She sees his face in a magazine the day before she gives birth. It comes rushing back faster than two sugarplum fairies and she has to sit down, clutching her gigantic belly for support. There is the taste peanut butter on her tongue, the cold metal of a fat silver ring on her hands, the bitter sting of salt water in her eyes.
Claire remembers.
She finds him performing in a bar the next evening. After a brief struggle with the bouncer, she's finally let in and she watches him perform with tears in her eyes. Surely he will remember her upon first glance.
But he doesn't.
It's during a set break when she approaches him. He's with other band members and a high-heeled girl. Her converse sneakers squeak against the wooden floor awkwardly and she feels out of place. "Charlie," she whispers urgently, fighting back the impulse to immediately wrap him into her arms. She's crying before the second syllable is out of her mouth.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"Charlie," she pleads, her voice still no more than a whisper.
"Do you want an autograph or something? Are you a fan?" The high-heeled girl is pulling his arm now, her mouth against his ear.
"Don't you… don't you remember?" she asks, trying to keep the hysteric tone from her voice. "The island. Kate and Sawyer and Jack. Peanut butter! Aaron! Please." There is desperation now. She can't stop it. She reaches for the arm that isn't being torn away from her. She shouts, pleading, "You have to remember!"
"Bloody hell. Sal, we've got another loony over here." He lazily brushes her hand away from his and the bouncer approaches her, a knowing look in his eye. He grabs her arm gently, guiding her away from Charlie.
It's at that moment her water breaks.
Two hours later, Claire gives birth to a baby girl and weeps into her pink blanket. Charlie doesn't exist and apparently, neither does Aaron.