“No,” she whispered. “I’ve never done this before in my whole life.”
Claire seemed to deflate, relaxing against her as she kissed her back, and they didn’t talk again for the rest of the night.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
TWO DAYS LATER, Claire still felt like she was drifting through a dream. It wasn’t always a pleasant dream. Sometimes, it felt more akin to a nightmare, laced with panic and heavy breathing as she wondered how the hell she was going to get through this—whatever she and Delilah were doing—without a broken heart.
But there were decidedly dreamy moments too, remembering how Delilah had kissed her, touched her, how she’d held her hand while they flew over the glossy wood of the skating rink, laughing and eyes sparkling under the disco ball. Never in a million years would Claire think she’d go roller skating with Delilah Green, share a huge slice of greasy pizza and a Coke slushy, then make love in Claire’s bed like the world was ending.
Because that’s what it had felt like.
Making love.
Not sex and definitely not fucking.
Since Monday night, Delilah and Claire had spent every possible moment together. Delilah had left the next morning before Ruby came home, but then she came by the bookstore after lunch, armed with a camera roll of photos for her and Ruby to sift through and edit together, the two of them sitting on the beanbag chairs in the kids’ section while Claire worked. Then Claire made beef stroganoff and the three of them ate dinner together at Claire’s kitchen table, and it all felt so normal and right, Claire had to excuse herself to go the bathroom in the middle of the meal, splashing water on her face and forcing a sudden surge of tears back into her eyes.
Now it was Wednesday afternoon, and Claire hadn’t seen Delilah since the night before. They’d watched a movie with Ruby after dinner, kissed a little after Ruby went to sleep, but that was it. Claire wasn’t super comfortable with deliberate sleepovers with Ruby in the house, so Delilah had gone back to the inn, and Claire went to bed alone and she hated it. She proceeded to spend a restless night, her brain working through a million different ways to tell Delilah that she wanted her.
She never came up with anything very good.
“Ruby, we need to go!” Claire called down the hall. She was dropping her daughter at Tess’s house for the night so she and Iris could take Astrid out in Portland for a small, staid bachelorette party. Delilah was coming too—at least Claire hoped she was—and Iris and Claire had already decided to talk to Astrid about Spencer tonight.
Which was a whole other set of problems.
“Mom, I can’t get in touch with Dad,” Ruby said as she came down the hall with her bag, her brand-new phone in her hand. Claire had finally caved about Ruby having a phone, and Josh had taken her out yesterday morning and gotten one set up for her. Claire had to admit that knowing she could contact Ruby any time she needed to, particularly when her daughter was out with Josh, decreased her stress level a little. All the parental controls smartphones came with these days decreased it a lot.
“What do you mean?” Claire asked, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
“I texted him like four times today, and he hasn’t answered.”
“Hmm.” Claire took out her own phone and waved it in the air. “Send me a text and make sure it’s going through.”
Ruby tapped at her screen. A second later, Claire’s phone pinged with the message.
“See?” Ruby said.
“Okay, well,” Claire said, “I’m sure he’s fine. Or his phone’s dead. He’s not the best at keeping it charged.”
Ruby nodded, but her brow puckered with worry. Claire felt a pinch of panic. This was exactly how Josh skipped town the last time, two years ago. One day he was here, and the next he was gone. A few days after his disappearing act, he texted Claire his standard apology—I’m sorry, I need some time, tell Ruby I love her, I’ll be back, blah blah blah.
Now, looking at Ruby, Claire knew her daughter was roaming through the same memories.
“It’ll be fine,” Claire said, swiping her thumb over Ruby’s cheek. “I’m sure he’s just busy. He has work, you know.” The lie felt wrong on her tongue, but what could she say? She couldn’t stand to crush her daughter’s hopes just yet. She knew Josh would want the benefit of the doubt, knew he’d been trying, and honestly, he’d been doing pretty amazing this last week. If he really had disappeared again, Claire wasn’t ready to face what that meant for their daughter either.
* * *
“OH SHIT,” IRIS said as she pulled into the driveway of Astrid’s small but immaculate Craftsman. Claire sat in the passenger seat and pressed her face against the window. They were supposed to pick up Astrid and then swing by the inn to get Delilah before heading down to Portland, but a bachelorette party seemed like the furthest thing from Astrid’s mind right now.
She was standing on her front porch, Spencer next to her with his hands on his hips, and she was screaming.
And throwing clothes onto the lawn.
Men’s clothes.
And several pairs of fancy Italian leather shoes.
“What is going on?” Claire asked.
“It doesn’t look good, whatever it is,” Iris said.
Claire gripped her friend’s hand across the center console, her heart squeezing. She wanted to fling the door open and run to Astrid, help her somehow, but this seemed like a pretty personal moment between her and Spencer, and Claire wasn’t sure what to do.
Iris pressed a button, and the driver’s window rolled down about four inches. Astrid’s voice filtered into the car.
“. . . can’t believe you thought that was okay. It’s not. It never will be.” Another shoe shot onto the lawn.
“Will you calm the fuck down?” Spencer said. “You’re hysterical.”
Astrid’s expression went nuclear. “Hysterical? This”—she waved her hand around her face—“is a perfectly reasonable and logical reaction to what you did.”
Claire sucked in a breath. “What did he do?”
“Who the hell knows with him?” Iris said.
“Should we leave?” Claire asked. “This feels intrusive. Like we’re spying on her.”
Iris shook her head and opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Spencer yelled again, all the while collecting his clothes.
“I did that for you. For us. You need to get out of this town and everyone in it.”
“That’s not—”