her standing behind me.
“I figured I’d stay another night, if you want me to,” she says.
“Thanks, but that’s not necessary. I can handle it.”
“It’s really not a problem.”
The air crackles with something strange. Something I don’t like.
“Is the porch light on?” I move past Claire to the foyer. “Be careful walking out to your car. I noticed a couple of the flagstones are loose.”
I stop to turn on the switch for the outside lights. Then I feel her hand on my back.
My blood goes cold.
“I’m really sorry for everything you’re going through,” she says.
“Uh, thanks.” I step forward to get away from her, but the wall blocks my escape.
“I don’t think many people realize that caregivers have it rough too,” she continues, and then her breasts nudge against my arm. “I just want you to know I’m here however you need me to be.”
I’ve read enough books and articles. I know after a breast cancer diagnosis, some asshole men commit infidelity and/or walk out on their wives. I don’t know how often it happens, or who besides the lowest, most pathetic scum could conduct that level of betrayal, but it happens.
Until this second, though, I haven’t consciously realized that other women are also guilty of the affairs. I especially haven’t considered they might even instigate them.
“If you ever need someone to talk to or anything else, Dean,” Claire continues. “Just let me know.”
Her hand slides under my shirt, and the touch of her fingers on my skin jolts me away from her. Rage boils through me.
I turn, barely restraining myself from shoving her away. She blinks and takes a step back.
“Get out.” My voice shakes with anger. “Get the fuck out of my house right now.”
All the color drains from her face.
“Dean, I was just—”
“Get out!”
The order fires out of me like a curse. Claire takes a step backward.
“I…I need to get my stuff,” she stammers.
“Then do it and get the fuck out.”
She turns and hurries up the stairs. Not wanting her to go near my kids, I follow her. Anger and disgust burn like acid inside me. I stop in the doorway of the guest bedroom.
“What the hell kind of person are you?” I snap, my fists clenching.
She stares at me, stricken. Her eyes fill with tears. “I was…I just wanted to take care of you.”
“I don’t need you to fucking take care of me.”
“Yes, you do,” she cries, wiping her cheeks. “You…you’re so sad all the time, and everyone is paying all this attention to Liv, and no one is doing anything for you. But obviously you have needs. I just wanted to make you feel better.”
“Everyone is paying attention to my wife because she has cancer, for god’s sake.”
“I know! But you don’t.”
“Damn right I don’t. And nothing you say or do will ever make me feel better.”
Claire picks up her bag, choking back a sob. I step aside and point to the stairs. She goes past me to the foyer and takes her coat from the closet.
“I’m sorry.” She sniffles, pulling a tissue out of her coat pocket and wiping her nose. “I mean, I’m not a home wrecker or anything. I love your kids, and I really like Liv, and I…okay, I guess I have a little crush on you, but I wasn’t trying to steal you or anything. I just wanted to…I really wanted to take care of you.”
More tears spill down her cheeks. Some of my anger fades, but only because I’ve been angry for months now on Liv’s behalf—and Claire’s misguided schoolgirl crush isn’t worth more of it.
I sigh and drag a hand over my face. “Look, you’ve been great with the kids and we appreciate all you’ve done, but you need to go.”
She nods, her face reddening with humiliation. “Could you…uh, could you not tell Liv about this?”
“I have to.”
Claire’s chin trembles. “She’ll hate me.”
“She’ll be disappointed in you,” I correct, reaching past her to open the front door. “She won’t hate you.”
“I’m so sorry, Dean.”
“All right, Claire.” Exhaustion hits me. “Get home safely. I’ll put your last paycheck in the mail tomorrow.”
She hurries past me, wiping away another spill of tears. I close the door behind her and go upstairs, worried that the commotion might have woken the kids. Thankfully both of them are still sound asleep. I pull their covers up and return to the kitchen.
I take out my phone and text Liv, even though I know she’s sleeping.
Dean: I love you like eggs love bacon.
I press the send