CHAPTER TEN

Claire got ready for bed, thinking about Annie, in her apartment, sleeping on that bed. If anyone could handle it, Annie could. And she thought about Annie's advice regarding Jack. That was more difficult. She carefully brushed her hair, trying to avoid pulling around her face. She wore an oversized tee shirt as a nightshirt, and slipped her robe over it as she walked into the living room. Jack was sprawled on the couch, watching TV.

He looked up when she came in and sat up. Claire settled next to him. "So. What do you think of Annie?" she asked.

"She's unconventional, like you said, but she has a lot of common sense mixed with that New Age stuff. I like her, and I like it that she loves you, that you're able to talk to her." He eased his arm around her narrow shoulders. "She's really going back to Vermont tomorrow?"

Claire nodded. "She'll come back for the trial."

"You know Alex will do all she can to protect you from Meadows' lawyer."

"I know. I just have to get used to telling the story over and over."

"Alex is good at prepping, trust her, she's your friend, too."

"You're coming with me tomorrow?" Alex called while Claire was out with Annie, scheduling a meeting for two the next afternoon.

"Absolutely."

Claire thought of telling him the reason Annie was leaving was because she felt Jack and Claire must find a way to reunite, and her presence would interfere with that. She promised to return anytime Claire needed her, and to be present for the trial of Marc Meadows. Claire slipped her hand into Jack's. He looked down at her, surprised, but he tightened his grip a little. Claire wondered what it would be like to be naked with him again, to feel his hands on her body. His hands would be loving, familiar, and above all gentle, so unlike the hands of Marc Meadows. The image of Meadows rose in her mind again, but before it could take over, faded. Annie, she thought, damn girl, maybe you really are a magical being. It was a comforting thought. The memory of Jack above her, supporting his weight on his elbows as his hands gripped her shoulders, replaced the ugly one, and it filled her with warmth. She had to try, to risk failure.

"Jack?"

"Hmm?" He looked at her again.

"Do you think you could love me again?"

He understood immediately. "Yes," he whispered, "if you want me to."

"I want to try. But you know what the doctor said, about…" embarrassed, she broke off her sentence.

"I know. I can be back in ten minutes."

She was touched that he hadn't presumed, hadn't purchased condoms expecting to resume their sexual relationship. He meant it when he said he'd wait for her. She nodded, and he got up. She watched him put on his shoes and jacket, push his wallet in his hip pocket, and pick up the keys, as casually as if he was going out for milk. She turned the TV off while he was gone, then hugged her knees to her chest, afraid it wouldn't work. Maybe her face would turn him off, or maybe she'd freeze up. The number of things that could go wrong intimidated her, maybe she should rethink it, and then felt that was unfair, to Jack and to herself.

She went into the bedroom and turned back the covers. She turned on the twenty-five watt lamp on the dresser, extinguishing the bedside lamps. Shadows felt more comfortable, perhaps they would hide her bruised face, his penis. She shuddered. A penis pierced her innocence, destroying it. She never truly understood that a body part could violate someone in such unspeakable ways, but she did now. She saw the lavender pillar candle Annie left for her, and she lit it. Annie said it would bring peace and harmony if she asked for it. Claire watched the flame for a moment. It felt too absurd to ask for peace, and so she turned away, going back to the couch to wait for Jack.

He was back in fifteen minutes, his cheeks reddened from the cold. He was empty-handed and she looked at him. He smiled. "Every guy on the planet knows what a small paper bag hides," he said, and he reached in coat pocket for the little bag. He discarded it in the kitchen trash, then went into the bedroom. Claire followed him, shy and uncertain. Jack sat on the edge of the bed, in his jeans and shirt, turning the small box over in his hands. He looked up at her, waiting.

She slipped out of the robe and sat next to him, taking the box without looking at it. Then she leaned against him. "Feels like the first time, doesn't it?"

He put his arm around her. "Whatever you want. If you don't want to do this-"

She put the box back in his hand and slid across the mattress to her side of the bed. "I want to try. Please promise you won't get pissed if I can't."

"I promise." He put the box on the nightstand and stretched out next to her. "I don't want to hurt you." He was on his side, his head propped up by his hand. "I'm afraid to kiss you." He very lightly touched her cheek with his fingers.

"Yeah, maybe we shouldn't do that." She touched the buttons on his shirt, one at a time, with her fingertip. Then she unbuttoned them and touched Jack's skin. He sat up and pulled the shirt off, dropping it on the floor beside the bed. "Go ahead," she whispered. He unbuttoned his jeans, eased the zipper down, and turned away from her to pull them off. Then he slipped under the covers as he moved back to her. She worked her nightshirt over her head and let it fall to the floor, and then she eased against him. She put her arms around him, feeling the familiarity of his skin, his muscles and bones. His hand moved slowly, gently cupping her breast. There was no hiding his erection, she clearly felt it against her body, and he saw the flash of fear in her eyes before she said "Slowly, OK?"

He rolled away from her and sat up. She saw him reach for the box, heard a tearing sound, and the box was back on the table. She heard another ripping noise, saw the muscles in his shoulders flex as his arms and hands moved, and then he turned to her, scooting back beside her. She pulled her panties off and waited. Please don't hurt, please remember he loves you, he'll stop if you ask him to. He moved between her legs, not taking his eyes off hers, and she nodded.

He slowly entered her. He felt her tense, and he waited, his weight on his elbows, his hands on her upper arms, watching her. Her hands cupped his face. He slowly moved within her, watching for any expression, listening for any sound, that meant he was hurting her. He moved a little faster, hoping for some flicker of pleasure in her eyes. She wanted to feel pleasure, but all she felt was the friction of flesh, the unfamiliar sensation of the condom. She recognized the little signals indicating he'd reached the point where he didn't want to stop, he was too close to coming, and she put her arms around his neck, pulling his head down beside hers as he came. When his tremors stopped, he slid away from her and she watched him pull the condom off. He got up and went into the bathroom. She heard the toilet flush.

"No good, huh?" he asked, settling beside her again.

"It's not your fault," she said.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No." She kissed his cheek. "We have to give it time. We knew it wouldn't be the same."

He adjusted the covers and put his arm around her, staring at the ceiling. He felt terrible, that he'd failed her because he hadn't been able to reach that part of her that surrendered joyfully to the sheer pleasure of sexuality. It was a long time before he fell asleep.