John sat in his car with Claire's purse on the passenger seat, and watched the last of the cars file out of the church parking lot. He was supposed to be following Andy over to the restaurant for the rehearsal dinner, but at the last minute, he'd changed his mind and decided to take back some control over his life.
He had come to the conclusion that if he and Claire were going to talk, it should be in private, and not at dinner in front of an audience. He didn't know if she had gone home, but he would wait outside her door all night for the chance to explain if it came to that. Actually, waiting would give him the opportunity to figure out what exactly it was that he was going to say to her because he still hadn't worked that part out yet. He was too busy dealing with more pressing matters. Like the fact that he didn't know where Claire lived.
The answer, of course, was sitting on the passenger seat. All John had to do was open up Claire's purse and take out her wallet. It sounded easier than it was, however, and he had yet to work up the nerve to do it. It felt like spying on her, but short of driving around until he found a payphone and then hoping that she was listed in the phonebook, it was the only option he had. He rationalized it by telling himself that it would be okay—that he would just reach in, get what he needed, and then put everything back the way he had found it. She would never know that he had gone through her things.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, John summoned the courage to unzip the bag and peer inside. She carried around just as much make-up as he had remembered, but had also stuffed her purse with a lot of papers and old receipts, a crap load of pens, a small spiral-bound notepad, and a pager. He guessed that at least the last two items were work related. When he tilted the bag, the notepad shifted and revealed a slim wallet underneath. He gingerly reached in with two fingers and fished it out.
Fortunately, her driver's license right in front when he opened the wallet, and he didn't have to go searching for that too. He pulled it out of its slot so that he could read the address. She had an apartment downtown, on a street that he recognized, and it would probably take him about fifteen minutes to get there, assuming that he didn't get lost. It had been a long time since he'd had to navigate around Chicago, but he was fairly certain that he remembered how the grid system worked—as long as that hadn't changed in his absence too.
As John returned the license to its original spot, a glossy corner sticking out of an otherwise empty pocket caught his attention. He told himself to ignore it, and to just put the wallet back in her purse, but for some reason he couldn't. He had to know what it was.
John carefully pulled the paper out of the pocket, but instead of satisfying his curiosity, he only ended up feeling confused. It was an old, worn photo of him at age seventeen. He remembered the night that Claire had taken it. She had borrowed Allison's camera after the prom and had snuck up on him while he hadn't been paying attention.
John looked up when he heard the shutter click. "What the hell?"
Claire grinned triumphantly back at him. "I wanted a picture of you."
"Allison already took lots of pictures of me for you."
"I know, but I wanted one picture where you weren't making a dumb face at the camera."
He laughed. "I thought you liked my dumb face."
"I do, but you just looked so handsome standing there in your tux, not being an idiot, that I couldn't resist."
He pulled her over into an embrace and tried to wrestle the camera away from her. "Just for that, I'm going to have to burn the negatives," he teased.
"No, you can't!" she exclaimed. "Allison! Quick! Come get your camera!"
Claire had taped that picture to her dresser mirror as soon as Allison had given her the envelope of developed prints. It had stayed there for a year, until she graduated, and then John assumed that it had gone into a box or into an album. He'd had no idea that she had carried it with her. John pushed the photo back into place and returned the wallet to her purse. He had no idea why she was still carrying it. But maybe it meant that there was hope.
Maybe she wouldn't slam the door shut as soon as she saw him.
xxx
Claire stood on her balcony for a long time, just thinking—trying to understand why John had come back as suddenly as he had left. His return had raised a number of questions that she didn't have answers to, and that left her feeling a bit unsettled. Questions such as, where had he been? Had her friends stayed in touch with him the whole time? Was she the only one that didn't know that he was going to be at the wedding? How could he just stand there and talk to Allison like he had never left? Why had it been so easy for him? She could only guess.
She heard the phone ringing inside the apartment, but ignored it. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts for a little while longer. She had barely managed to scratch the surface of how she felt about John's reappearance—she certainly wasn't in the mood to talk about it yet. Brian's voice drifted out onto the balcony as he left a message on her machine.
"Hi, Claire, it's me. I hope you're okay, even though you're not answering. Maybe you're on your way back right now so you aren't listening to this, but maybe you're not, and you're upset and that's why you're not picking up. I'll keep talking just in case. Everyone's on their way to the restaurant now, so if you decide to come back, don't go to the church. Oh, and if you're looking for your purse, don't worry, it's safe. Um, I guess that's it for now. I really hope that you decide to—"
Claire closed the sliding glass door behind her and cut him off. She wasn't sure that she could go to the dinner because she wasn't sure if she could ever face John again. Him being there in the flesh forced her to confront the skeletons that she had abruptly shoved into her closet when he had left. She hadn't thought about that night in a very long time—almost six years. Countless bottles of alcohol had managed to suppress the real memories, while her pride in turn had created alternate ones. She didn't like to remember the truth. Not because of what he did, but because she was deeply ashamed by how she had acted.
"You're late," she called to him from the kitchen when she heard the apartment door open.
"Someone has to work to pay for the rent," he replied from the other room.
She could hear the tiredness in his voice already.
"You went shopping again, I see."
And there was the restrained frustration that often accompanied it.
"Yeah, so?" she asked, trying to keep things light. She just hoped he wouldn't ask—
"How much?"
She hated that question. She hated what it implied. "I don't know," she told him. She hated that that was the truth.
"How. Much?" he asked again, this time more sternly.
He hadn't raised his voice yet, but she didn't appreciate his tone. She didn't need a baby-sitter. "I don't fucking know!" she shouted back. She was rapidly losing faith that their conversation would end without an argument. "I wasn't keeping track, alright? I got paid today, and I went shopping. I used my own money, so I don't see what the big deal is."
She went out to confront him and saw that he had knocked over one of her bags while looking for something in the couch cushions. "Hey, watch it!" she exclaimed, rushing over to pick up her new clothes off the floor. "These are dry clean only."
"Of course they are," he said, lifting up the papers on the coffee table to reveal the lighter that he had apparently been searching for.
"What's that supposed to mean?" She sensed an impending attack.
He flipped his lighter open and closed with an annoying click-clack, click-clack as he gathered his thoughts. Finally, he said with a forced evenness, "I thought you were going to try to cut back on the spending."
She knew he hadn't said what he'd really wanted to, but she didn't need to hear the actual words to get his meaning. She immediately went on the defensive and turned the tables on him. "Oh, so it's okay for you to buy cigarettes and weed, but I can't buy some new clothes every now and then?" She knew it was wrong, even as she was saying it. And from the look on his face, he wasn't going to let it slide.
"Oh, get the fuck off your high horse already. I didn't buy the pot, Pete brought it over. And it's one thing to buy clothes if you actually fucking need them, but it's another fucking thing entirely to blow your whole paycheck on shit you don't need when I'm fucking standing here wondering how in the hell to keep the fucking electricity from being shut off!"
He opened his wallet and pulled out a handful of bills. "I just cashed my paycheck too." He threw the money down at her feet. "There you go, your highness, buy yourself a few pairs of shoes to go with your new dresses. I'm sure that the money for the rent will magically appear from somewhere. It always fucking does. Why don't I just fucking live at work from now on? Then you'll have all the money you want."
"You're such an asshole!" she shouted back, emphasizing her point by throwing a pillow from the couch at him. "You don't care what I look like, or want me to have any fun."
He caught the pillow and tossed it aside. "God, Cherry, you know me so well, that's exactly how I feel."
"I told you not to call me Cherry!" She threw a magazine at him that time, but he easily dodged it.
"Sorry, Cherry, I forgot. As you so frequently like to remind me, I'm pretty stupid."
Claire paled when he reached down to pick up the report that she had accidentally left on the coffee table.
"But you know what? I'd rather be a complete fucking moron who works hard, than a lazy bitch whose favorite pastime is getting drunk. What a big fucking surprise to see that you failed all your classes this semester." He threw the letter back down, and shook his head in what she could only imagine was disgust.
She narrowed her eyes at him. How dare he? How dare John Bender of all people get on her case about grades? "I didn't fail all of them. And I am not drunk!"
"But you have been drinking."
Somehow, he always knew. Usually it bothered her. That night, she didn't care. "So?" she challenged him. "What are you going to do about it? Are you going to tell on me?"
"Yeah, I'm going to tell your daddy," he taunted. "I'm sure he'd be real proud of his precious little girl right about now."
"Don't you do that," she warned. "Don't you push your daddy issues on me. Just because your daddy never loved you—"
"God, Cherry, that's pathetic, even for you."
She advanced on him, thinking that it would intimidate him and that he would back away, but he never moved. "Oh, I'm pathetic?" she asked as she moved even closer. "I'm pathetic? At least I'm trying to get an education and do something with my life. What about you? What have you done? Absolutely nothing! You haven't done a single useful thing with your life since you graduated. I can't believe how completely, utterly worthless you are! I can't even stand to be around you anymore. God, just the sight of your face makes me sick!"
She was so riled up that she couldn't stop, and the words were already on her tongue before she realized what she was saying. "Now I know how your mother felt having to look at you every day. No wonder she turned to drugs!"
His hand made contact on her cheek with a startling slap. They stood frozen for an eternity, each staring at the other—neither one daring to move, neither one daring to breathe. Eventually time caught back up with them, and she started crying. It was too much. She sank to the floor amongst her shopping bags and held her head in her hands.
"I—I—"
"Get OUT!" she yelled, throwing a pair of jeans at him. "I hate you!" she screamed, grabbing another handful of clothes and hurling them at him. "I fucking HATE YOU!"
It had been so easy to take the moral high ground after John had left and wasn't around to defend himself. After all, he had hit her, anyone would've sympathized with that. She had played the victim in her mind for so long, making John the criminal and refusing to admit she was also at fault, that it was really unforgivable. And now that John was back, she couldn't continue with her illusion in good conscience. She couldn't keep putting all that blame on his shoulders. That wasn't who she was anymore.
Claire sighed. Maybe she should go to the restaurant after all. She hadn't meant to skip out on the wedding rehearsal like she had. The least that she could do for Allison and Andy was show up at their dinner, look like she was having fun, and give a killer toast. And while she was there, if she happened to run into John and he didn't refuse to speak to her, then maybe she could give him the major apology that she owed to him.
The only snag, she realized, was that the address for Fratelli's was in her purse, which she had left at the church and was now apparently in Brian's possession. She was about to go in search of the phone book so that she could call the restaurant, when she heard a knock at her apartment door. She smiled. Good timing, Brian.
"Did someone let you in?" Claire asked as she opened the door. "I didn't hear the buzz—"
Instead of being greeted by Brian's friendly smile, she found herself staring directly into John's dark eyes. Claire tried desperately to ignore the spark of attraction that she felt, but couldn't keep her traitorous heart from fluttering in her chest.
"Yeah, some guy in the lobby let me in," John explained as he gazed back at Claire. She was still as beautiful as he had remembered—absolutely, amazingly, stunningly beautiful.
Claire chose to ignore the issue of her building's rather lax security for the time being and instead asked John another question that she hoped he'd have an answer for, "Why are you here?"
"I came to return your purse," he said, holding her bag out in front of him as a peace offering.
It was an answer, and a fairly reasonable one at that, but it didn't even begin to explain why he had come back to Shermer or why he was standing outside her apartment door instead of Brian.
John's response was met with a blank stare, so he reluctantly added, "I also wanted to apologize." His cards were all on the table now. The next move was hers.
Claire was torn. Five minutes ago, she had been convinced that begging for his forgiveness was the only option. But now, standing in front of him again, she felt herself fall back on old habits. "It only took you six years," she finally said, retrieving her purse from his outstretched hands. "What makes you think I'll accept?"
John stared down at his Docs, hoping for some kind of sage advice. He had known that it wasn't going to be easy. Part of him had actually wanted her to slam the door in his face and reject him outright. At least then, he wouldn't have to struggle with what to say. If by some chance he made it through the next few minutes alive, he was going to kill Brian and Andy both.
Claire caught a glimpse of the diamond earring when John tucked his hair behind his ear.
"I want you to keep it this time. No matter what happens, it's yours."
The painful memory made her chest tighten.
"Well?" she prompted, a little more harshly than she meant to. So much for the new Claire.
John looked up and gave her a sincere expression. "You don't have to accept. In fact, you probably shouldn't. But it's something I have to say. And I want to try to explain. Just give me two minutes and then I'll leave." He knew it was asking a lot—more than he had any right to ask of her—but he had to try.
Claire sighed and invited him in. "I never could resist you," she commented off-handedly.
John entered the apartment, catching a whiff of Claire's perfume as he walked past her. It was the light, airy one that she often wore that first year they were together, and not the heavy one that she wore later on to mask the smell of alcohol. He hadn't realized until that moment just how much he had missed that familiar scent.
Claire closed the door behind them, and John glanced around nervously as he stood in the middle of her living room. It was a decent size apartment for the city, and comfortably furnished. Antique French posters decorated one wall, while a large photo of the Eifel Tower hung on another. He wondered if she had ever made it back to France like she had planned.
"Have a seat." She gestured to the couch and John sat down. Claire anxiously wondered if she should join him or if she should sit across from him in the chair. "Do you want something to drink?" she offered, in an attempt to buy some time to figure it out.
What John really wanted was a cigarette, or possibly five. "No, I'm fine. Thanks." But he was sure that his leg shaking up and down of its own volition, broke his illusion of cool.
Claire hastily decided to sit in the chair so that she could face John, but keep her distance. Not that she wanted to look like she was trying to keep her distance, but she thought that it would make them both feel more at ease if they weren't next to each other.
It didn't work.
It was soon apparent that neither of them were comfortable just being in the same room together. John fidgeted nervously, and Claire kept busy by picking the non-existent lint off the skirt of her dress while trying to make it appear like the situation didn't affect her at all.
They sat like that for almost five minutes.
John looked over at Claire. He knew that she was expecting something from him, possibly something even profound, but what could he say? 'Sorry' was an empty word. It couldn't heal a wound that deep, and it was stupid of him to think that he could try. He shouldn't be there. He shouldn't have interfered with her life just so that he could feel better about himself, and maybe—just maybe—forget for once that he had let the best thing to come into in his life slip through his fingers.
"This was a bad idea," he finally said, breaking the tension-filled silence. "I just wanted to return your purse." He sprung up off the couch and was all set to make a hasty retreat from her living room, but at the last minute, something stopped him. What was it that Brian had said? That this was his one chance?
John sat back down, feeling slightly deflated. "I didn't think this through very well," he admitted.
"It's not your fault that Andy arranged an impromptu reunion between us," she said, and then asked curiously, "Is it?"
"No," John quickly replied. "And apparently he 'meant well'."
"That doesn't make up for the way he did it."
"I know. That's why I thought that if I came over here…"
"We could do this on our own terms," she finished for him.
"Yeah."
"Okay," Claire agreed. "You said earlier that you wanted to try to explain. Explain what?"
"Why I ran out on you that night."
"I know why you left," she replied, puzzled as to why he thought that there had been some lingering confusion surrounding his departure. "I drove you away. I said terrible things to you and then told you to get out. The last thing I screamed at you was that I hated you. I don't blame you for leaving after that."
John shook his head vigorously. He couldn't believe that she had actually thought that he had taken her words to heart. "No. No, I didn't leave because of that. Hell, I don't even remember what you said to me after I—" He paused, took a deep breath, and then just let it all out. "I left because I was scared that if I stayed I'd hit you again. I never wanted to hurt you like that. Ever. I just—I shouldn't have lost it."
He looked up at her, and Claire thought that she could see unshed tears in his eyes.
"And you know what kept running through my mind? That thing I told that shithead you dated in high school about how I was better than him. Turns out that the joke was on me."
It was Claire's turn to shake her head. "Don't do that. Don't compare yourself to Parker."
"Why not? He hit you, I hit you. That makes us practically twins in my book."
"Except for the fact that he was violent, controlling, and manipulative. Do you know the real reason his parents had to move back to Shermer?" she asked, remembering the scandal that hit the country club a few years ago. "Because he sexually assaulted a girl at his boarding school. So, don't say that you're the same as him. You're nothing like him. And I deserved that slap."
"No, you didn't."
"Yes, I did." The truth was tumbling out now, whether Claire liked it or not. "I'm painfully aware of how much of a bitch I was back then, especially towards you. You were the one person that didn't let me get away with acting like a spoiled brat and I hated that. But instead of owning up to my problems, like I should have, I threw a tantrum. Honestly, I would've slapped me too. Only I would've done it harder."
John could barely comprehend what he was hearing. She didn't blame him. He felt like a huge weight had just been lifted off his chest. It didn't fix everything, but it was certainly a start. "So, you're not upset with me?" he asked cautiously.
"Not anymore," she told him, realizing that she actually hadn't been mad at him for a long time. It was liberating to finally be able to admit it.
"Then why did you leave the church?" he asked.
"Overwhelming shock, mostly. I needed to think."
"At least you didn't leave the city."
"Yeah," she agreed. "Why, where did you end up?" She had always wondered.
"Detroit."
"That's not very far."
"This is the first I've been back, though," he confessed. "I kinda felt like it would be better if I stayed away."
"So, what changed?"
He shrugged, not really understanding it himself. "Six years makes a lot of difference. I'm not young and stupid anymore."
Out of habit, she joked, "Well, you're not young at least," and then realized what she was doing. "Sorry, I didn't mean to."
John gave her a half-smile. "It's okay. I can take a joke at my expense, especially one that I walked right in to."
"Oh. Okay."
"Yeah, so…" John trailed off again, feeling the awkward tension between them return. He glanced over at the clock on Claire's wall. It had been almost a half-hour since he had gotten there, which was well over the two minutes that he had promised her he would take. "Before I go—ugh, I can't believe that I'm about to say this, but Brian said something to me about closure that made sense and—"
"Hold on—you talked to Brian? He knew where you were too?"
"I don't know. Today was the first I'd talked to him since I left."
Claire wondered just how long had he known. "I'm going to kill him."
John knew how she felt. "You'll have to get in line. He's on my list after Sgt. Sport."
"Oh, god, and Allison! I wonder how long she knew?" Claire couldn't believe they'd hidden something like that from her, but then she supposed that it was only fair, considering how much she had kept hidden from them.
"You know, for a guy that used to wear tights on a regular basis, that Andy's pretty sly. I don't think he told her until long after he had already asked me to be in the wedding. Probably so that she had no choice but to go along with it."
"Was she mad at me for leaving so suddenly?"
"No, but I think that she was pissed at Andy. I heard a lot of 'I told you so's' being tossed around."
"Great, I managed to ruin their wedding," Claire said.
"Nah, they'll still go through with it," John assured her. "Especially if you show up tomorrow and we don't get into any arguments."
"Is that even possible?"
"I don't know," he answered honestly, "But maybe we could agree to put the past aside for right now. We can always finish talking later and get that closure that Brian wants us to have. Then after this weekend we'll go our separate ways again."
"I guess I can agree to that," Claire said.
"Okay, good." John stood up with the intention of leaving, but then paused and asked, "Are you going to that dinner thing? It's probably gonna start soon."
Claire nodded. "Yeah, I should, otherwise they'll worry about me. Plus, I'm supposed to be giving the toast."
"I can skip it, if you want," he offered.
"Don't be silly," she said, walking him over to the door. "You have to eat too."
He shrugged. "It's fine. I'll just go to the diner."
"The North Street Diner?" she asked, attention piqued. She used to love that place, but she hadn't had the heart to eat there without John.
He nodded. "Yeah, I stopped in there last night. I couldn't believe it was still open."
"Aw, I wonder if Betty still works there."
"She does, but she didn't recognize me," John said, reliving the whole awkward encounter in his mind. On second thought, maybe he would go to McDonald's instead.
"Oh, that's too bad." Betty had always been real good to them.
"Yeah. So, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then." He had his hand on the doorknob when—
"John, wait."
There had been a number of lonely moments over the past six years when John would've given anything just to hear his name pass over Claire's lips again. Even in his fantasies, he had never been able to truly convince himself that he would hear it again. But there he was, standing in her apartment and she'd said his name. Just like that.
And she had no idea how much it affected him.
He turned back around and swallowed hard, trying to remember that it would be very wrong of him to just grab her, shove her up against the wall, and make her moan his name over and over. Locking eyes with her didn't help.
"You shouldn't have to miss out on a free five-star meal on my account," she said.
"You sure?" he asked.
"Yeah, it'll be fine," she assured him. She could do this—she could be friendly towards John. They were older now, and their problems were in the past. Maybe they could even learn to actually be friends.
"Okay," he agreed. Although, he probably would've agreed to anything that she suggested at that point.
"Okay."
They stood staring at each other again, and to his horror, John found himself asking, "Do you want to ride with me?" He immediately regretted it, and wondered what in the world could have possibly possessed him to just blurt that out, like it was second nature to ask her—
"Sure." Claire flashed John a grin and she saw him relax. "Just give me a minute."
"Take your time," John replied, happy to have a few minutes by himself to calm the fuck down. Jesus, he felt like he was seventeen again.
xxx
Claire freshened up her makeup in front of her bedroom mirror and smoothed down a few flyaway hairs. Satisfied that she looked presentable, she was about to rejoin John when her gaze fell upon the small white box sitting on top of her dresser. She instinctively picked it up and opened it. Resting on the black velvet lining, and set in a pendant, was the mate to the diamond in John's ear. She had gazed at the necklace many times over the past six years, but had never been able to bring herself to wear it because the memories surrounding it were too painful.
John was wearing his earring, though, like there was no deeper meaning behind it, so maybe she could start wearing her necklace again. She took it out of the box and fastened the clasp behind her neck. It looked familiar. It felt right.
But wearing it is like saying you want to get back together with him, the voice in her head said.
She took it off and stared longingly at it in her palm. She had missed seeing it around her neck, maybe…
No!
She put the necklace back in the box and quickly shut the lid.
xxx
John was feeling much better by the time Claire emerged from her bedroom. He couldn't believe that he had gotten so worked up over something as innocuous as someone saying his name.
"Ready to go?" he asked.
Claire grabbed her purse and gave him a smile that she hoped masked her tumultuous feelings. "Yep."
As they waited for the elevator in the hallway, Claire found her thoughts drifting toward the wedding. "I hope I didn't miss much earlier. I don't want to screw anything up tomorrow."
"What's there to screw up?" he asked. "You just walk in a straight line and then take your position on the little 'X' that the wedding planner helpfully taped on the floor. Uh, also, I probably should've mentioned this sooner, but Allison switched me and Brian around, so you get to hang on his arm now instead of mine." John wondered how he could have almost forgotten such an important detail. Probably because he'd had more important things on his mind.
"Oh," she replied. For some reason that news fell flatter than it would have earlier that afternoon.
"It's a good thing, right?" he asked as the elevator doors slid open.
"Yeah." She forced another smile as she got on.
John thought something was off, though. Maybe she was still nervous that she would mess up? "You know, if you're worried, you could always ask Andy's Aunt Lily for pointers. She stood in for you after you left. Although, I don't think the pinch on my ass was part of it. You may want to leave that out."
"That sweet little old lady with the blue hair groped you?" she asked incredulously.
"Yup," he replied with a smug grin. "She totally had the hots for me."
