CHAPTER SEVEN
While Claire slept, Jack made the most difficult phone call. Selma Gellar answered, sparing Jack the ordeal of speaking to Mac Gellar, but Mrs. Gellar was not much easier. "Mrs. Gellar," he said, "This is Jack McCoy. I have some unsettling news." He looked at the closed bedroom door. This had to be done, whether Claire liked it or not.
"What's happened to Claire?" Mrs. Gellar's voice was cold.
He drew a deep breath. The words stuck in his throat, and he cleared it. "Claire was raped two days ago. The man's in custody."
"Oh my God." Silence followed for a few precious seconds. "Where were you? Where did this happen? And why are you telling me now, days later?"
He sighed. God, this woman had to have been a Jesuit priest presiding over the Inquisition in an earlier life. "It happened at her apartment. I was at Sing-Sing on business. I'm telling you now because she did not want you to know at all." He let that last remark sink in. "I need to know if you know any close friend, someone she has a bond with, someone she can talk to. She refuses to talk to Dr. Olivet, and she's falling apart. Please. Help me help her, put your feelings for me aside for her sake. Doesn't she have some friend from Smith she's close to?"
Selma Gellar was silent for a few moments. "Yes, her name is Annie Long, she lives in Vermont. A very odd person, but Claire was close to her. I may have her address in my book, hold on." Jack heard the receiver hit something hard, then heard Claire's mother mumbling in the background. She came back to the phone a few minutes later. "I don't know if this is still good, but Annie called here once, looking for Claire. This is the number she gave me to give Claire."
Jack scribbled Annie's name and number on the pad by the phone. "Thank you, Mrs. Gellar."
"Hold on, Mr. McCoy." Selma's tone was entirely too similar to the nuns of Jack's childhood. "I want to know how my daughter is."
He rubbed his forehead. "She's a wreck, which is to be expected. She doesn't want to see anyone. I'm doing the best I can, but I'm a man, I'm the enemy even if she doesn't want me to be."
"Understandable. Mac and I shall be over to see her this afternoon."
"Mrs. Gellar, that's not a good idea."
"She's my daughter, Mr. McCoy, I will see her. I cannot believe you waited this long to tell me. We'll be there at three." She hung up on him.
Jack stared at the receiver, whispered oh fuck you bitch, and put the receiver back in its base. Claire was going to kill him for this, but he was desperate, he needed help. He walked into the kitchen for more coffee, then sat on the couch and stared at the name and number on the notepad. Annie Long, Claire used to talk about an Annie, about their adventures. Please be willing to help Claire. He drew a breath, picked up the phone, and carefully pressed the number pads. He put the phone to his ear and heard it connect, heard the quick staccato rings, and then a woman's voice said hello.
"Annie Long?" he asked. When she said yes, he continued. "My name is Jack McCoy, I'm a very close friend of Claire Kincaid's."
"Claire?" The woman sounded delighted. "God, I've been trying to get up with her for ages. How is she?" Her tone shifted as she asked, realizing it was not good for the call to come from Jack.
"That's just it, Ms. Long. Claire's in a bad way, and I can't seem to help her. I was hoping maybe you could, you two were good friends, right?"
"Yes. Please explain, Mr. McCoy, and call me Annie."
"Annie, Claire was raped a few days ago, and she's an emotional wreck. I don't know what to do, and she refuses to see our department shrink. Our medical people are keeping her sedated for now, but it's not helping much."
"I'd think not. Where do you live, Mr. McCoy?"
"Jack," he said, "My name is Jack. We live in New York City, we're district attorneys."
"Her mother told me she was an attorney the last time I had the displeasure of talking with that woman. Of course I'll try to help. I live in Vermont, but," and she paused, he imagined her looking at her watch and calculating, "if I leave now, I can be in the city in about six hours. What's your address?" Jack gave it to her, along with his phone number. "I don't know what you know about me, Jack, but I'm rather unconventional. That said, I do know how to reach Claire, I think I can help her. I'll see you this afternoon. Thank you for calling."
Jack hung up, wondering what he'd gotten into. Annie was pleasant, but he wondered what unconventional meant. At least she didn't like Selma Gellar, big points in Jack's book, and if she helped Claire, then it didn't matter how unconventional she was. He sipped coffee, wondering how to tell Claire her mother was invading their home. He wouldn't be surprised if she ran away, he thought, with a wry smile, but at least running was better than apathy and fear.
He heard the bedroom door open and Claire's footsteps as she walked to the bathroom. She came out a few minutes later, poured coffee, and joined Jack on the couch. She tucked her bare feet under her bottom and looked at him before sipping the steaming brew she loved. "You've been up to no good," she said, "it's written all over your face."
He shrugged. "Depends on your point of view." He leaned forward, touching the tape curling away from her neck. "I need to change that today."
She covered her throat with her free hand. "I know. So what's up?"
He looked at her dulled eyes, her defeated posture, the black and blue bruises over swollen tissue, and swallowed. "Claire, I don't know how to help you. I love you, and I know you love me, but at the same time, you see me as the enemy, as a male, the species who hurt you so badly." His hand reached for hers and she let him take it. "I need help, you need help. I understand why you want nothing to do with Olivet, I'm cool with that, but somebody has to help you." He almost cried, anticipating what he must say next and her reaction. "I called your mother, I remember you talking about a friend from Smith you were close to, I got her number."
"Annie," she said, softly. Then she cocked her head. "You called my mother?"
"I didn't know what else to do, I'm sorry."
Claire sipped her coffee. "Don't tell me, she's going to sail in here and save the day." The bitterness in her voice frightened him.
"I doubt she'll save the day, but yes, she insisted on coming here. At three, with Mac. But I talked to Annie." Her eyebrows rose. "She's coming, too, she should be here around the same time."
"That should be interesting," Claire said, "since Annie's a practicing witch and my mother is scared shitless of her." She drank again, then coughed. "I'm glad you called Annie, Jack. I can talk to her. As for my mother, well, your intentions were good and it was the only way to get Annie's number." She unfolded her legs and stretched them. "God, my mother and Mac. Carol and Mike Brady they're not."
Claire never spoke of what caused the estrangement with her mother and stepfather, and Jack never pried. He watched her, wondering if she'd tell him now. She met his steady gaze, saw the love mixed with fear in his cocker spaniel eyes, and tried to smile. She failed miserably. "Mother must be really worried about me to give up Annie's contact information. What did you tell her?"
"That you'd been raped and weren't doing well. She more or less blamed me for not protecting you."
"No surprise there." She finished her coffee, and when he offered a refill, nodded. When he returned with fresh coffee, she sniffed, sipped, and said "My mother and I have been at odds since I was a teenager. She couldn't deal with me and packed my skinny ass off to boarding school. I was fine with that, it got me away from her. There was no pleasing her." She held up a hand, critically examining her long fingers. "She pushed piano lessons on me, and no matter how much I practiced, how well I did, it wasn't enough. Julliard would have been enough in her eyes." She dropped her hand to her thigh. "Since I had no desire to go to Julliard, she accepted Smith as a suitable substitution, but she found my housemates distasteful." This time her smile succeeded. "I loved that, and made sure they were always around whenever she and Mac would visit. She took one look at Avery Bennett's paintings and nearly fainted, and when she saw Annie's altar, she practically ran out of the house to the Dean's office. Eventually she stopped visiting." She sighed. "You don't want to hear all this."
"Actually, I do."
"She pitched a fit when she couldn't get Annie expelled, or at least moved from my house, but the Dean explained that freedom of religion and expression were important at Smith, that Annie was an exceptional student and member of the student body, much loved by her housemates, and my mother could take her potential endowment and give it to someone else." She raised her eyebrows. "I was shocked, deans don't usually piss off donors, but she held firm against my mother. And then the Dean dropped in on our house."
Jack knew how Smith's student housing was designed, but this was the first time Claire had gone into detail about life there. He listened intently.
"So there we are, six or so of us, in the living room, Avery asked what had I done, dropped a house on my mother's sister? The Dean, who did not have to knock to enter, comes in, hears that, and bursts out laughing. Dean Stockton, God, I haven't thought of her in ages. Then she politely asked to see Avery's paintings – Selma was shocked, shocked she screeched, to see paintings of penises and breasts on the walls of her daughter's room." Claire managed another smile, this was safe territory. "Then she wanted to see Annie's room. Maybe she expected to see it decorated in Early Halloween or something, I don't know. And then she asked to speak to me privately. We went to my room, with Avery's paintings adorning the walls, and she asked me if I was happy there. I said I was, and she said that was all she needed to know. She told me I was an exceptional student housed with other exceptional, highly creative people, and the environment agreed with me. She told me not to worry about my mother, nothing would change, and, with a courteous goodbye to all of us, left." Claire shrugged. "One of the few times when Mrs. Mac Gellar did not get her way."
"And I'm another."
Claire reached over and rubbed his knee. "Indeed, laddie, you are. She and Mac are horrified that I'd have 'intimate relations' with a man old enough to be my father." She smiled. "Of course I pointed out that, chronologically, you were not old enough to be my father, and who I slept with was none of their business. Cradle robber, I believe, was the term Mac applied to you. Ironic, since he bangs a different student each semester." She lightly scratched her neck.
"Let me change that," Jack said. "When's the next wound check?"
Claire put her nearly empty mug on the end table. "Rodgers said she'd do it today if I wanted."
"Do you want?"
She shrugged. "Might as well. I need a shower, maybe you'll give her a call while I do that?"
"Yeah, sure." He stood with her, led her into the kitchen where the light was best, and gently peeled the bandage away. He noticed some redness and swelling around the stitches, and made a mental note to mention that to Dr. Rodgers. Claire left him standing in the kitchen as she went into the bathroom.
He stepped to the wall phone next to the refrigerator and looked at Rodgers' card stuck between the phone and wall. He punched her number and waited to be connected to the morgue.
"Rodgers." The tough, typical New Yorker voice could scratch glass if Liz was annoyed.
"Liz, Jack. Did I interrupt?"
"Nah, I'm just slicing off the top of some poor sucker's head to get at his brain. One of my trained monkeys can finish that procedure. What's up?"
"Claire needs a wound check. I just looked at it, there's some redness and swelling around the stitches."
"No, you idiot, you do not drop a liver like a piece of meat in a butcher's shop, that's part of a human being! Sorry, Jack, one of the monkeys needs more supervision than the others. Swelling and redness? I'll take a look. I assume she still won't leave the house?"
"No."
"I'm basically done with the late Mr. Todd, I can zip over in twenty minutes. Have you replaced the bandage?"
"No, she's in the shower."
"OK, hold off on that until I look at it. Is she talking to anyone?"
"Me, but not about what happened. I finally bit the bullet and called her mother, hoping she'd know how to get up with an old friend from Smith. She did, so this woman's coming, I hope like hell she can help. I don't know what else to do."
"You've been a saint, but even saints have a breaking point. Let me change out of my scrubs and I'll be over." She hung up, and Jack wondered why everyone was hanging up on him today. He heard the bathroom door hinge squeak, and he looked up. Claire, wrapped in a towel, with her wet hair combed back, walked into the bedroom.
He followed. "Liz Rodgers is coming over to look at that."
Claire fastened her bra and reached for one of his old oxford shirts with buttoned collar points. "OK." She buttoned the shirt, then took a pair of jeans off a hangar. "I hope she takes them out, they itch." She stepped into her pants and almost lost her balance. Jack caught her elbow, steadying her. "Thanks," she muttered, and fastened and zipped her jeans. She fluffed her shirttail, which hung halfway down her thighs, then sat on the bed to pull on a pair of thick white socks. "Jack." She looked up at him. "I know this is hard on you, I'm so sorry."
He sat beside her. "It's nowhere near as hard on me as it is on you, don't worry about me."
She nodded, then got up to brush her hair. He quickly changed into jeans and a sweatshirt before Rodgers got there. He heard the blow-dryer in the bathroom, which was progress, he thought, since Claire hadn't cared about anything since it happened.
Rodgers had a knock like no one else, a sharp rapping burst followed by a couple of taps. He opened the door and stepped back. "Thanks for coming," he said.
She smiled. "I understand why she won't go out, I don't mind. We're all on the same team, gotta take care of each other."
Claire came out of the bathroom. Her face was still an unholy mess, Liz reflected, but she was more concerned with the neck wound. Carrying her bag, she followed Claire into the kitchen. She tilted Claire's head gently upward. Then she put her bag on the counter and rummaged through it. Finding what she needed, she applied a cream to an elongated Q-tip and smeared it over the stitches. She put a couple of layers over and around the wound, then tossed the tip in the trash. She soon had a fresh square of gauze over the wound and securely taped it.
"I'm not too concerned with your neck," she said, "but if you start running a fever, you need to see a doctor who specializes in the living. How's your pain?"
Claire shrugged. "It's a crapshoot. Sometimes my face hurts like hell, other times not so much."
"I signed out another dozen Percocet." She held the foil-covered package. "How many do you have left?"
"Jack?" Claire looked at him, he was the one who dispensed them.
He got the original pharmacy bottle and opened it. "Four," he said, "but I took one for a budding migraine."
Liz handed the package to him. "Be careful with those, buddy." Then she looked at Claire again. "I hear a friend is coming to visit. I hope she's what you need. And if I can help, call."
"Thanks."
"I gotta get back to the monkeys," she said. "I really hate being chief ME." She shook her head. "See you in a couple of days, we'll see about taking those stitches out." She patted Claire's shoulder and left.
Jack broke the foil over the pills and put them in the labeled bottle. "How is your pain?" he asked.
"I could use one of those."
He took the last one out of its plastic nest and put it in her hand. She got a Diet Coke and swallowed it, then moved slowly back to the couch. She stretched out, hugging a pillow, while Jack put the apartment in order – making the bed, picking up empty soda cans, and running a dust cloth over flat surfaces.
At quarter of three, there was a soft knock on the door. Jack glanced at Claire, who was sleeping, before checking the peep hole. He saw a short woman, with long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, sunglasses covering her eyes. He opened the door. The woman smiled, removed her sunglasses, and extended her hand.
"Jack? I'm Annie Long." Her voice was soft. She wore jeans and a blue crewneck sweater, as well as hiking boots. She stepped into the apartment and immediately saw Claire. Letting her purse slide to the floor and leaving her suitcase beside it, she moved to her friend and knelt on the floor. With the gentleness of a mother with her newborn, Annie took Claire's limp hand and placed it against her cheek. Jack watched as she closed her eyes, Claire's hand still against her cheek. Then, with equal care, she put Claire's hand back and stood.
"Would you like something to drink?" Jack asked, trying to hide his curiosity.
"Yes, thank you."
"What would you like? We have Diet Coke, water, scotch…" he trailed off.
"A Diet Coke is fine, thanks." She followed him into the kitchen and leaned on a counter. "She's deeply wounded," Annie began, "more so than you think. Some of the wounds are years old, courtesy of her mother." Annie took the opened Diet Coke and sipped. "What happened to her, she dreams it, it runs on a loop in her mind when she's awake, a nightmare she can't escape. And she fears she'll lose you." A sweet smile broke on Annie's face. "I sent her deep sleep thoughts, as I don't think even her self-absorbed mother would wake her under these circumstances."
Jack was uncomfortable. "Claire said you're a practicing witch?"
Annie laughed, it was a lyrical, infectious sound, and her cobalt blue eyes danced. "I'm Wiccan, yes, part of a long line of high priestesses and wizards. My magic is white, our rede is as long as it harms none, do as ye will – and my line wills to help others in any way we can. I'm also a well educated woman of my times, and not a gullible freak who wants to be, thinks they are, Samantha Stevens. Claire is very comfortable with me, and I hope you'll learn to be. Her mother, on the other hand, thinks I'm some kind of evil sorcerer and fears me. Comes in handy when Claire needs protecting from the bitch."
Jack was disarmed by her honesty, by her easy laughter, and her obvious affection for Claire. "Let's sit down," he said.
Annie glanced around. "At the table," she said. "I don't want Claire to sense me and wake while her mother's around." Once seated, she reached for Jack's hand. Her skin was warm. He felt calmness, peace, and absolute confidence flow from her into him. "You love her very much," Annie said. She released his hand. "She surprised you with her skills as an attorney, you thought she'd be a student of sorts, and now she's nearly caught up with you. And the guilt you feel, banish it, there's no guilt on your part. Getting those images out of your head, what you saw, that's another matter."
Jack shook his head, but before he responded, someone pounded on his door. He moved quickly, angry, and yanked the door open on Selma and Mac Gellar. "What the hell do you think you're doing, she's sleeping!"
Selma pushed past him and saw Claire on the couch, under a blanket, eyes closed, her breathing deep and steady. Then she saw Annie. "You're here," she said.
Annie rose gracefully and approached Mrs. Gellar. "I am. Jack asked for my help. How are you, Mrs. Gellar? Hello, Mr. Gellar." She turned slightly to acknowledge the law professor, who stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room. Jack closed the door, but lingered by it, watching the scene, amused.
"Annie, what help can you possibly be?" Mrs. Gellar edged closer to her husband.
"I can listen, which is often a great help, isn't it? Claire can say things to me she might be reluctant to share with anyone else, even with someone she loves as much as Jack." Annie looked at Jack with a fond smile, and he grinned, score one for the witch from Vermont.
"Claire may think she's in love with Jack, but one day she'll realize she wants someone closer to her age," Selma snapped.
"Perhaps we should keep our voices down, Mrs. Gellar, sleep is good for Claire, healing in its way." Annie gestured toward the table under the windows.
"In a second," Selma said, but her voice was softer. She walked to the couch and knelt beside her only child, looking at her battered face, making a choking sound. Her hand moved as if to touch Claire, hung there for a second, then it fell back to Selma's side. She slowly got up and joined the others at the table. Jack brought Diet Cokes for the Gellars, then sat at the end of the table closest to his lover.
Selma looked at him, pain and anger written on her face, a face Claire resembled. "Jack," she said, "what in God's name happened to my baby?"
Annie sent a strong directed thought to Jack: patience and gentleness, for Claire. Jack shifted in his chair, then picked up his drink before answering. "A man Claire tried and convicted for rape was released because the police engaged in an illegal search. He wanted revenge, I guess, because a couple of days after he was released, he broke into her apartment and raped and savagely beat her. He slit her throat, but the cut was superficial. I came home from Sing-Sing and found her on the bed. She was bleeding so badly I thought she was gone." His voice caught. When he had control again, he said, "We've apprehended the man, he'll go away for a very long time. But Claire…" he faltered again and looked at Annie.
"Claire, as you well know, Mrs. Gellar, had an innocence rare in this world. That's gone now. She's withdrawn from life. Jack is doing everything he can to help her, and so will I."
"With your voodoo?" Selma didn't try hide the scorn in her voice.
Annie's smile was gentle. "With good food, unconditional love, fresh air, and an enduring ear."
"And Jack can't or won't do those things?" Selma shot metaphorical daggers at Jack with her eyes.
"Selma," Mac said.
"Jack would do those things," Annie said, "but he's a man, and it was a man who perpetrated these terrible things. As much as she loves and trusts him, in the end, he's always going to have a penis, and therein lies the need for outside help." Annie suddenly cocked her head. "Jack, she's about to wake up from a really bad nightmare."
Claire was twitching on the couch as Jack rose from the table. She sat up, calling him. He sat on the couch with her and gathered her in his arms, stroking her hair and murmuring. Selma looked at Annie.
"There is something wrong with you, young lady. You need to go to church, repent of your Satanic beliefs." Selma got up and walked to her daughter. "Claire?" she tentatively said.
Claire buried her face in Jack's shoulder, her own shaking with silent sobs. Jack kept stroking her hair as he looked up at Selma Gellar. "I think you should go, Claire's not in any shape to see anyone."
"I'm not leaving unless she asks me to, she needs her mother."
Jack felt Claire stiffen, and for a second thought it was his maleness, but then she lifted her battered face to her mother. "Please go," she said, her voice choked with pain. "I need Jack, not you."
"So you don't need Annie, either?" Selma hid her hurt under snide digs, her personal art form.
Claire grabbed a handful of Jack's shirt, edged further into the protective shelter of his arm and shoulder, and said, softly and slowly, "I need Annie, too. I don't need you, I don't want to answer your prurient questions, satisfy your sick desire to know what rape is like." And she turned her face into Jack's broad, hard chest again.
"Selma." Mac stood by her side. "Let's go. Her needs come first, and she needs them, not us." He touched Selma's side. Then he cleared his throat. "Claire, I, we, are so sorry. If we can do anything, please call us. We'll go now, let you rest."
Annie saw them to the door. When Claire heard it close and the deadbolt click, she sat up. "Oh, Annie," she said, and fresh tears streamed from her swollen eyes.
Annie moved to her side, and Jack released her. Claire turned to Annie and leaned into Annie's open arms. She smelled all the things she associated with her friend – incense, candle wax, cigarette smoke, and lavender. She felt the affection and strength her friend offered, and sat up. Annie reached for the box of Kleenex on the end table, and Claire yanked a couple out of the box. She carefully blotted her face. "I am such a fucked up mess," she said.
"And well you should be," Annie said. "You're in pain, why are you trying to be so brave?"
"Claire, do you need some medicine?" Jack edged forward on the couch.
Claire nodded, twisting the damp tissues between her hands. Jack brought a cold Diet Coke and two Percocet to Claire, who tossed the pills back and chased them liberally with Diet Coke. Jack stood, looking down at the women, feeling an odd kind of hope. He touched Claire's shoulder. "Baby, I think I'll go to Devlin's, have a couple of drinks, let you and Annie have some time." He smiled at Annie. "Feel free to smoke, I don't mind."
When he was gone, Claire said, "God, he must like you, he never offers to let someone smoke in here. You know reformed smokers."
Annie laughed. "I'll take him up on it, if you don't mind."
"Not at all. I may actually bum a couple from you." She reached for the blanket. "Look in the bookcase beside his desk, he has an old ashtray he swiped from a pub in Ireland." She wrapped herself in the blanket and sat well back on the couch, folding her legs tailor-fashion.
When they were settled, Annie said "Do you want to talk?"
"I don't know where to begin."
Annie nodded and got up again. She rolled her suitcase over to the couch and knelt, unzipping it. She brought out several thick pillar candles, three white and one red, and arranged them in a circular pattern on the coffee table. She placed an incense burner in the center, with an incense cone, and then placed her athame to the eastern side. She bowed her head, was silent for a few seconds, then took a box of wooden matches and struck one. She lit the candles in order, then lit the incense cone. She drew a circle in the air with her athame, then replaced it and resumed her position on the couch, her hands on her knees.
"Pain is banished," she said, "you can remember without pain and suffering. You are protected from evil by the power of consuming love. Relax, and if your story wants to come, let it without fear."
Claire smiled. "I've always loved your rituals, Annie."
"They comfort me. I hope they comfort you."
"We knew this rapist had been released on a technicality, that we'd have to try him again, but that happens all the time. It didn't set off warning bells. I actually prosecuted him, it was my first rape case. Jack was proud of me, hell, I was proud of myself." She inhaled the delicate scent of incense, mingling with the unidentifiable scents of the candles, which she knew Annie made by hand. "It begins with Jack." She struggled to remember exactly how it began, and Annie rose.
"I'll make tea," she said, and she reached into her suitcase for a box of herbal tea. "You remember while I work."
Annie came back in a few minutes with two large mugs of tea and a sugar bowl and spoon. Claire spooned sugar into her tea and stirred, smiling as she recalled Annie and her purist claims – she didn't defile good tea or coffee with sugar or cream. "Jack," Annie said, again sitting like a tailor, holding the mug with both hands. "You're in love."
"Yeah. It's the real deal this time. For me, anyway."
"He loves you."
Claire looked at Annie. "You read him?"
"Of course. It's easy when the person doesn't believe you can do it."
"I never thought of him as my protector, you know? But I remember that night I felt uneasy and wanted him to come home. And then, when I stepped out of the john, Meadows was there. He almost broke my neck." She sipped tea and smiled. "God, that's good. Anyway, he dragged me to my bed and raped me, beat me up, and then he cut my throat." She absently touched the bandage on her neck. "Jack came home right after it happened, he called 911. It was easy to identify my rapist, I'd prosecuted him. The strange thing is he always screamed his innocence, but he knew we'd convict him again so it was like if he was going to prison for rape, then by God he'd rape someone, his prosecutor. Or am I the only one that makes sense to?"
"It makes sense." Annie lit a cigarette and offered one to Claire, who took it, thinking what the hell, why not. Annie reached over and touched Claire's cheek. She then cupped the bottom of her mug with the hand that touched Claire. "Did he use a condom?"
She shook her head. "I know, I have to sweat out the AIDS tests, and Jack will have to use one until we know."
"He doesn't have AIDS."
"You'll excuse me if I wait for a doctor to tell me that."
Annie shrugged. "Get a court order and have him tested, then you won't have to wait."
"That's in the works, but I'll still have to be tested, just to be sure." She cocked her head. "OK, out with it, what did you see?"
Annie found it touching that Claire accepted her gifts as part of who Annie was. "The universe devises terrible tests sometimes, but it's how we know what we're made of. Are we cowards, heroes, abusers, and so forth. We all have an image of what we think we are, but until we're tested, we can't be sure."
"You're making me nervous."
Annie waved a hand over the candle circle. "Tests are an essential part of life. When's the last time you had sex with Jack, before you were raped?"
Claire thought, time was so messed up these days, she was so confused and lost. Annie somehow brought clarity. "The night before. What are you getting at?"
"It's only an impression, but a strong one. You hold certain values, and those are about to be tested. Specifically, your stance as pro-choice."
Claire put her empty mug aside and wrapped herself tighter in the blanket. "You're telling me I'm pregnant? And I can't possibly know who the father is?"
"What would you do?"
"I want to have Jack's baby one day. No way in hell would I have my rapist's."
"There's your test. Do you have the baby, hoping it's Jack's, or abort it, believing it's probably your rapist's?"
Claire leaned against the arm of the couch, resting on the pillows piled there earlier, when she slept. She felt Annie's love envelope her. "Annie, I'm on the pill."
"Shit happens, even to the best of us. What would you do?"
She shrugged a shoulder. "Probably abort it, since there's an even chance it's my rapist's." She stretched her legs out, putting her feet in Annie's lap. Annie started massaging them. "Annie, does this universe you float in tell you I'm pregnant?"
Annie massaged Claire's arches. "It tells me it's a possibility and you must think it through before you have to make a decision."
"So spiral into a depression and worry over something that might not be?"
"Define your values, yourself, Claire Kincaid." Her smile was sweet. "I know how much pain you're in, and I know the thought of this adds to it, but at the same time, if you gain perspective and clarity of thought, you'll get through this." She kept working on Claire's feet. "What did we always say mattered most in the world?"
"Love, but we were students, we were always falling in love."
Annie nodded. "And what never dies?"
"Love, I guess."
"Some schools of thought hold that we choose our parents." Annie's smile was crooked. "So why would you have chosen Selma?"
"Keep it up and I'll throw a fucking pillow at your head."
"Perhaps so you'd recognize real love when you encountered it?"
"The meds are kicking in, between them and this massage, you're going to put me to sleep. I'm so tired of the nightmares, Annie."
"I know, baby. It will get better, I promise."
"It would break my heart to abort Jack's baby, and it would kill me to give birth to that monster's child." She wiggled deeper in the pillows. "God, you have great hands, almost as good as Jack's."
Annie laughed. "If my hands went where Jack's go, you might consider the competition a draw."
Claire laughed, a real laugh. "That's one contest we'll skip. God, he's amazing, sometimes he fucks me senseless, ya know? I have to beg him to stop before he kills me."
"Best way I can think of to go." She started working on the other foot. "He's completely lost, Claire. He wants to help, to heal you, and he doesn't know how."
"I don't think anyone can. You're the only one I've been able to talk to, you don't have inappropriate questions and morbid curiosity."
"Nope. I'm just here to listen."
Claire squinted at her. "Are you working your magic on me?"
"No, darlin', I'm just loving my friend. I wouldn't work magic on you without your consent."
"Can you make the pain, the images and memory, go away?"
"I wish I could. Time and talk will help with that." She wiggled Claire's toes. "Let Jack help, or at least let him think he's helping."
"What scares me is knowing he's going to want to make love at some point, and I'm afraid I'll freak out."
"What are you going to let win? Love, the love you feel for Jack, or hate, the hate you rightly feel for your rapist?"
"Where do you get these questions?"
"From the universe." She worked Claire's ankle. "I'm saying you have to decide how to live on your own terms, whatever they may be."
"What did you put in that tea, I feel like Silly Putty."
Annie smiled. "You've had it before. It's for relaxation, relieving stress and worry. Added to your pain meds, it's no wonder you feel like Silly Putty."
"You really think I'm pregnant, that your universe could be so cruel?"
Annie shrugged. "I only know I was to broach the subject. Where are you in the calendar?"
"I couldn't answer that right now for a million bucks, I'm too fucked up."
Annie grinned. "And it's perfectly legal, so enjoy it."
"I keep a day planner in my purse, want to get it? That'll answer the million dollar question."
Annie eased out from under Claire's feet. "Where's your purse?"
"Jack's desk, or it was."
"Got it." She opened it and found the day book. She gave it to Claire and then slid under her feet again, flexing her fingers before resuming the massage.
"Shit, I'm too wasted to read. Here. I put a check mark on the day my period started."
Annie flipped through the pages, found what she looked for, did the math in her head. "I'd say you better be good at counting." Annie closed the planner and tossed it on the coffee table. "Don't run from it, one thing I know you're not is a coward. We can assume modern pharmacology works, but be aware, that's all I'm saying. And get that little fucker tested for AIDS."
"They'll do it, someone will come by and tell me, then draw my blood."
"He's going to be negative, I'm getting clear messages about that."
"Clairaudient psycho." Claire smiled. "God, if Jack finds me this stoned, he'll pop a screw."
"Oh, I seriously doubt that."
"How can you be so damned sure the rapist is negative for AIDS and that Jack won't care that I'm totally wasted, but can't be sure whether or not I'm pregnant? Explain that, please, it makes your universe sound capricious and cruel."
Annie began working Claire's calf muscles. "I can't. I just know that you need to be aware of the possibility and what you'll do if it happens. Consider it a final exam on the convictions of Claire Kincaid."
"How about I decide to not think about it?"
"You can do that. I hate to tell you this, but you'd think about it whether I brought it up or not."
"I have more faith in Pfizer than I do in your universe. And if a lightning bolt comes flying through the window, Jack will really be pissed." Claire yawned. "I love you, Annie Long, even if you are a wonderful nutcase."
Annie switched calves. "I know, you proud agnostic. I love you, too."
Claire's eyes grew heavy. Annie watched her carefully, she'd need to get her in bed before she went completely out of it. "C'mon, girlfriend, let's get your skinny ass in bed, you're about to pass out."
"OK." Claire wiggled out of her blanket and sat up. "Whoa. Either my head or the room is spinning."
"Up." Annie stood and pulled Claire to her feet. "You need to sleep, sweetie."
"Will you be here when I wake up?" She draped her arm around Annie's shoulders.
"Absolutely."
"Good. I want you to get to know Jack, but I warn you, he's more cynical than I am."
Annie pulled the covers back, then unfastened Claire's jeans. She pulled them to Claire's knees, then sat her on the mattress and yanked them the rest of the way off. Claire stretched out and Annie covered her. Kissing her friend's bruised forehead, she whispered "I hate to tell you this, but you missed the cynical gene." Certain Claire was safely tucked in, she left the bedroom, leaving the door ajar.