three months to every three weeks. Grandma Claira had an enormous capacity for compassion, and would do anything for family. She didn’t have the heart to turn Bonnie away, even though Claire spent most of her adult life convincing Claira to find the courage to say no.

Claire turns around and sees her cousin Melissa. What a bitch she thinks, faking a comforting smile. Melissa was the type of woman who could take any occasion and make it about herself. Claire would do whatever possible to avoid hearing about how much she is suffering and grieving after the loss of such a wonderful woman.

If it weren’t for her husband, she wouldn’t have noticed it was time for her to process down the aisle. She stood up as the pallbearers carried the casket. She tried to ignore the sympathetic eyes, and focused on the tall wood doors in the front of the church. She watched as her grandmother was shoved inside the back of the hearse. The entire scene was going in slow motion, and she preferred it that way. The longer it took for them to get to the cemetery and complete the burial, the longer it would be before she had to accept the finality of this process.

As she climbs in the limo, Lewis leans over to ask if she is okay. She turns her head, giving a fake and condescending smile, and returns her sight to the white curb in front of the church.

Stupid question, Lewis says placing his hand on her shoulder.

No shit Sherlock, Claire says to herself.

People are coming up to the door of the hearse giving their condolences. She focuses her attention on the beautifully carved stone statues and the elaborate stained glass windows above them. Her eyes meet those of Saint Paul in the front. She stops her tears before they run down her cheek and ruin her beautifully matted foundation and black satin mascara. Lewis sees the tears in her eyes and grabs her hand.

It’s okay to cry darling.

Claire is silent. She hears the chiming of the church bells as the limo pulls away from the curb.

Really Lewis…is that really necessary? she says as she sees him pull out his Blackberry.

I’m sorry Claire. I meant to put it on silent.

You could have left it at home. This is a funeral. Couldn’t leave your patients alone for just one day?

I’m sorry Claire.

Don’t worry about it Lewis.

Claire sighs and looks out of the window at the colors blanketing the grass.

It’s totally ironic isn’t it?

What’s ironic honey?

Everything is changing around us. Nothing can escape it.

I don’t think your life will change very much honey.

The person I loved the most in the world is dead; I think a lot will change.

What about me? he asks.

What do you mean?

You love me right?

Yeah.

Then I can be your support system?

Claire remains silent. Claire thought she would gladly replace Lewis with her grandmother; her husband’s life for her grandmothers. Black Corolla, Navy Honda, Red Fusion, Green Jeep, Silver Mercedes, Pink Cadillac, ewww…ahh Mary Kay, White Corvette, Harley Davidson…

Claire, we’re here.

She can see the black canopy over the burial sight from the street. Her aunt Bonnie begged her to bury her in their hometown of Mobile, Alabama. But Claire wanted her surrogate mother to remain close; just in case she needed to talk. The limo stops. The driver walks around the back and opens the door. She steps on the grass and her heels sink in the soil from the rain the previous day. She walks toward the sight, arms folded, and face devoid of any expression. Lewis reaches for her hand, but she doesn’t notice, and picks up her pace.

She almost trips sitting down in a chair on the first row, but Lewis catches her arm and helps her down to her seat. As the Priest begins, she blocks out the sound of his voice. She pulls down her black sunglasses so no one notices her attention is somewhere else.

She nods her head occasionally, pretending to listen. She feels Lewis’s hand on her back. She turns her head to smile at him. She can’t keep her defenses up with her grandmother’s cherry wood casket in front of her. Someone walks in front of them, handing her, her aunt, and cousin a pink rose.

What am I supposed to do with this? she whispers to Lewis.

When the Priest finishes, put it on the casket, he responds.

These were her favorite, she says quietly.

Claire had never been to a funeral as an adult. She has spent the last couple of days asking Lewis a hundred questions about funeral etiquette.

Claire and her husband Lewis would like to invite you to their home for a reception.

Why did I agree to that? Claire asks as her and Lewis walk back to the limo.

You said it would be too hard to have it at your grandmother’s house. You also said, and I quote, you didn’t want people’s greasy hands all over her stuff.

Did I really say that?

You were upset…I understand.

Claire kisses him on the cheek and grabs his hand.

Do you want to take a drive before we go home? Lewis asks.

Claire looks at him questionably.

It would give us time to breathe and be alone for just a little while.

It’s okay honey. I need to make sure the caterer prepared everything. I also need to make sure the cleaning service did a good job and the flowers arrived.

Honey, you are the only woman I know who would hire an event planner for a funeral reception.

Both Lewis and Claire giggle.

You know I don’t have time to plan anything.

You could have taken some time off work. They do give you paid leave for bereavement.

Yeah but work is the only thing that has kept me distracted.

By this time the limo has begun headed back to their home. It has begun drizzling outside.

Damnit, I didn’t bring an umbrella.

You can borrow my coat.

Their two story brick single-family home sits on a corner lot; by the time they get there, cars are lining the street. Claire wanted to keep their high rise condo in downtown Homewood. When they moved to the city of Birmingham, Lewis wanted to be close to work; so they rented a house in Southside, a community north of Birmingham. Then they realized that the area was too young for their taste, so they moved a mile down the road into a rented condo in the downtown area. Birmingham wasn’t a large city, but it still had some of the best condos she had ever seen. Then, they decided that if they were going to live in a home, they may as well buy one. Without any children, a condo seemed the best option. So they moved to a new condo facility in Homewood. After four years, Lewis suggested they buy a large single family home. Claire knew what that meant; the clock is ticking. She knew he was ready to have the talk about children. The entire time they dated when he asked the question of having children, she always said maybe. She didn’t want to tell him that she was certain small humans running around the house ruining bamboo hardwood floors, oriental rugs, designer furniture, and travertine tile, was not in her future.

They moved to Birmingham from Atlanta for Lewis to take a surgical chief of staff position at the University of Alabama Birmingham hospital. Even after 10 years, Claire had not gotten used to the non-existent city life. But she did like being able to escape to a quiet place with only a 15 minute drive, instead of a 45 minute one. You can hear traffic in Atlanta from anywhere near the city. Now they lived in Vestavia Hills, supposedly the place where new money resides. Claire knows that their 4000 square foot home is too big for the both of them, and with 40 approaching, there was only so much time she had left to tell Lewis the bad news.

Before she could start thinking about a real family life in this home, Lewis came around and escorted her into the house. Claire took a deep breath before opening the door. As she stands in the foyer, hanging up her jacket, she notices all of the eyes slowly turning to her. She hated the I’m so sorry for your loss smile and the empty compassionate eyes. The eyes that appear sympathetic but the source of the sympathy isn’t a warm heart, but a sense of pity and condescension. For some it may even be the free food. 90% of the people in this room have never spent more than five minutes with Claira, yet alone known her well enough to actually grieve her death.

I’m so sorry for your loss, a blonde woman says as she shakes Claire’s hand. I was your grandmother’s nurse in the hospital.

It’s nice to meet you and thank you for treating her so well in the hospital.

Your grandmother was a sweet woman.

Claire speaks in a tone intended to urge someone to leave. The words of sympathy, empathy and the like were slowly annoying her. Thank you, she would say robotically; she didn’t know if she even meant it anymore. Claire stood in the kitchen, a glass of red wine in her hand.

Is everything okay Mrs. Grayson?

Yes, Lisa, everything is going well.

Lisa, the event planner, placed a comforting hand on Claire’s shoulder, and turned to yell at one of the waiters for not quickly replenishing the baby quiche.

I think we should go around and thank so more people, Lewis suggests.

Why should I do that? Thank them for what exactly? Showing up for my grandmother after she died, showing their pretentious sympathy, eating free food and getting drunk off of better than average champagne?

Claire…

I know. I don’t really feel like congregating anymore. I’m going to find somewhere to be alone.

Okay honey, Lewis says watching Claire walk upstairs.

She closes the door behind her. She lies down on her bed. When she closes her eyes, she thinks about the times she spent the night at grandma’s house. Grandma Claira would let her stay up past midnight and give her all of the sweets she wanted. Grandpa Charles died when Claire was in middle school. When Claire would visit, Charles would give her a big hug and then return to the basement. Claire could always hear the TV when her and Grandma Claira were eating dinner in the kitchen. She would always ask what grandpa was doing down there. He is just relaxing, Claira would say and return to serving the meal. Does grandpa mind me sleeping in bed with you? Claire would ask when they both laid down. Of course not sweetheart, Claira would respond.

Claira would sigh and grab a book for us to read. She never talked about her husband, good or bad. When Claire lived with them, all three of them rarely spent time together; Charles preferred to be alone. Claire thought that sleeping in their bed would be temporary until she got used to living in their home, but months went by, and Charles never demanded his place next to his wife of thirty years.

Claire imagined herself back in the rocking chair in the corner of the room; that was their special chair. No one else was allowed to sit in the chair and that was their place for Claira to read and sing. Claire didn’t know, but sometimes her grandmother would sit in that chair and watch her play, just daydreaming about the things she wanted for Claire’s life; hoping that despite everything, they would come true. That chair was a sort of safe haven. Even Saturday morning cartoons were more colorful and funny because Claire sat in her grandmother’s lap or at her feet to watch them. They would even watch the news. Things began to change once Claire moved in permanently. She grew out of the rocking chair. That comfort wasn’t enough. She didn’t want to sleep in the same bed with her grandmother, and she hated watching the news.

Claire opens her eyes to the sound of Lewis knocking softly on the door.

Yes Lewis?

Guests are beginning to leave honey.

Claire rises off of the bed and opens the door. She glances into a hallway mirror to check her hair and makeup, and returns to the living room where people are hugging and saying goodbye.

I wonder what they are all thinking, Claire says to herself. Maybe John Winslow over there is thinking about whether or not any of grandmother’s furniture is going to be donated to his thrift store. I bet Patty over there is thinking about the soap operas she has recorded on her TIVO. I know little Mikey over there just wants to get back to his video games; who brings a small child not related to the deceased to a funeral? The caterer probably can’t wait to get off of her feet and I’m sure the housekeeper that came in to clean is not looking forward to coming back tomorrow. Father Craig is most likely thinking about the wedding he is performing this evening.

Claire’s thoughts continued to run, distracting her from the dozen people walking up to her to give there last condolences and say goodbye.

If I hear I’m sorry for your loss one more time I’m going to scream, she whispers to her husband before the people get so close they can hear her remark. Lewis grins and tries to hold his laughter as the mournful faces approach.

Claire watches all of them proceed out of the door and hear all the car engines igniting. Some roaring softer than others, but all important because they were getting all of these people away from her. She closes the door behind her inappropriately dressed cousin Julia and heads back to the kitchen.

Bonnie and Mildred, what are you doing here?

We are waiting for someone, Bonnie says sitting down at the first bar stool next to gorgeous black granite countertops.

Who are you waiting for? Is someone picking you up?

Mildred and Bonnie look at each other, each suggesting the other reveal their true intentions.

Ladies, damnit, what is it?

The lawyer is coming…to read the will, Bonnie says quietly.

What? Claire yells in disgust. You had to do this today?

Well we are leaving for Mobile early tomorrow morning.

Bonnie, you are going to Mobile?

Yes, Bonnie replies, I’m moving in with Mildred.

Of course you are, Claire snidely says.

What does that mean?

Bonnie…you could never take care of yourself. And you use your charm to manipulate people into believing you are completely incapable of doing things on your own.

That is not…

Before Bonnie could finish, there was a ring at the door.

You know what ladies, you could have waited until tomorrow. You could have given me a fucking second to breathe, Claire says before opening the door.

Yes? she says.

Bonnie?

No…I’m Claire, the granddaughter of the deceased. You must be the lawyer who thought the day of a funeral was a good day to read a will.

The man at the door is momentarily silent, unsure of an appropriate response.

I’m Daniel Seymour. I guess you weren’t expecting me.

No shit, Claire responds. For a moment she couldn’t believe she said that aloud. She intended the thought to remain in her head. Come on in Mr. Seymour.

The lawyer cautiously walks into the house.

Mr. Seymour, I’m Bonnie. I spoke to you on the phone. I apologize for her rude behavior.

She is grieving.

Bonnie escorts him to the dining room table. Before Lewis passes through the French doors, Claire pulls him back into the kitchen.

Can you believe this? Claire asks rhetorically.

Well honey…

Well nothing. Bonnie just wanted to know as soon as possible what grandma left her. That is fucking ridiculous. My Claira is not in her grave 5 hours before Bonnie walks in wanting to know what is hers to take.

Claire, she wasn’t only your Claira.

Biologically no, but I’m the only one who took any time to take care of her. I’m the only one who didn’t want anything more from her.

Lewis leans in and wraps his arms around his wife.

Claire, lets just go in there and get it over with.

Claire nods her head and walks into the dining room, sitting down at the dining room table.

I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Mr. Seymour, go ahead and begin.

Well, Claira Sanders did not leave a long will, but she was very specific. She left her home, her car, the items in her safety deposit box, her life insurance, and the contents of all of her checking and savings accounts to her granddaughter Claire Isabella Grayson.

What?! Bonnie yelled disappointedly.

Bonnie, she left you the contents of a special savings account she set up specifically for you.

How much is in it? Bonnie responded quickly.

Mr. Seymour hesitated to reveal the amount of money in the account.

Well, Claira asked that Claire be the executor of her estate so it is up to Mrs. Grayson if I am able to reveal that amount.

You can tell her, Claire said with a slight smile on her face.

There is 2,346 dollars in the account ma’am.

That’s it? Bonnie asked frustrated and confused.

Yes ma’am. Mrs. Sanders did not leave anything else for you. Of course, Mrs. Grayson can give you anything you like.

Well how much did she leave for her precious pretentious snooty granddaughter? Bonnie asked.

There is no need for that Bonnie. This is our home and if you can’t be civil, you can leave, Lewis responds immediately.

Mrs. Grayson?

She doesn’t need to know, Claire said. This is my grandmother’s estate and it isn’t really any of her business.

Tell me damnit, you spoiled brat.

That’s it Bonnie! Lewis yells. Get the fuck out!

"No honey, no. It’s okay. Mr. Seymour you can go ahead and tell her whatever she wants.

Okay. The home is worth 150,000 dollars and it has been completely paid off. I do not know the contents of her safety deposit box. She had 1,436 dollars in her checking account. She has 4,500 dollars in her savings account.

Well that isn’t too much. You didn’t get that much more than me Claire, Grandma’s precious Claire.

Well…, Mr. Seymour continues, her life insurance policy is 100,000 dollars and she left a special account for you Claire of 234, 624 dollars.

Everyone in the room gasps.

Where did my grandmother get that kind of money?

I have no idea Mrs. Grayson, but it is for you to decide what you want to do with it.

The room is silent. The first one to speak is Bonnie.

I can’t believe this. I can’t believe she left all of that money to you.

Listen Bonnie, I don’t need this money. If you want her insurance money, you can have it.

I don’t need any handouts from you Claire.

Okay…then take all of the contents of her house, Claire responds trying to be reasonable.

Bonnie thinks for a moment.

Can you put everything in storage and I come look at everything? Bonnie asks.

No Bonnie. If you want the contents of her house, you have to look through everything and take what you want.

But I’ll be in Mobile.

Then you will have to figure out a way to clean the house if you want what’s in it. If you don’t want the money, I’m going to give it to charity.

All of it honey? Lewis asks.

Not all of it. We can save some of it and go on a long relaxing vacation.

It would be great for a children’s college fund, Lewis says.

Claire pretends not to hear the last comment, and turns her head quickly enough to see Bonnie rolling her eyes.

Chapter 2

When Lewis woke up in the morning, Claire wasn’t in bed. The sheets had been folded up and the pillows placed perfectly against the cherry wood headboard of their sleigh bed. He put on his robe, leaving his side disheveled, and walked around the house calling for Claire.

Claire! he yells as he walks around the upstairs. He takes a peak into the office where she spends her time writing and grading papers. The desk appears untouched, but it always did. He heads down the stairs, yelling louder. The kitchen, family room, downstairs study, living room, and dining room are empty.

Claire!

Lewis was starting to worry. He runs to the sunroom to grab his cell phone; he left it there after his late night reading of Under the Dome, his latest Stephen King novel. As he picked up the phone to call his wife, he saw her out of the corner of his eye sitting on their outdoor patio furniture, computer on her lap. Her head was laying to the side and her eyes were closed. Lewis walks next to her and puts his hand on her shoulder. She slowly opens her eyes.

Darling, why are you outside?

Claire sits up and places the laptop next to her. She leans forward and rubs her face. Lewis sits in the chair next to her and puts his hand on her back. With the feel of his touch, she leans back

I couldn’t sleep so I came out here to work on my collection.

I thought you were working, but why out here?

Different inspiration I guess.

Claire stands up and grabs her laptop.

Maybe you should take a nap Claire.

I can’t. I have to grade assignments.

What did the students do?

Claire didn’t want to talk about school, especially when she only had three days before she had to return.

I had them think about their first novel and then write the first chapter.

That’s interesting.

What does that mean?

I thought you would have wanted them to write a complete story.

Would you read a novel if the first chapter isn’t good?

Good point.

All of my students want to be novelists. I am teaching them how to be that.

I gotcha.

How many chapters do you have to read?

18.

Would you like my help?

How can you help me grade creative writing? What have you ever written?

Nothing, but I know how to recognize a good book.

Really?

Yes Claire I do.

"So I’m guessing the rows and rows of mystery, Sci Fi and DIY books

on the shelves in our bedroom make you this incredible book critic."

Do you have to have such a….freaking attitude Claire?

"I don’t want to have this conversation right now. Can I please go take a bath

now?"

Claire goes into the house, slamming the door behind her. Lewis sits back in the chair, staring at the rose garden behind the pool Claire begged him to get but never uses. For fifteen minutes, he contemplates his next move. He walks into the sunroom and opens a drawer in a desk against the wall underneath a painting they bought during their trip to Thailand. In a small drawer on the side of his cigar box, sits a metal box with five Marlboro menthol cigarettes. He takes one, grabs his lighter, and goes to sit in the grass beside the garage. He composes himself enough to go back into the house and pretend to be a loving husband. Her grandmother died, I’m just going to let it go, he says to himself as he heads back upstairs.

He passes by the bathroom and hears a mix of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata and the low rumble of the bath. He can see the glow of candles reflected on the tile. He contemplates going in to join her.He opens the door and sees his wife laying in the tub, bubbles covering every inch of water, her head back, eyes closed, and red hair up in a bun. Not wanting to intrude and feeling inadequate, he returns to the hallway.

I could go read next to the pool, he thinks turning himself towards the stairs. But then again, breakfast sounds good too. He stands, hands on the stairwell railing looking out of the second floor foyer window. Before making his way down the stairs, his home phone rings and he follows the sound to his bed side table.

Hello.

Hey Lewis, how are you doing?

I’m allright Rob. What is going on?

Nothing. I just wanted to call and checkup on you.

Really? From the hospital phone?

Well…

What do you need?

We are a surgeon short and we need someone to come in and do a surgery in two hours.

What’s the surgery?

Removal of tumor.

Is it anything serious?

No. The tumor is benign but it needs to removed from the patient’s stomach.

I’ll have to think about it. Can I call you back after I talk to Claire?

Sure. Just let me know within 15 minutes so I have time to call another doctor.

Okay.

Lewis gets off the bed and makes his way to the bathroom.

What was that about? Claire asks as she walks into the room drying her hair with a towel and her robe tied around her waist.

Rob called.

What did he need now?

He needs me to come in.

You said no right?

Lewis is silent. Silent because he didn’t want to disappoint his wife, and even more, surprised that she cares.

You said yes didn’t you?

I told him I would let him know when I talked to you.

Well I’m asking you to say no.

Why?

You are supposed to be here for me right now.

Oh now you want me here for you. I’m sure in a couple of hours you will change your mind and be rushing out the door to go to your office to grade papers.

Damnit Lewis, what is your problem?

Nothing Claire, absolutely nothing.

Lewis walks past her and out of the door. He heads downstairs to his office they created in a fifth bedroom that was on the first floor. He closes the white French doors behind him and turns on his Ipod Stereo. Before he can turn on his computer, he hears the sound of the doors opening and feels the breeze of their furious open.

What was that?

What do you mean my beautiful grieving wife.

That! What is wrong with you? Why do you have the attitude of a 15 year old boy who just got grounded for smoking weed?

Because I could go actually help someone who needs me or stay here and wait for you.

I need you.

Really? For what? I’m sure when I leave you will be ecstatic. You can grade your papers in peace and not have to worry about me asking if you are ok, bringing you coffee, making your lunch, or comforting you when you appear upset.

Lewis…there isn’t a manual on how to properly grieve.

But there is what you have learned from Claira about how to treat people.

Claire’s mouth drops in disbelief. Have I been a bitch? she asks herself as Lewis gets up from his chair. He stops next to her.

Claire, I understand you are upset, sad, angry, depressed…a range of emotions I cannot comprehend. But I am your husband, and since you won’t let me do anything for you, I’m going to do something for myself. I’ll be home as soon as I can.

Lewis walks upstairs; Claire’s eyes follow him. She is silent, uncertain of what to say. She sits on their new couch, head in her hands. She stops herself before leaning back and putting her feet up on their stainless steel coffee table purchased not for use, but for the contemporary look. Claire thought the mix of contemporary decorations with the classic look of the house would be a perfect match for the message she was trying to send as an English professor married to a doctor.

Claire hears the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Don’t scuff the hardwoods, she thinks to herself before rushing to the door.

I’m sorry Lewis.

Lewis grabs his coat and keys and walks to his car. He sits in the driver’s seat, hands on the steering wheel thinking about going back inside and kissing his wife goodbye. I can’t give into her, even if she is grieving. Claire watches him drive away. Without a second thought, she returns upstairs to the bathroom to blow dry her hair. What an asshole, she says to herself. She starts to cry. Pull yourself together, Claire says aloud while wiping her face with toilet paper.

The final touch was a flat iron. I need a glass of wine. Claire hurries downstairs to the kitchen to only find the wine cooler empty. She returns upstairs and quickly dresses. The sound of her black peep toed shoes is loud against the floor, especially as she picks up her pace. She grabs her purse and cardigan and heads to the car. She leaves the house without a destination. She stops at the gate to decide.

As she pulls up to the liquor store, she looks around to see if she recognizes any cars. Ladies don’t go to the liquor store, especially at 1’oclock in the afternoon, she says to herself as she pulls into a parking space right in front of the store. Despite the hovering clouds, she puts on her large black sunglasses that remind her of Audrey Hepburn, tucks her head, and opens the door.

Good afternoon ma’am, the short blonde young man says from behind the counter.

"Hi,’ she responds quietly.

I look like I’m about to rob a bank, Claire says to herself as she searches for the Chiraz red wine she desperately needs to distract her dangerously depressing mind. She grabs the largest bottle she can find and heads to the register.

‘Is this all for you ma’am? Did you find everything you needed?"

Despite his polite, yet necessary comments, she responds quickly and earnestly takes out her wallet.

Dr. Grayson?

Claire ignores the call, hoping to pretend she does not hear him, long enough to walk out of the door. She feels a hand on her shoulder.

Dr. Grayson, it’s me, Shawn. I’m in your fiction writing class. I guess this isn’t the most appropriate place to run into your professor. He chuckles nervously.

Hi…Shawn.

Claire quickly turns her attention back to the cashier who has finally put her wine into a brown bag.

Thank you ma’am.

Claire nods her head and rushes to the door. Before she can finally hear the bell of the door opening, Shawn catches up to her.

Wait Dr. Grayson. How are you doing? I heard about your grandmother. I’m very sorry for your loss.

Those words would usually drive her to the brink of temporary insanity, but this time, the words seemed sincere.

Thank you Shawn. I’m doing as well as can be expected. I’ll be back Monday.

Before he can respond, she pushes the door open and escapes to her car.

What are the chances? What are the fucking chances?! she yells, banging her hands against the steering wheel. Claire couldn’t believe that the one time she didn’t want to be seen, she encountered someone she knew.

When Claire pulls into her garage, she couldn’t remember how she got home. Every turn and brake was instinctual, as her mind was distracted by the potential whispers culminating between her students about her drinking problem. She grabbed the bag and went straight to the kitchen.

Damnit; where does Lewis keep the bottle opener.

As she stood in the kitchen, she thought about her multiple options for simultaneous entertainment. She thought about retreating to the entertainment room to watch a movie, sitting in the living room and reading a book, or staying in the family room and flipping through the channels. For a short moment she thought about going for a swim, but only a crazy person would swim while