I’m antsy to get out of the room. “We should go out and help.” I need some fresh air but also some space outside this room to sort through my feelings. Last night was amazing—even better than the first time. But also worse because it seemed more intense. And with the breakfast? I need to get my head—and heart—realigned with reality.
After we finish eating, we get dressed and go outside.
Conor wasn’t exaggerating. It looks as if we were in a giant snow globe that got shaken up pretty hard. Frankly I’m surprised that there were this many tree limbs so close to the airport. Mixed in are random objects picked up by the force of the wind—trashcans, torn bits of plastic, a shoe, and tons and tons of leaves.
The hotel chain will have their corporate owners pay for a cleaning crew, but it feels good to do something out in the fresh air. We must not be the only ones wanting to help—a few other guests I recognize from the impromptu sing-along last night are outside dragging smaller limbs over to the distant corner of the lot.
We start to help, and while this is mostly giving me the space I need to sort out my feelings—and being in a situation that is not sexual certainly helps—it’s also relaxing, and the camaraderie with Conor and the others feels great. It also leaves me even more lost, though. As if I’m stuck in limbo, literally and emotionally. We can’t go anywhere until that limbo is over, and could the sex just be due to our circumstances? Was this just…limbo sex? Was the storm just glue?
A shout jolts me from my ever-spiraling thoughts. “You can’t do that!” Some guy from the hotel is running toward us, arms waving.
“We’re just wanting to help, yeah.” Conor stops and turns to face him, arms loaded with sticks and limbs.
“I know, but corporate will have my head if you get hurt. Can’t afford a lawsuit, and I want to keep my job.”
Conor drops the load he was hefting and looks at me with his eyebrows raised. “You Americans are so bloody bolloxed.”
“I know.” I shrug. “Well, we tried.”
“Want to go for a walk then?”
“Sure.”
Downed trees are everywhere, and people like us are looking around. It’s kinda hard not to gawk. On their own, our hands find each other and thread together, the movement so natural, it took me several steps to realize what we’re doing. And I know it’s stupid to be analyzing holding hands, but it feels like a punctuation mark. An exclamation point really. Last night in the lobby, I’d been surprised he’d reached for my hand but chalked it up to him offering sympathy for my mom. This, after the sex last night, the talk after, feels couple-y.
Because, yep, last night was blistering hot. And breakfast in bed was sweet. But as we walk, the destruction reminds me exactly why we’ve been in our own bubble outside of reality. And that reminder is sobering. Everything is temporary.
We don’t make it far, though. Conor points ahead. “Sure look it. Downed power line.”
“Yikes. Yeah, we better turn back.” Dammit. I still need more time outside—outside where I can think and process and not get pulled prematurely back into limbo-sex land and thinking it can be more.
Conor squeezes my hand. “Claire, I want to be asking you something, yeah.”
“Sure.”
“I’d like to be calling on you when we return if you’re keen.”
“Call?”
He curses then laughs. “Fucking language. Visit you. Date you, yeah?”
My chest flutters, but I squeeze his hand. “I’d like that. I…like what we’ve started.” Hope blooms, mixing with my panic. Okay. Okay. So it's not limbo sex.
As soon as we get back to our room, I call Jane and give her an update on my status.
“Wait,” she says. “You’re in a room with Conor?”
Honestly. She sounds like a grade-schooler. I pull the phone away from my ear to make sure it’s still Jane.
“Yeeessss.” I turn around and watch the object of our discussion putzing around in the kitchen. He holds up the packet of trail mix with a raised brow, and I shake my head no.
I fill her in on what happened.
“He’s there right now, so you can’t talk, right?”
“Yes.” Not that I would have said much more, but it’s a convenient excuse.
“How about if I ask yes or no questions?”
What the hell? “Jane.”
“Come on. Play along. You were all up in my business with Aiden. Payback time.”
I groan, which she mistakes for permission, because she asks, “Have you slept with him yet?”
My brief silence as I think how to respond says plenty, because she gasps. “You go, girl. So you guys are a thing?”
I step over to the window and run a finger down the glass pane. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
I pull my finger off the cool pane and ball my hand into a fist, resting it against the glass. I lower my voice. “Jane, can you lay off with the questions?”
“Spoil sport. Speaking of. Have you made plans yet to visit your mother?”
Guilt swamps me. Fuck. My mother.
I’d successfully shoved that mess into a mental corner, going all ostrich-in-sand. Knowing I can’t keep this from Jane, I tell her about my call from the Denver hospital.
“Oh my God. You have to go now, Claire.”
My chest tightens with panic. “I know, I know. There’s the little matter of being stuck here right now.”
“You’re still not going to go, are you?”
I zip into the bedroom and shut the door. “Jane, I just…”
“What’s going on?” Gone is her frustration. Now her voice holds concern with a trace of curiosity. “Why don’t you want to go? You never said—I just assumed it was your usual bullheadedness. But now…”
“Can you trust me that I have reasons? I can’t tell you now.” I reinvented myself and moved to escape the emotional turmoil of my childhood. And since that childhood represented the old me, I never felt the need to tell even my closest friend. But I’m starting to wonder if keeping my best friend from this part of my life is doing me any good. She knows me well enough now not to see that old, sick me as me me. Shame washes through me at what I used to do. And what I had to do.
“Because he’s there.”
“Yes.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’ll tell you when I get back, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers. “It must be bad, and I’m sorry I pushed you. We’ll go for drinks.”
“Sounds like a plan.” My words come out fast.
We catch up on other things and hang up.
And I still don’t feel any more settled in my mind. Yes, he’s saying he wants to continue to date, which makes me feel stupid-giddy, but it also still scares me. Can I still maintain my self?
Chapter 16
Conor
While Claire’s on her mobile with Jane, mine pings with an alert.
Delta’s flying again, thank you, Mother Mary.
I use the last of my laptop’s battery and book a flight for early afternoon.
I glance at the closed bedroom door.
And think about why Claire would be mucking about over visiting her mam. The most likely seeming reason to me? Finances. And that’d be the reason most would be reluctant to admit to.