***
People flocked to Laurelhurst, those that Clare was close to, and those who now wanted to be close to her. Doreen did her best to fend them off, and pretty much succeeded, until a week after the verdict, when it was Erin Hall who rang the doorbell.
“I just thought you’d want you to know, we tracked down the black truck,” the detective told Clare. “It traced back to a man who grew up in the Lacey Trailer Park at the same time your husband did. Apparently, they were friends. From what we could piece together, he was doing a favor for a friend when he ran you off the road. He took the fifty thousand dollars, did what he was paid to do, and by all accounts, took off for Mexico.”
Clare shook her head. “It doesn’t really matter,” she said. “It’s over, it’s done. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather just put it behind me and get on with my life.”
Erin nodded. “Good idea.” She turned to leave and then stopped and turned back.
“I guess I also wanted to say I’m sorry,” she said, and Clare could tell her words were sincere. “I’m sorry you had to go through all this. And I’m sorry for the part I played in it. I wish you’d told us about your husband. I’d like to think we’d have believed you. I’d like to think we could have helped.”
Thirteen
It took almost three weeks before the reporters and the photographers and the so-called legal experts finally called it quits, before fresh stories with fresh villains cropped up to fill airtime and newspaper space, before the public’s attention waned, before Clare could blow her nose and feel confident that no one was lurking in the shadows, waiting to snap a picture of the indelicate act, or dig in her garbage for the discarded tissue.
The tutor was dismissed with gratitude, and the children returned to school. No one hassled them. Rather, their classmates seemed more to be in awe of them.
Henry Hartstone called. “I don’t know what your plans are,” he said directly, after a moment or two of polite conversation. “But some of us over here are thinking that this might be a good time for you to come on board.”
“Henry, I’m flattered,” she said, and meant it, “but I hardly think I’d be an asset to the company right now.”
“On the contrary,” the chief financial officer responded in his no-nonsense way. “The stock actually got a nice little boost from the trial, and I think, as Gus’s heiress, and with Richard out of the picture, you should consider it.”
Clare gave a little chuckle. “You know, I don’t think it would ever have entered my father’s head that I would one day actually work at Nicolaidis.”
“Don’t be too sure,” Hartstone told her. “He might have put Richard in charge, but he wasn’t as old-fashioned as you think. And he was nobody’s fool, either. He always said, in the end, you’d realize that editing wasn’t your true calling in life.”
“Did he really say that?” she breathed. Gus had started teaching her the business before she was even able to walk, but he had certainly never come close to suggesting anything like that.
“He did, on multiple occasions,” Hartstone assured her.
“In that case, let me get back to you after the holiday,” she said. “Perhaps then, we can sit down and take a look at what the options are.”
***
Thanksgiving dawned clear and cold.
Doreen took her first day off since the beginning of the trial, and went to her sister’s in Yelm. Clare and the girls went to Ravenna to eat turkey with Elaine and her family. They sat down to dinner at two o’clock, and afterwards, Elaine and her husband had planned to take everyone to a special performance of Cirque du Soleil at the Tacoma Dome.
Clare begged off. “Take the children,” she said. “Keep them overnight. It’ll be good for them.”
“You should come,” Elaine insisted. “It’ll be good for you, too. You need to start getting out. This is a perfect opportunity. It’ll be fun.”
“Too public, too soon,” Clare said. “I’ll only spoil it for everyone else. Let the children enjoy themselves for a change. I’ll come get them tomorrow.”
Elaine tried, but couldn’t change her sister-in-law’s mind, and Clare drove home by herself.
It felt odd, but good. Nobody followed her. Nobody lay in wait for her. She couldn’t recall the last time she had been truly alone, without anyone peering at her or hovering over her, without someone wanting something from her. For a few precious hours, anyway, she could be herself, by herself, and the opportunity was irresistible. It was heady stuff, this concept of being free, she decided.
She took a long hot bath, put on a pair of fleece pants and a long-sleeved fleece shirt, and went downstairs to raid the refrigerator. Coming away with a tall glass of orange juice, she wandered into the library. Doreen had laid a fire, and all Clare had to do was light it, making sure the kindling caught, and then wait for the flames to begin licking and curling along the logs. She curled up in one of the deep leather chairs, pulled a throw over her knees, and raised her glass.
“To life,” she said to the ceiling, to the bookcases, to the fire. In a matter of minutes, she was fast asleep.
The sound of the doorbell ringing woke her up. Frowning, Clare padded into the foyer, glancing at the clock on her way. It was a few minutes past nine. She peered out the side window. A delighted smile replaced the frown when she recognized the figure outside, and she quickly unlocked the door and pulled it open.
“What a nice surprise!” she cried.
“Hello,” James Lilly said shyly. “I’ve been wanting to stop by, but I just didn’t know whether you’d feel like seeing anyone.”
“Come
