Page 9 of Shining Pearls
This wasn’t a topic I wanted to chat about with either of them, so my voice came out in a pitchy squeak when I answered. “Of course.”
It wasn’t until I had a long moment to think about it that the realization started to sink into my thick skull. My breath hitched, and I felt the blood draining from my face before I whispered the words, “Except for the first time.”
8
Alex
Claire looked exhausted. And who could blame her? The past year had to have been a complete nightmare for her, and her return home had caused a firestorm of activity that wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down.
I watched her try to smile and drum up the enthusiasm to answer all of the questions being rapid-fired from our nosy neighbor, Mrs. Barclay.
My wife looked like a fragile, brittle, and hollow shell of the vibrant and beautiful woman she’d been a year ago. The ornery glint that perpetually lit up her sparkling eyes had been dimmed––replaced by flat, shadowed sadness. She’d lost weight, but more than that, it seemed like the life had been vacuumed right out of her.
It pained me to see her like this. I’d do anything to make it better for her, but I didn’t know what she needed or wanted from me.
Mrs. Barclay leaned in to stage whisper to Claire, “Did the Durley boy have his way with you, dear? I always thought those awful burns on his face made him too self-conscious to properly assimilate into society.”
Something inside me snapped when I heard the busybody’s crass, heartless words. It was none of her business––or anyone else’s––what happened to Claire, and it was my job to protect my wife from obnoxious people like this.
“Out!” I shouted to the room at large. I couldn’t deny the tiny surge of pleasure at seeing Mrs. Barclay jump in alarm over my outburst. Feeling empowered for the first time in longer than I could remember, I marched over to fling open our front door and made a grand swishing movement with my hand to indicate that everyone needed to go.
I was greeted with wide-eyed stares, but no movement to leave. Furious, I made my demand even more clear. “Everyone out. NOW!”
My yell set the room into motion. People scurried to gather their belongings and leave. Once the room was cleared out, I shut the front door and locked it.
When Claire visibly sagged with relief, I knew I had done the right thing. She gave me a wan smile and breathed out the words, “Thank you.”
Hannah beamed up at me as if I was a superhero. “Way to go, Daddy. It was too loud in here with all of those people. Right, Mommy?” She shifted her gaze, seeking her mother’s approval.
“Yes, sweetheart.” Claire’s expression softened as she looked at our intuitive daughter.
It was quiet for a moment as we all enjoyed the first bit of peace our house had experienced since early this morning. Suddenly Claire’s gaze bolted to mine. “Do we have any Diet Coke?”
The anticipation in her tone was undeniable. I would bring her an entire truckload of Diet Coke to see that glint of hope in her eyes. Angry with myself for not thinking of it sooner, I was already walking to the pantry when I said, “I’m sure we do.”
When I emerged with a plastic bottle of Claire’s favorite beverage, she held her hand out for it making a greedy grasping motion. Feeling guilty that I hadn’t planned better, I warned her, “It isn’t cold.”
“I don’t care.” She snatched the bottle from my hand. Obviously enjoying every second, she twisted the cap. After the hiss of the carbonation release, she grinned at Hannah and said, “Oh, how I’ve missed that sound.”
Tipping her head back and closing her eyes, she took her first drink of the cola.
Hannah and I both watched, enthralled, as her first sip made its way into Claire’s system. She kept her eyes closed and her head leaned back, savoring it before giving a long, exaggerated, “Ahhhhh.”
I’ve never seen someone who enjoys something as simple as a soda as much as Claire does on a normal day––let alone when she’s been deprived of them for over a year. It was obvious from her ecstatic expression how much she’d been craving the fizzy beverage. The only thing in the world I loved that much was her. And our daughter.
“So good.” She blessed us with a contented smile.
“Are you hungry? I was thinking I could make spaghetti.”
Both Claire and Hannah said the word ‘spaghetti’ at the same time I did, but with loads more enthusiasm. The dish was my specialty, and it’s the one thing I could make really well in the kitchen.
Nodding, I said, “I’ll take that as a yes.”
When I went to the kitchen to get started, I heard Hannah say to her mother, “I’m going to work on a top-secret project in my room. Don’t come in. Okay?”
“What kind of secret project?” Claire asked the little girl, likely already knowing she wouldn’t get any hints out of her.
“It wouldn’t be a secret if I told you,” Hannah giggled before darting off down the hallway.
