with that one question. Even twenty-two years into their marriage, Sam and Helen Carroll had acted like teenagers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
Claire said, “They went dancing and to parties and out to dinner and they had their own interests and they loved talking to each other all the time. Remember how we weren’t allowed to interrupt them? And we didn’t want to interrupt them, because they were so fascinating.” Claire smiled, too. “They read everything. They saw everything. People vied to spend time with them. They’d have a party and strangers would show up at the door because they’d heard the Carrolls were so much fun.”
Lydia felt it all come rushing back—Helen spraying cheese on celery stalks and Sam singeing his eyebrows off at the grill. Games of charades. Heated political debates. Lively discussions about books and art and movies.
Claire continued, “They were always kissing each other. Like, real kissing. And we’d say it was gross but wasn’t it nice, Pepper? Didn’t you see them and think that’s what love was all about?”
Lydia nodded. She felt intoxicated by the long-forgotten memories.
“That first year with Paul, that’s what we didn’t have. At least, I didn’t think we had it.” Claire swallowed so hard that her throat moved. “So I rode my bike home from work that night thinking that I was just going to be honest and tell him it was over. Rip off the Band-Aid. Don’t wait for all the Christmas parties and New Years to come and go. Just say it.” She paused. Tears rolled down her face. “But I got home, and Paul was in bed. I thought he was taking a nap, but he was covered in sweat. I could hear him wheezing. His eyelids fluttered every time he blinked. I made him get up and I took him to the hospital. He’d had a cold for weeks, but it turned into walking pneumonia. He could’ve died. He almost did.” She wiped away her tears. “But here’s the thing: I was terrified. I couldn’t think about my life without him. Hours before, I was ready to leave him, but then I realized that I couldn’t.” She shook her head vehemently, as if someone had asked her to. “He was in the hospital for almost three weeks, and I never left his side. I read to him. I slept in the bed with him. I bathed him. I had always known that Paul needed me, but I never realized until I almost lost him that I really, really needed him.”
Claire stopped to take a shallow breath. “That’s when you fall in love with somebody. The lust and fucking like rabbits and letting your life fall to shit so you can be around him—that’s passion. It’s borderline obsession. And it always burns itself out. You know that, Liddie. That high never, ever lasts. But being in that hospital, taking care of him, I started to realize that what I had with Paul, what I thought I had, that was more than love. That was being in love. It was so tangible I could almost touch it with my hands. I could bite it with my teeth.”
Lydia would’ve never articulated it that same way, but she knew from Rick what her sister was talking about. There was so much of her self that was wrapped up in him: lover, companion, best friend, foil. All of this time she’d been focused on what it would feel like to lose Dee, but losing Rick would be devastating in so many different ways.
Claire said, “Paul knew how it felt for me to lose Julia. I told him everything. Everything. I didn’t hold back one detail. I can’t recall a time in my life when I’ve ever been that honest with a man. I laid it all out—what it was like when Mom turned into a ghost and Dad turned into Don Quixote. How much I needed you to help me get through the day.” She made sure that Lydia was looking at her. “You saved me, Pepper. You were the only thing I had to hold on to when the bottom dropped out.”
Lydia felt a lump in her throat. They had saved each other.
“That’s probably why Paul had to drive us apart, don’t you think? He knew how important you were to me. More important than Mom, even, because I trusted you to be there no matter what.”
Lydia shook her head. There was no way to tell what had