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Walker
Claire has every right to be as angry as she is, but I hate that the majority of it is aimed in my direction. I can take credit for my part in all this, but at the same time, it wasn't my idea.
No, that doesn't feel right. I'm responsible for my own actions. It was irritation and anger that Corbin might've been inside with her that had me in her backyard and peeking through her glass door.
I met the man on the sidewalk when I walked around to my truck. As it turns out, his grandmother lives in the little duplex community. Had I not jumped to conclusions, I would've remembered that.
When an hour goes by and Claire still hasn’t arrived at the bar, I start to think that maybe she won't show up at all. Then the door opens and she appears, a smile I don't expect on her pretty face.
It changes the second her back is to the customers as she grabs her waist apron. She's a professional at hiding how she's really feeling, I realize, when the smile she gives to everyone including me is back in place once the thing is tied around her slender hips.
"Hey," I say, stepping in front of her before she can start work. "We need to talk."
I walk around the corner, legitimately surprised that she follows me.
"Everything is fine," she says, her face stonelike as she locks her eyes over my shoulder instead of looking at me directly.
"You have every right to be mad."
"Now you get to tell me how I'm supposed to feel?"
"Claire, that's not—"
“Thank you for not firing me.”
She meets my eyes for the first time, and I hate the gratefulness in her tone, as if any of this is her damn fault.
There's a soul-deep sadness on her face that is so ingrained I know that although tonight was no fun for her, it was only one more thing in a long line of things that she's been through.
"I've got to get to work," she says before I can offer her help with anything she may need. She made it very clear she doesn't want anyone interfering in her life, and I'm in no position to argue that with her.
The shift continues like it would any other night, but after the last customers leave and she's out there cleaning up, I can't help but feel like I'm part of her problem. She's here rather than with her daughter, and I don't want to be just one more thing she grows to despise.
"I'll have Maggie take back over the closing shifts. I can give you something earlier," I tell her when she's rolling the mop bucket back to the utility closet.
"Why?" she snaps.
"So you have more time at home with your daughter."
"That gives me less time with her," she says, her shoulders slumped forward a little.
"I just want to make things easier for you," I confess, even when I know it's probably the very last thing she wants to hear. The woman has no shortage of people trying to help her in this damn town, and I know she's at her wit's end with all the offers.
"I spend time with her after my shift at the clinic. When I start my shift here, it's her bedtime. I'd prefer to leave it how it is." Her voice starts to weaken. "Larkin is asleep so it's not like she's missing me."
She spins around and gives me her back, but I can't let her slip away angry again. The woman is going to stroke out with all this outrage and indignation she's feeling if she doesn't get a better handle on it.
Instead of walking past me after she closes the utility closet door, she heads toward the office as if the tiny room will provide some sort of escape.
I have no doubt that she'd pace like a caged animal if the room were big enough to move around in, but instead, she takes deep breaths while picking up piles of receipts and paperwork before stacking them all together.
"If you want me to work an earlier shift, I guess I can't really tell you how to run your business," she growls, her hands working through the stack she created and sorting each item by likeness. "It's not like I get to dictate anything. Not even in my own life."
"Claire."
"Everyone else is making all my decisions for me. Why not add you to that list? It's not like I'm responsible enough to know when my child should sleep. I can just put her to bed at five, let her get a nap, and then keep her up from midnight to three in the morning so I can spend time with her."
"I don't know enough about kids to tell you what to do," I say.
