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Chapter 123

The next morning, Claire awoke slowly with the realization that there was something in her ear. Something cold… sort of slimy, and… furry?

“Argh, Bright, go away,” she grumbled, jerking away from Jamie’s cat, who, despite her feelings towards it, had somehow taken a liking to her, and also to sniffing around in her ear as she slept. “Jamie, your weird cat’s sticking her snotty nose in my ear again…”

Rolling over, she discovered that Jamie was no longer lying in bed next to her. He must have already gotten up. What time was it, anyway? Hoping she wasn’t late, she sat up quickly, prompting an annoyed meow from Bright as she pulled the covers out from under her paws. She looked over at the clock, squinting at the red digits. Phew, she thought, it’s only 7:15. She would have just enough time to get ready – maybe even grab some breakfast if she hurried – before she had to leave for work.

Nudging the cat aside, she climbed out of bed and padded across the carpeted floor to Jamie’s closet. Throwing open the door, she pushed his work shirts and slacks aside and found what she was looking for – two pairs of scrubs she’d hung neatly at the far end of the closet, just for mornings like this. She reached for the nearest hanger and pulled it out, draping the flowered ensemble across the unmade bed. Not bothering to close the open bedroom door, she shimmied out of the large t-shirt she’d borrowed and her panties, then stopped to look around the room, wondering if she had a clean pair there. Bingo, she thought as she opened Jamie’s top dresser drawer and spotted a couple of her bikini briefs, which he’d washed and carefully folded for her, tucking them in among his boxer briefs. She smiled. So cute.

She pulled on the fresh underwear and her bra, which had somehow ended up wrapped around a chair leg. Bright… Claire thought, narrowing her eyes at the cat, whose wide green eyes blinked innocently up at her from the bed. Just as she was hurriedly trying to fasten the hooks in the back, she heard the creak of footsteps and spun around to see Jamie striding into the room.

He let out a low whistle as he saw her standing in her underwear, his eyes roaming over her exposed body.

“Oh, quit it,” she said dryly as he came up to her, playfully pushing him away. “You don’t wanna get too close; I’ve got morning breath.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he smirked, spinning her around and pressing her gently against the wall so that her arms were pinned behind her back. As he leaned down for a kiss, she breathed in his face.

“See?” she giggled, grinning at the way his nose wrinkled.

“Gross. We need to get something sweet in you… it smells like something died in there.”

She laughed, smacking his bare shoulder as he let her away from the wall. “Fine, make me breakfast then.”

“Already did. It’s ready and waiting for you, if you’d hurry up and get dressed.”

“I’m trying! You interrupted me,” she said, turning around so that her back was to him. “Wanna help me out and fasten that?”

“You’re twenty-seven years old, and you can’t fasten a bra? How do you ever get by with no one to dress you?” he teased her as he obediently fumbled with the clasps.

“Oh, I get by. I just like to see how long it takes you to figure it out.” She smiled sweetly over her shoulder.

“Shut up,” he pouted, sticking his bottom lip out in the perfect puppy-dog face. “Look, I got it, no problem!”

“You’re learning.” She patted his curly head and reached for her scrub bottoms. “Did I ever bring some deodorant over here?”

“Bathroom.” He pointed. “Top shelf on the left.”

“Yay! Now I don’t have to smell like a man all day!”

Once she was dressed, her hair brushed and pulled back, her face cleanly scrubbed, she plodded out to the small kitchen and sat down across the bar from Jamie. He slid a bowl of fresh strawberries, lightly sprinkled with sugar, across to her. “Something sweet?” he offered with a smile.

“You’re sweet,” she quipped, happily spearing a strawberry.

“So I called up to Dianna’s church this morning…”

Claire raised her eyebrows, looking up in surprise. “Already? It’s early.”

“I know. But it’s gonna be a busy day at the office; I wasn’t sure I’d have a chance to call later. I figured I’d leave a message. I’d really like to get this thing taken care of so you can get back to planning the wedding.”

She smiled. “So…? You left a message?”

“Better.” He smirked, his blue eyes twinkling. “I talked to the minister. Reverend Halloran. He had just gotten in to do some work. I explained our situation, said we weren’t happy with our church and were exploring our options for somewhere else to get married, and he said he’d be happy to meet with us.”

“Really?” Claire’s heart leapt. “That’s great!”

Jamie grinned, obviously pleased with himself. “I know. So I set up a meeting with him… Saturday, 10 a.m.”

“Wow, awesome! That’s only two days away. Thanks for calling, sweet-“ All of a sudden, she paused, remembering something. “Jamie, did you say Saturday at ten?”

He cocked his head. “Yeah…?”

“Aw, crap,” she muttered, her hand going to her forehead. “That’s when the support group meets. You know, the one Nick and I went to last Saturday? I promised him I’d go with him again.”

“Well, we can’t cancel the meeting,” Jamie said promptly, his tone matter-of-fact. “This guy was nice enough to make time for us in his schedule, and we’re asking him for a huge favor, agreeing to marry two people outside his congregation, people he doesn’t even know. How’s it gonna look if we’re already trying to reschedule?”

Claire groaned, knowing he was right. “I know…”

“Besides, we have to find a place for our wedding. We’re hoping for January, and that’s only seven months away. You’ve got all those plans left to make, and if we wait too long, we won’t be able to find a church that’s available, and then what?”

“You’re right, you’re right,” she admitted and sighed, chewing on her bottom lip as she thought. “I’ll just have to call Nick and tell him I can’t go this week.”

Jamie nodded. “It’s not the end of the world. And why does he need you to go anyway? He’s a grown man; you’re not his mother.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Don’t start. Maybe I was going for me as much as for him. I never had anyone to talk to about what I was going through before I met him, you know.” She gave Jamie a pointed look and waited until he shut his mouth, his cheeks flushing. Then she knew the conversation was over.

What she would never know for sure, though, was whether or not Jamie had scheduled this meeting to conflict with Nick’s support group on purpose.

***

Nick was in his own personal music studio, his guitar on his lap, fingers puffy with water weight sliding over the firm, taut guitar strings, when his phone rang. At first, he didn’t hear it, for he was lost in his own world, strumming chords, lightly humming along a melody he’d created on the spot. The cell phone ringer didn’t blend in with the soft acoustics, and after a few seconds, the contrast jarred him out of his reverie.

He set the guitar aside and reached for his phone, which he’d tossed aside. At first he was annoyed for having been interrupted, but when he saw who the caller was, he forgot all about it. “Hey,” he said as he flipped open the phone and put it to his ear.

“Hey!” came Claire’s clear, bright voice. “What’s up?”

He glanced around the studio and shrugged. “Not much. What about you? Aren’t you supposed to be working or something?” He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in here, but it had to be midday by now. She always worked on Thursdays.

“Yeah, I’m on lunch break. Laureen says hi, by the way.”

He smiled. “Tell Laureen wassup.”

“Will do. Listen…” He frowned as Claire’s voice turned serious, taking on the hesitant tone she always used when she was about to tell him something he didn’t want to hear. “I just wanted to call and let you know… I don’t think I’m gonna be able to go to the support group meeting this Saturday.”

“Oh,” he said, thinking, Is that all? He supposed it really didn’t matter. If she wasn’t going, he wouldn’t feel like he had to either. No big deal. “It’s okay,” he added. “Did something come up?”

“Yeah…” she replied, still sounding hesitant. “It’s kind of a long story, but…” And suddenly, she was telling him the whole thing, about how she and Jamie had gone for a meeting with their priest at a Catholic church and been told they couldn’t marry there because of the in-vitro fertilization procedure they’d gone through years ago. He listened as she ranted on and on about how unfair and ridiculous it was, finally ending with the news that they had a meeting with a different minister, a Protestant one, on Saturday, the same time as the support group met. “I wouldn’t have scheduled it for then, but Jamie’s the one who called, and it really wouldn’t look good if we had to reschedule already, so I’m just gonna have to go and skip the group this week. But next Saturday, I’ll-“

“It’s okay,” Nick said again. “It’s cool. Don’t feel bad; you gotta do what you gotta do. I’m sorry about what happened with your priest though. That really blows.” That really blows? Gee, that wasn’t a lame response at all, he chided himself sarcastically, wishing he knew what to say to sound more supportive. It was hard to relate to her disappointment though.

He had never really been part of a church, except for the sporadic Sunday school classes he’d been dragged to as a child, and didn’t know what it meant to be truly religious. He believed in God, or at least he thought he did; he believed in something or someone up there anyway, someone who had some say over what happened to people on earth, someone who had saved Brian’s life when he was a child and pulled Nick through the risky surgery to remove cancer from his lung. But that was about as far as his convictions went.

He knew he couldn’t fully understand the pain of being told you couldn’t be married in your own church because of the sinful choices you had made. And though he knew it was probably on the sinful side itself, he couldn’t stop a part of him from secretly enjoying the fact that Claire and Jamie were having a hard time finding a place to get married and someone to perform the ceremony. It was wicked of him, but he secretly wished Jamie, who had pulled them all into a prayer circle at the hospital the morning of her father’s heart attack, would have flatly refused to marry Claire outside the Catholic Church, causing an argument that would rip apart their engagement. He wished Jamie would open his door one morning to find Claire setting her engagement ring at his feet.

Somehow, he knew it wouldn’t happen though. At least not because of Jamie. Nick had already learned something about Jamie that Claire seemed ignorant to: Jamie was a hypocrite. He played the part of a devout Catholic, leading prayers for her sick father like a saint, but in reality, he probably didn’t care where or under what faith they married, as long as it was Claire’s face he would see when he lifted the veil and kissed his new bride. They could be married in the Church of Satan – almost fitting, for Jamie, Nick thought with a devilish smirk – and Jamie would be okay with it, as long as he’d successfully taken Claire as his own. Nick remembered his words from two years ago, as they’d fought in his driveway. “She won’t be your fiancée for long if I have anything to say about it… You’re pathetic. Claire doesn’t need a gimp like you when she has me back.” Jamie was willing to do anything to win Claire back, and it had worked because for some reason, she didn’t realize how two-faced he was.

I could tell her right now, thought Nick, realizing that all this time, he’d never told Claire exactly what Jamie had said to him that night. The words formed in the back of his throat as he sat clutching the phone, knowing she was right there on the line. But he froze, knowing how immature and pathetic he would sound, tattling on her fiancée, trying to use some stupid insult he had hurled his way years ago to break them up.

And in his moment of hesitation, she spoke, and the opportunity was lost. “Thanks, Nick,” she said. “I know you probably don’t care to hear much about the wedding, but thanks for saying that – it does really mean a lot to me.”

“No problem,” he mumbled, inwardly beating himself up for being such a coward. Why don’t you just tell her?? Tell her he’s not right for her! But would she even believe him? She’d probably just think he was jealous and get angry at him for trying to ruin her marriage before it even happened. He could just hear her demanding, “Why didn’t you tell me this when it happened, huh? Why wait till now? You’re just saying that hoping that I’ll dump Jamie, and it will all be over.”

She would get defensive, the same way he had when she had told him he was making a mistake by letting Leah move in with him all those years ago, when she’d been pregnant with the baby she’d claimed was his. In retrospect, Claire had been right, but he’d been too blind to see it. He’d gotten mad, they’d argued bitterly, and he hadn’t seen her for six months afterwards. He didn’t want that to happen again, even if he did think that, this time, he was right. And besides, he had needed to find out the truth about Leah on his own in order to really see her for what she was. Maybe Claire needed the same thing. To make her own mistakes and, from them, learn the truth about Jamie. He just wished he wasn’t the only one who thought she was making a mistake.

Yet later, after he’d gotten off the phone and before he picked up his guitar again, he couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t the only one. Maybe the priest turning Claire and Jamie away had been a sign that even God – or whoever was up there – knew they weren’t supposed to be together.

***

“Promise me you’ll go to the group again on Saturday, even if I’m not there. Will you, Nick? Will you please go, for me?”

Claire had begged him to go to the support group meeting without her when she’d called on Thursday, finally extracting a promise from him. He wasn’t sure it was one he was going to keep, but at nine o’clock on Saturday morning, Nick found himself getting up and getting dressed nonetheless.

At five minutes till ten, he walked into Conference Room 5B, by himself this time. Dragging his begrudged oxygen tank along behind him, he made a pit stop at the refreshment table for a cookie before going to sit down. He noticed that, like a classroom, everyone seemed to be sitting in about the same spots as last week, so he took a seat next to the older woman he’d sat with before, Carol.

He wasn’t sure what Carol’s story was yet; she’d been pretty quiet the week before. He could tell just by looking at her that she was on chemo though. She was wearing a flowered hat today, and he guessed that more of her straw-colored hair had fallen out in the seven days since he’d last seen her.

“Morning,” he greeted her politely as he sat down, balancing his chocolate-chip cookie on his lap while he shoved the oxygen tank under his seat.

“Good morning,” she said in return, offering him a smile. She glanced at his cookie. “That looks good. I wonder if it’s homemade?”

Nick shrugged as he took a bite out of the cookie. It had been so long since he’d had a homemade cookie that he wondered if he would even recognize the difference. “I dunno, but it’s good,” he replied, swallowing.

Her eyes traveled wistfully to the cookie table. “I’d try one, but I don’t know… things have tasted funny ever since I started chemo. Especially chocolate. The thought of a brownie makes me want to gag, they taste so bad. Bitter, almost like metal.” She frowned, her tongue running over her teeth as she tried to describe the taste.

Nick nodded. “I know what you mean. I was okay with chocolate, but other things tasted weird… not always bad, but just not… right,” he said, struggling to explain what he meant. Carol nodded knowingly, and he added, “One time I tried to drink some lemonade, and I ended up spitting it out all over the sink. I guess it tasted okay, but I don’t even know if I got to taste it cause it hurt my mouth so bad. I had these sores, like canker sores, all over, and god, it stung.”

Carol nodded more vigorously. “I have the same thing. They’re awful!” She rubbed her cheek gingerly, and he could see her tongue poke at the inside of it. “I never used to get canker sores like this.”

“You know what feels okay on them? Milkshakes,” Nick offered. “My friend Claire gave me that piece of advice. If chocolate tastes funny, you can always try vanilla or strawberry or something. I drank a lot of milkshakes when I was on chemo.”

Carol smiled. “Thanks for the tip. That does sound good.” She paused, then asked, “Claire – she’s the woman who was here with you last week, right?”

“Yeah.”

The older woman’s smile grew, taking on a knowing, motherly quality. “She seemed very nice. You called her your friend – are the two of you not…?”

“Together?” Nick finished, smiling tightly. He swallowed the lump that had clogged his throat. “No. We used to be, but… not anymore. We’re just friends.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” breathed Carol, looking embarrassed. “I just assumed… well, you know what they say about assuming – making an ‘ass’ of ‘u’ and ‘me’? I apologize; I shouldn’t have. It’s just, I noticed the ring on her finger last week… it looked like an engagement ring. I wanted to ask, but I didn’t have the chance. Now I’m glad I didn’t.” She chuckled, an anxious sort of giggle.

Nick offered her a half-smile. “It’s alright,” he replied. “Easy mistake to make. We were engaged once, actually… Now she’s engaged to someone else.”

“Oh, my…” Carol pursed her lips, looking at him closely. “You must be very resilient – and have a lot of patience – to maintain a friendship after something like that. I’m not sure I could do it.”

“Well…” Nick shrugged. “Claire and I have been through a lot together.” And I still love her, he wanted to say, but he left it there. He had become quite good at censoring himself, through years of interviews conducted by nosy journalists and TV hosts, all looking for the latest scoop, the hottest gossip. He had learned to keep his true feelings and opinions to himself most of the time, giving the standard, generic, vague answers instead. The media hated that, but he knew too well how they could twist his words around and exploit him if he said the wrong thing, gave too much away. Especially when it came to his love life.

He knew the support group wasn’t like the media at all; here, he was supposed to talk about his feelings and be honest about what was going on in his life. But still, he barely knew these people and was afraid he’d already said too much. Besides, his breakup with Claire had nothing to do with the reason they were all there. So he just shut his mouth and waited for Franzi to start the meeting.

***

Reaching across the desk, Claire eagerly shook the hand of Reverend Cliff Halloran, who, after talking with Jamie and her for half an hour in his small office at Bayview Christian Church, had agreed hospitably to presiding over their wedding in his church at the end of January.

“Thank you so much, Reverend,” Claire told him again, thrilled beyond capacity. “We’ll look forward to hearing your sermons and becoming a part of your congregation over the next few months.”

“We’ll be happy to have you,” nodded the reverend, smiling genially. “Welcome to Bayview Christian.”

After hearing Claire and Jamie’s story and asking them a few questions about themselves, their relationship, and their religious background, the only condition Reverend Halloran had given them was that he hoped they would start coming to church at Bayview before they were married there, and continue afterward if they felt at home there. To Claire and Jamie, this was a no-brainer. Claire couldn’t bear the idea of sitting through one of Father Miles’ Masses, after what he’d said to her, and if she were going to be married in a church that was not Catholic, she figured she should at least start going to services there ahead of time and learn more about its beliefs. Jamie agreed. Dianna had had nothing but good words to say about this church, a newer facility located just a few blocks from the waterfront, and its friendly, easygoing minister. After meeting Reverend Halloran, she agreed with that much. He was warm and easy to talk to, much more like Father Andrews than Father Miles.

Even though a dent had been kicked into the plans for her dream wedding, she felt good about the ceremony once again. And now she had something finalized, something to go home and shout to her mother over the phone. A date. A wedding date. For real this time, though, ironically, the same one they had – for a few minutes anyway – before.

On January 25, 2008, Claire Ryan would become Mrs. Claire Turner as she took her long-ago love’s hand in holy matrimony.

***


AN: … Yes, you’re allowed to throw up now. ;)