Page 112 of Happily Never After

Dr. Goulding answered, bags under her eyes. “Claire? Everything all right?”

Claire took a deep breath and pressed a hand to her chest. “Do you have a minute? I need your help.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

To Do:

- Keep breathing

- Instacart some ice cream

A knockat the front door dragged Claire from her sleep prison. The dogs went wild. Rosie leapt off the couch and sprinted for the foyer. Claire pried her eyes open and stared accusingly at the ceiling. Her neck ached from sleeping on Luke’s Sylvester Stallone pillow. It smelled like him. Luke, that is. Not Sylvester Stallone.

She had fallen asleep on the couch, but at least her makeshift sweatshirt handcuffs had prevented her from sleepwalking. The floorboards creaked as she rose to her feet. A shower of crumbs rained down her front. A box of Triscuits lay discarded on the floor.

What fresh hell awaited her today? Maybe she’d be accidentally guillotined, or the government would come claimeminent domain over the house. She trudged to the front door and peered through the peephole.

Sunlight streamed down, glinting in her sister Charlie’s hair. Claire pulled the door open.

With a pizza box perched on one shoulder, Charlie tapped one foot on the porch and craned her neck, casting a sweeping glance over the front yard. A black Toyota with a SoCal Security sticker stood at the curb. Mr. Nesbit, the neighbor with the golden retriever, was watering his hydrangeas. Several inches of pasty flesh were visible above his knees. Those were some short shorts.

“Hey,” Claire said simply.

“Hey,” Charlie echoed. She handed over a crinkly pharmacy bag and pursed her lips. Her eyebrows were drawn together.

“You promised no lectures.” Claire turned away from the door and made for the kitchen.

Charlie sighed and followed her. “I had to show my driver’s license to the guy out there. I half expected him to ask for my DNA.”

Claire declined to comment. The security person stationed outside had introduced himself via her video doorbell the previous evening after Luke’s departure. The security team’s presence at the curb was a blatant reminder of the fact that she had driven away the only man she had ever truly loved. All because she just couldn’t get it together.

Charlie’s espadrilles tapped the herringbone floor. Apparently she hadn’t received the unwritten “shoes off in the house” memo. “Did you try your phone?”

“Not yet.” Claire eyed the bowl of rice. As long as her phone was out of commission, there was no need for her to engage with the sure-to-be-endless barrage of texts and emails.

“Try it. We’ll get you another one if it’s dead. Can’t have you phone-less with a squad of hitmen after you.” Charlie was never one to mince words.

“Yes, Mom,” Claire grumbled.

“So,” Charlie said as Claire withdrew an orange bottle from the paper bag.

Claire braced herself. She had only texted Charlie because she didn’t have it in her to go to the pharmacy and pick up these stupid anti-anxiety meds for herself. The thought of going outside and facing the world made her stomach twist.

“I Googled the name of your medication,” Charlie said tentatively. How uncharacteristic.

Claire raised an eyebrow.

“Sounds like something you should have been on for a long time. Things must be pretty bad if you’re finally agreeing to take them.” Charlie sat the pizza on the island between them like a peace offering. Rosie danced on her tiptoes, aiming her snoot in the direction of the pie.

Silence stretched. The orange bottle was a grenade in her hand. If she opened this idiotic, fluorescent orange cylinder, it was over. She was admitting that she had a problem. One that couldn’t be fixed by alternate nostril breathing or sun salutations. A panic disorder, Dr. Goulding had said.

“I messed up,” Claire said. “Brad fired me and I just…went a little crazy.”

Charlie set her purse on the counter and swung her long legs onto a bar stool. “Tell me what happened.”

Claire slumped into a chair next to her sister and told her the whole story in intimate detail, from spying on Brad to the abduction to Luke leaving.

“I think this is my rock bottom.” Claire ran a finger over the red mark on her wrist. The police had cut off her zip ties, but she still felt their burn. “I don’t think it can get any worse. Can it?”She looked to the ceiling, half expecting to see a meteor hurtling toward the house.

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