www.neminat.com Third Edition
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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 B1 Part 4 Part 5 B2 Part 6 - Story Index Chapter II
November 6, 2006 The sun was shining brightly from a clear blue sky and the colorful leaves still clinging to the soon to be slumbering trees practically sparkled as the seasons visibly changed. Claire steered her black ’98 TJ Wrangler up the gravel driveway to the tall metal gates and came to a stop next to the small, manned booth. “Good morning, Dr. Ailey,” a white-haired man said through the intercom as he leaned forward across his small desk and got close to the window. “We’ve been expecting you.” “Good morning, Arthur. I trust all is well,” she replied with a smile, glad to finally have arrived at her destination. A swift swipe of a card and a six digit code later, the gates began to open. “I believe you will find him in the northwest wing, ma’am. He should just be out from biology.” Arthur used the laptop computer in front of him with ease and turned his gaze back to Claire. “Yes. Next class is in fifteen minutes, chemistry with Professor Langdon. Room 308. You know where it is.” The man smiled. “That I do. Thank you.” She gave him a nod as she drove through the now open gates. Mondays were science-days for Quentin’s age group at Redlow Academy, she remembered as she passed the vast gardens on her way to the visitor’s parking area behind the main building. It had been her favorite day of the week when she had attended the prestigious school as a child. Back then, Arthur had had thick, dark hair and with his broad shoulders and twinkling eyes, he had been among the more handsome members of staff. At first, Claire had found him to be a good-natured grown-up that never frayed from playing with the children whenever his duties allowed. A little later, she and her friends had found him to be a dashing man, not yet too old to be the subject of longwinded crushes. He sure had aged fast. She smiled at the memories flooding her mind, as they always did when she visited this place. For a boarding school, it was oddly welcoming to the family and friends of its students, something she had always valued dearly. The high security enclosing the campus was also a big plus. Navigating through the halls of the northwest wing was an easy task. Claire took the opportunity of glancing at the framed photos that decorated the walls. Being the scientific nature of the subjects taught in this particular part of the building, they portrayed students in white lab coats, elbow deep in various “scientific” tasks. She spotted several of her old teachers and a fair few of her son’s friends. She stopped and took a closer look at a photo portraying a small boy who triumphantly held a proportionately large eel high up in the air, a toothless grin stretched wide across his face. Claire stifled a chuckle at the endearing moment, frozen in time, and made a mental note to ask for a copy at reception on her way out. That boy was her pride and joy and she couldn’t wait to see him. “Oh, Claire!” a familiar voice rang out in the hallway and Claire spun around. “Professor Langdon, nice to see you again,” she greeted. “Amazing how time flies, isn’t it?” the professor adjusted her glasses and held her notes for class close to her chest. “That is an excellent photo.” The two women regarded it for another second before Claire spoke. “I’m here to collect him, do you know where he is?” “Why, he should be around here somewhere.” The professor checked her wristwatch. “We’re about to begin and that boy is never late.” She looked down the hall. “Unlike his mother,” she added and gave a light shove to Claire’s ribs with her elbow. The women shared a knowing smile. Having been close to arch enemies as their relationship had consisted of teacher and pupil, the two had in later years come to an understanding between themselves and now had nothing but respect for each other. Professor Langdon was immensely pleased with her former student’s success and took no shame in claiming responsibility for Claire’s choice of profession. Of course one of the nation’s most promising talents for mental wellbeing had to have been influenced by someone, why not her? She had both of Claire’s books at home, well read with broken backs. “There he is!” Claire exclaimed as a laughing boy with dark hair, grey eyes and a nose just as perfect as her own came around the corner. “Mom!” Quentin left his friends behind and made a dash for Claire who easily picked him up in a fierce hug. With his arms wrapped closely around her neck he whispered, “This is only because I haven’t seen you in a while. Don’t be getting any ideas now.” The public display of affection otherwise just a tad frowned upon by him, especially in front of his friends, didn’t seem to bother Quentin right this second and Claire made no effort to ease her grip on him. “Don’t get sassy,” she warned, the smile audible on her voice. “I heard you’d be taking Mr. Ailey home for a few days,” Professor Langdon said as more students passed them on their way to her classroom. She plucked a folder with the school’s emblem on the cover from the wad of papers she was carrying. “I took the liberty of telling the other faculty members. Here are this week’s assignments.” “We’re going home?” Quentin asked as Claire set him down and adjusted his uniform a little. He took the folder held out in front of him. “Thank you, Professor.” “Yes, we are.” Claire let a finger stroke her son’s cheek. “Go say goodbye to your friends, sweetie. I’ll tell you all about it in the car.” The boy darted off, leaving his books and the folder for his mother to hold while he did as told. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is everything all right?” the professor inquired, a touch of concern to her words. “Nothing I can’t handle,” Claire smiled, hoping she’d believe her own words soon enough. “I just miss him.” “It’s highly irregular to take a child from his classes in the middle of the semester…” “I’ll make sure he doesn’t fall behind.” Claire figured the professor had heard of last week’s events and assumed she was also familiar with this morning’s news. “We’ll be fine. Thank you.” * * * Some ninety minutes later, Claire stuck her key in the front door and let Quentin enter the house before her. He was immediately assaulted by the two whirlwinds sometimes referred to by her as dogs. Claire was promptly ignored by the two monsters, who were obviously preoccupied by playing with their favorite human, and she used the time to put Quentin’s school bag on the dresser next to the door, hang up her coat and take off her shoes. She watched the happy threesome as she made for the phone. “Pizza?” “Sure,” a gleeful voice panted in surprise. Not only had it been months since he last had a slice of thin bread, tomato sauce, dripping, melted cheese sprinkled with ham in his hand, it was also a very rare occasion this meal was allowed, let alone offered by his mother. Something about it ‘not being healthy’ had once been her excuse for close to banning it. Now he could nearly taste that sweet mix of crispy crust and squishy filling. The boy got up from the floor and with a simple “Off,” the dogs settled and let him remove his coat and shoes. They trotted around him, desperate for him to pay them more attention, but he let them be, albeit unwillingly, and headed upstairs with his backpack. As if having nothing better to do, the dogs turned their focus on Claire and decided to pester her while she made the order over the phone. “Hey you,” she cooed to their delight as she put the receiver down and reached down to pet them both. The smaller dog appeared to have a small fit as he fidgeted around her legs, wanting to jump up but knowing better. The larger one took it a bit more easy, but was that more intent on washing Claire’s face with her tongue. “How was your day?” she asked in earnest as she checked on the amount of food and water left in their bowls. “Did Maddie take good care of you?” The question was superfluous for two reasons. The first being that Maddie always took good care of them, and the second being that both dogs were still alive and well, happy as can be. Nothing less than that would be considered good in Claire’s book. She read the note from the doggie-walker as she unpinned it from the message board that hung over the kitchen counter. Maddie was fourteen, bright and the girl next door, literally. Her family had moved into the house on the other side of the fence the same year Claire and Bill got married. At the time, Maddie had been five and the Ailey's had had Burton, a Great Dane that Maddie had simply attached herself to and refused to let go of. When Quentin came along Maddie got the younger brother her parents had refused her. Being the youngest of four girls, Maddie thrived at the chance to finally have someone younger than herself to take care of. Neither set of parents had disagreed when she had begged to baby-sit ‘Tintin’, as she called him, although they had insisted on adult supervision the first couple of years. Claire appreciated the girl’s attention to detail, both in minding her pretend baby brother and the four-legged members of the family. On today’s note she had detailed where they had gone for their morning walk, who had done what and who they had met, just like she did on every note. It seemed as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened and Claire’s attention was directed back to the dogs as she let the note sail into the waste bin. “Wanna go out?” She said and opened the kitchen door to the backyard where the dogs practically climbed over each other to get outside before the other. They raced to the other side of the lawn before doubling back and searching out their toys. Quentin came back downstairs, now dressed in plain jeans and a sweatshirt. He didn’t look as preppy as he had moments ago but still had an immaculate neatness to his appearance. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” Claire teased and ruffled her fingers through his hair as he sat at the counter. To her appreciation, he did not try to comb the short, errant strands back into place. He looked exceedingly adorable, she decided, and kissed him on the top of his head. The gesture was a little too much for him, although not a soul was around to witness it, and he protested despite liking it. “Mo-om…” he whined and squirmed a bit under her touch. “Oh, shush you. Deal! Did you take a look at your assignments?” “Yeah. Nothing much. Won’t take forever to do.” “Good. Coz I’m thinking we should do something special this week.” “Like what?” The boy straightened on the stool in anticipation. “I don’t know. Got any suggestions?” “Umm, a movie?” “Definite potential.” “How about…” Quentin made a show of pondering his options. “...the museum?” “Which one?” “Natural History!” “Can do,” Claire nodded, obscenely pleased with her son’s interests. “Or maybe…” “Yes?” “The National Gallery?” “Why not both? We’ll make a day of it! Anything else?” He thought for a while before asking, almost hesitantly. “Could we go see dad?” Claire was a little taken aback at the request. That one she had not seen coming, yet she couldn’t see why she was surprised. “If you want to, of course!” “You sure?” “Absolutely! If you want to go we’ll go.” “You don’t have to be at the hospital or something?” Quentin seemed genuinely stunned at the prospect of having an entire day out with his mother, doing things he wanted to do, just the two of them, no interruptions. It was clear to see that this was something he had wanted for a long time and Claire mentally kicked herself for not granting his wish sooner. How come psychologists see other people’s problems so clearly but always turn a blind eye to the ones they have themselves, she wondered? “Nope. Took the week off,” she smiled and tried to think of when exactly it was that she had forgotten to make sure her son knew she would always be there for him, no matter what. Ever since Bill died, she had tried so hard to figure out a new way of life that would not tumble down on her the moment she turned her back. She had seen to it that Quentin had had every opportunity to talk to someone about what had happened, both with her and with a colleague whose specialty was young children. She had tried working from home as much as possible where conditions allowed, and had let Quentin be home schooled until he flat out had begged her to go back to the academy. * * * “Have you heard about this? How did we not know? Why are we not the ones first out with it?” Jenna had not even gotten out of the elevator before Senior Editor Elizabeth Downs smacked a copy of their number one rival’s latest edition in her chest, making her spill some of her coffee and almost drop the purse that hung loosely over her shoulder. “Know what, Mrs. Downs?” she mumbled as she tried to regain control of the steaming beverage, slanting bag and unfolding paper. “This was our story! How could you let someone else take it?” Jenna caught a glimpse of the headline before successfully pinning the newspaper to her side as the bag now dangled on her wrist. “Do you even know what I did to get that article printed?” the editor accused as if she had done all the work herself. “What you did?!” Jenna’s voice pitched as both eyebrows shot skywards. “Well, you helped.” It was understood that this was as far as the editor was willing to go. Standing in a slightly lopsided stance with a bewildered expression on her face, Jenna set free a frustrated sigh as her boss stomped off and the doors closed before the elevator moved to the top floor. “Yes, Mrs. Downs, I’d be happy to follow up on the story…” she let out sarcastically, gaining a few silent grins from her fellow elevator-travelers. Everyone in the building was familiar with the testy senior editor and her ways. The journalist couldn’t quite be sure, but she felt as if a small wave of emotional support surged through the cramped space. Regardless, she was glad when the doors opened and the other occupants stepped out. In a very calm and orderly fashion she straightened, grabbed the paper with her free hand, whisked the bag back onto her shoulder and performed a quick examination of the potential damage of coffee stains on her clothes. Seeing none, she squared her shoulders and awaited the small group of people wishing to get on the elevator before pressing the button that would take her back into the lion’s den. * * * Sitting at her desk, Jenna buried her face in her hands. She looked at the phone through her fingers with dejection, both wanting it to ring and for it to stay silent. For the past couple of hours she had been on it almost non-stop, trying to reach the reluctant hero she had met last week. She had been told by almost every person she had spoken to that she needed to either hold before getting disconnected, to call another office who then told her to call the one that had just referred her, or to just call back another day. She couldn’t decide if it was a good or a bad thing that finding a person in this day and age was still such a chore. It didn’t make matters any easier that this individual was also widely sought after by every other news agent in the country. She assumed the actor had gone public with his near death experience for PR reasons. He did have a new movie coming out, after all, and it was supposedly the big flick of the season. He was unavailable for comment as well. It had taken her quite some time before she had managed to track down the captain and thus found the direct number for his team’s whereabouts. A small victory it had seemed at the time, but she soon realized that that was about as far as she would get. No one was willing to comment on the incident, let alone give out a number or other means of direct contact to the subject of this frantic chase. She had gathered as much information as she could from everyone willing to spare her a moment, but without another interview with Claire herself, her article would not amount to anything different than what every other paper would be printing in their evening editions. She actually jumped at the sound of her mobile going off. It was Sally, calling to collect on the never promised chat over coffee and spontaneously added a lunch to the deal. Seeing no other task to occupy her time with, Jenna welcomed the chance of getting it done and once again having Sally out of her life. “Andy, forward any important calls to my cell, okay?” she called as she got up to leave. “Nemi Problemi, boss,” the assistant cheered, a little too happily for a stressful Monday, Jenna thought. Nevertheless, Andy was fully capable at screening her calls and she would not miss out on anything big. * * * The lunch rush was barely beginning and although the small bistro café was bustling with life, both from New York natives and tourists making the most of the bright autumn weather, there was a sense of peace in the air that was highly uncharacteristic for the busy city. Jenna had managed to get a table at the very edge of the seating area, a little too close to the window and the sidewalk’s steady stream of people, but beggars could not be choosers and the sooner this was over and done with the better. Just as the waiter shot her a third annoyed stare for taking up space, Jenna spotted the cause for this outing. Sally did not look her years. She was the same age as Jenna but looked at least fifteen years her senior. Her body had expanded a fair bit since Jenna had seen her last and her taste in fashion had not improved. She wore light tan Manchester pants which had a sloppily sewn on patch on the right knee. A pink and red polka dot top peeked out from under the vest that was made in the same material and color as the pants. Upon closer examination, Jenna noticed that the woman’s socks matched the top. It all seemed too thought out to be a coincidence and Jenna wondered what had happened to this once super-model wannabe. In high school, Sally had been the very cliché of the classic A-list Cheerleader. Soft blonde hair, almond shaped brown eyes deep enough to fall into if you weren’t careful and a body to die for. Athletic to the point of perfection, but not over the top, Jenna remembered. She had been popular, of course, but graced all and any with a genuine smile. She was on the not so official welcoming committee for new students and had been a very bright spot in the otherwise flat and boring group that had inspired the spectators’ cheers during the school’s baseball games. Sally posed none of her previous athletic demeanor as she dropped onto the chair opposite Jenna. She hastily tucked a strand of now light reddish, possibly orange, hair behind her ear. A very straight line a couple of inches from her scalp told that the hair had been dyed once and then ignored. Wrinkles that Jenna suspected was due to excessive sun-bathing now streaked the face in more places than you find laugh lines. “You wouldn’t believe the life I’ve had!” Sally neither waited for nor expected a ‘hello’, nor did she give one. “You know I moved again, right?” she blurted on, barely getting a nod from Jenna before she continued. “Spent almost five years in Omaha. Can you believe it? Me! In Omaha!” She seemed more surprised herself at that fact than Jenna was. “I always liked Omaha,” Jenna said nodding, inwardly smiling at childhood memories. “Oh, me too! I loved it there!” Something in Sally’s voice made Jenna doubt her statement. “Ever been there?” Sally asked, looking for a waiter rather than waiting for a reply. Jenna just looked at her. “I grew up there. You know that…” Being presented with the reason for their fallout, Jenna recalled in more vivid detail the last couple of discussions the two had shared before ‘growing apart’, as the official story went. At some point Jenna had boiled Sally's behavior and sudden forgetfulness to personal information down to some sort of insanity. She had lost interest in helping her after she had stolen no less than two of her boyfriends and one girlfriend, all before college. Mutely, Jenna regretted saving her job by calling Sally for help. * * * “Really? … Is that so? … M-hm... Yes... I don’t think so… Can you wait just a sec? … Tin, could you turn that down, please? Thank you… Right, I’m back! … They did what? … What did you tell them? … This is so not what I wanted!” Claire let out a groan and rubbed her eyes with her thumb and index finger, coming to a slow massage of the bridge of her nose. “No, I know that, Rose. Who else? … Uh-huh… Rose, calm down!” The line fell silent as the woman on the other end mentally chastised herself. Claire could almost hear the cogwheels turning in her friend’s head before she spoke up again. “I think you may be right... What would you do if you were me? … Well, that’s helpful.” The remark was as mocking as it was sincere. “Could you fax those? … To here, yeah.” Claire watched her son beat the living daylights out of some creature in a videogame with a foreign name as she listened to Rose. “I’m gonna switch phones, hold on.” She transferred the call into her study and hung up. Quentin cried out in victory as she left the living room and for a brief moment she thought her departure meant she no longer was a distraction to him, which caused the cheer, but soon heard the fanfare of the game telling the player a new level had been reached. She snickered to herself before slipping into her dark home office. Paranoia 101, Ailey… She sank deep into her leather chair and relished in its perfect hug of her back before picking Rose up. When the call ended a good ten minutes had passed with Claire just staring at the growing stack of faxes on her desk. Rose had not been kidding when she said half of New York, and quite a few other places as well, was looking for her. She flipped through the papers, skimming the from-lines. Most of the names she had never heard of, here and there some big hotshot reporter’s name popped up. And there, in the midst of everything, someone she knew… * * * Jenna hurriedly answered her buzzing mobile. A small piece of tuna clung to one of her teeth as she repeatedly tried to swallow the mouthful of food she had been chewing. It was the last bite of her lunch and she put her fork down on the empty plate. “Am I glad to hear your voice or what!?” she welcomed the caller as she made an apologetic face to the woman sitting across from her. “You are?” Claire blurted, a little surprised at the journalist’s greeting. “Of course! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. I’m really grateful you took the time to call me back.” I’m doing it for myself, darlin’… “I was wondering if you had a minute?” “Absolutely.” Jenna thought for a second if she should push for another interview or take it slow as to not drive her subject away. “What can I do for you?” Not wasting time, Claire cut to the chase. “I got the impression that I’m sort of popular all of a sudden, and thought you might be able to help me out with that…” She left the question hanging. “Right… Well, I suppose. I would love another interview with you. One that’s not so…” she sought for the right word. “…miffed.” They shared a quick and superficial laugh and Claire continued, “That’s precisely what I had in mind. I want to put this to rest before it becomes a ‘thing’. When are you free?” Out of habit, Claire checked her book to see that all week was just as empty as it was when she cleared it moments ago to accommodate Quentin being home. Seeing her chance and grabbing on for all she was worth, Jenna offered, “How about now?” “Over the phone?” Claire wasn’t completely opposed to the prospect. Presented with a brilliant ‘out’ from the lunch, Jenna couldn’t help herself. “Or I could come to you… Where are you?” This was what she both wanted and needed. Who said you should never mix business with pleasure? She grinned inwardly but caught Sally’s restrained expression before committing what Claire said to memory. “Right, I’ll be there in about an hour… Yeah, I know where it is… Great, I’ll see you then!” Delighted that her self invitation hadn’t been refused, it was with a light heart and untroubled mind that Jenna sat, politely letting a few more minutes pass – and Sally to finish her meal – before she got up and ended the reunion. * * * Knowing she held a pair of aces, Jenna called her editor. She was brief and professional, leaving the elder woman listening more than participating in the dialogue. Jenna informed her boss that she would be out of the office for the rest of the day. At the reminder of today’s deadline and her personal lack of contribution to their latest edition she simply answered, “I will be on an almost hour-long drive, on the phone with Andy, dictating my article. It will be better than any other paper’s articles because it will lead into tomorrow’s front page, which is an exclusive, and that will most certainly knock your socks off… ma’am.” She left it at that. * * * “Thank the heavens for GPS!” she muttered as she pulled her car up to the curb. She had done what she had promised her boss and recited what she herself found to be a pretty decent piece and her assistant had agreed. Now more determined than ever to get an off the wall spectacular article, she had stopped on the way to purchase a small digital recorder that she planned to use instead of her pen and paper. She did enjoy working with the ‘old’ and basic instruments of writing, despite the occasional glare and off comment from her colleagues, but figured an open and free discussion shouldn’t be interrupted by her scribbling. She had also reflected that seeing the event of something you say or do being written down reminds you that you are indeed being observed and that often taints the information flow. Nothing was to go wrong with this interview. Walking up the driveway, Jenna took in her surroundings. She was in the outskirts of Glen Cove, Long Island, in a nice neighborhood, and the house she was approaching was built of bricks and large grey stones that were almost completely over grown by what looked like poison ivy. Upon closer inspection it was however quite clear that this was not the case. The ivy only held the beautiful, sparkling colors of autumn and Jenna questioned her line of thought that someone would actually allow such a thing to grow freely. After ringing the doorbell she stood watching the front lawn and the other houses along the street, trying to decipher what kind of person this ‘hero’ was. This ‘someone’ who had thrown herself into freezing water on the off chance that something a half-unconscious man had stammered would be true. Some of the other yards had lawn furniture, brightly colored toys and bicycles, areas sure to be lush flowerbeds in the spring- and summertime… All Claire Ailey’s front lawn held was grass. Behind her, the door opened and she turned as she heard her name spoken. “Any trouble finding the place?” Claire asked as she motioned for Jenna to come inside. “No, not at all.” Jenna let her eyes wander as she stripped herself of her coat and handed it to Claire who had a hanger ready. The dark hardwood floors seemed to spread throughout the house, at least for as far as she could see, which was the hallway, a small room to the left and parts of what she guessed was the living room. The walls had a creamy white finish and were sparsely clad with framed photos and paintings. Three small statues made of wood stood on display on a small dresser that was also home to keys and mail. “You have a beautiful home.” “Thank you. Coffee?” “Please.” Stealing a glance at the house owner’s bare feet and checking the amount of shoes on the low shelf inside the door, Jenna figured this to be a ‘no shoes inside’-home and promptly took her boots off, thanking whatever power had possessed her to put on clean socks this morning. She followed Claire into the kitchen. “What do you think it will take? To make this blow over, I mean,” Claire placed two mugs on the counter and brought over the pot of freshly brewed coffee. The journalist motioned for two sugars and nodded at the offer of cream. “I’d say a fairly detailed, in-depth piece with comical influences might do the trick.” She watched as the coffee took on a lighter shade of brown. “You’ll be more or less hunted for a while, but if you give the essential information in this article they’ll have a source in it if they can’t reach you directly.” Claire stood quiet for a few moments before sitting down across from the journalist. “I don’t see how this is anyone’s business but my own, really, to be honest.” “It isn’t, but you know the media…” Jenna disclosed, sneering. “Why, if I didn’t know any better I’d almost say you didn’t like your job that much…” Jenna met Claire’s intense gaze. “What makes you say that?” “Just the way you said it.” She shrugged, not looking away. The journalist squirmed under the attention. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, shall we get started?” She took a sip of the still steaming beverage and reached in her bag for her newly purchased technology. “Do you mind?” she asked as she put the recorder on the counter between them. “No.” “First of all, though… I want to apologize for last time. I wasn’t professional at all, not like I want to be when I’m talking to someone in person…” Claire relented at the younger woman’s faint blush, recognizing she wouldn’t be content before she was forgiven. “Apology accepted,” she smiled, seeing the woman shake off a weight of embarrassment. “Thank you.” She was visibly relieved. “Fresh start?” “I’d love to!” There was a moment of silence between them and noise from Quentin’s videogame could be heard from the living room. Jenna turned her head towards the sound. “What’s that?” “Lethal-something-I-can’t-pronounce… Number seven in the series, apparently.” Claire chuckled. “My son…” she explained with a nod in his direction “He’s home for the week.” Jenna nodded with a smile. “How old is he?” When Claire hesitated she added, “Off the record.” “He’s eight.” “Same age as the boy you saved!” she remarked, suddenly thinking of several new questions to add to the interview. Claire knew precisely where the journalist was headed. “Yeah. I’d like to keep him out of this.” “Sure. Just an interesting detail,” Jenna offered. “For a tabloid, maybe.” Jenna considered the comment then broke out in a smile. “Of course. You’re right. Never mind.” She shook her head as she laughed quietly, missing her pen and pad. She wanted to doodle. “So, how about we get this over with so that I can get out of your hair.” She leaned forward and pressed the red button on the digital recorder. “I’m that bad company, huh?” Claire huffed with a grin. “Not at all,” the woman assured. “But I’m guessing you’d rather spend time with your son than with me and,” she glanced at her wristwatch, “I don’t want to impose if you have limited time together.” It was well meant but Claire felt offended and her mood dropped a notch. “I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t have the time.” She leaned back on the stool and folded her arms across her chest. “I didn’t mean… I assumed…” Jenna stammered. What’s with me?? “Sorry.” Claire studied the journalist for a moment, comparing the first, second and third impressions she had gotten of her so far. Back off, Ailey, give her a break, her inner voice commanded. She didn't like the reasons for this interview but could only hope the journalist wouldn't prod too much. Not really wanting to apologize, yet still feeling a need to excuse herself, she said, “Actually, don't be. It’s just been a stressing week…” “I can relate,” Jenna nodded nervously, feeling muscles tug gently on the corners of her mouth. Quentin cried out in victory, suddenly, startling both women, unknowingly lightening the tension in the kitchen. “Do you have any questions prepared?” Claire hoped for easy, not too personal information to be asked for. “That I do,” was the reply as Jenna again reached in her bag, this time for the piece of paper where she had drawn her mind map. She looked it over for a suiting place to start. * * * When Quentin entered the kitchen and headed for the refrigerator, his mother and the journalist burst into laughter over something he assumed to be a joke, but he wasn’t sure. Claire averted her attention from Jenna to her son. “Hey, no snack before dinner, you know that, what do they teach you at that school?” She reached for him to come over. The boy did so, asking, “What’s for dinner then? Claire snared him with an arm around his waist and pulled him closer. “Your favourite,” she began and looked over at Jenna. “This is Jenna McApa, the journalist I told you about.” “Nice to meet you,” Quentin moved from his mother’s grasp and offered his hand to the blonde woman. “And you,” she greeted. “So you’re Quentin, huh?” “Yep,” he said with a single nod and turned back to his mother. “So when is dinner? I’m hungry.” The dim light in the house suddenly made its way into Claire’s mind. “What time is it?” She looked over at the clock on the microwave, which glowed 6:45 pm in green. “Whoa! Dinner is now!” she stood and ruffled Quentin’s hair as she passed on her way to the other end of the kitchen. “Or, in twenty minutes, rather…” She opened the fridge and grabbed the ingredients that were to be chopped beyond recognition. Quentin leaned closer to Jenna as he whispered. “Hey, thanks for distracting my mom!” a cheeky grin stretched from ear to ear as he beamed. “She never lets me play for that long.” The last sentence was said a little louder than the first one and Claire caught on as Jenna stifled a laugh. “Watch it, buddy!” She turned to the other woman. “Do you need to get back to the city? You’re welcome to stay.” “Thanks, but I probably should be going. It was nice of you to offer though.” “You sure? It’s a long drive to be making on an empty stomach.” As if on queue, Jenna’s stomach made the faintest of sounds, clearly stating its own choice on the matter. One of Claire’s eyebrows rose significantly. “You’re staying!” she said, pointing the knife in her general direction before chopping up the carrots three at a time. The younger woman glanced over the vegetables, pondering what dish they would make. “Mac and cheese with a fried veggie mix,” Claire offered, knowing the gaze from dealing with unspoken questions of this nature from Tin on a semi-regular basis. The carrots were tossed into a frying pan and Claire moved on to chop up a peeled cucumber and then added some corn. A sweet scent started to spread throughout the kitchen as the veggies started to sweat and Claire poured pasta into a pot of water to boil. “Oooh, if you insist….” Jenna drew in a deep breath through her nostrils, enjoying the prospect of what promised to be a simple and delicious meal. “Are the dogs still outside?” Slightly troubled, Claire remembered letting them out hours ago but hadn’t seen them since. “They’re on the back porch.” “You have dogs?” Jenna asked incredulously as her eyes once again swept across the neat, tidy home. “Let them in, would you,” Claire motioned towards the living room where the door to the back yard was and Quentin set out to find them. “You’re not allergic, are you?” she asked their dinner guest, wondering if maybe the four-legged beasts should stay on the porch. After all, it was a cozy place to be. She had just recently had it remodeled and made it more of an outside room of the house. Large, invisible windows made the upper half of the walls, making it seem like the glass wasn’t there. It was heated and the porch lights bathed it in a warm glow as dusk turned on the automatic sensors. “No,” Jenna shook her head and turned as she heard the door creek and claws rustle against the wood floor. “Easy, you mutts…” the boy bleated as said creatures made their appearance in the kitchen, tails wagging and their unyielding attention fixed on the new human in the house. “Don’t worry, they don’t bite,” he assured as Jenna somewhat reluctantly offered a hand to them. “Meet the babies,” grinned Claire. “The small one is mine,” Quentin beamed. “His name’s Linus. Mom rescued him from a drunk who had left him in a boat for days. He’s two.” Jenna couldn’t help but to smile at the adorable, brown eyed dog with dark golden fur. “Still a puppy, huh? What breed is he?” “Shrimp?” A quizzical expression made its way onto Jenna’s face. “The big one.” “You named the dog ‘Shrimp’?” she looked from the big dog to Quentin, then to Claire who shrugged. “Seemed appropriate.” The journalist studied the majestic black beast that held her with a skeptical gaze. It was large, with a lean form and short fur that inched a bit longer around the shoulders, chest and neck. One ear stood up from its head, the other hung back, flopped. Instead of desperately begging for attention like the smaller dog, it sat idle, seemingly studying her, asserting just who had been brought into its domain. Jenna made a mental note not to ever cross this dog. For any reason. Quentin continued the introductions. “She’s a rescue too. Mom found her tangled in a fishing net, of all places.” He rolled his eyes at the dog’s apparent stupidity for being caught in such a contraption. “Hence the name…” Jenna correctly assumed. “She smelled for days!” Claire planted a solid kiss on the dog’s head and petted her back. Shrimp did not let Jenna out of her sight but moved the tip of her tail just a tad in response to her mama’s touch. Quentin announced his departure and left the kitchen. “C’mon, Nus…” The smaller dog scurried to his side and followed him up the stairs. Shrimp remained unmoving, much to Jenna’s discomfort. “Can I ask you a favor?” The sound of Claire’s voice made Jenna momentarily disregard the ill named beast. “Sure.” “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t mention me being ‘that’ Claire Ailey… I’d like to keep my career out of this circus if I can and there’s no reason to plaster me being famous in my own right all over town, is it?” That sounds pathetic… “These things have a way to slip out one way or another, but if you want me to exclude it, I will.” “Um, because you asked me to?” Why indeed…? “Appreciate it, but still – why?” “Give a little to get a little, I guess. Consider it a payback for giving me the exclusive.” That sounds reasonable. Doesn’t it? Claire mulled it over for a bit and decided to accept it. “Thanks.” “Anytime.”
To Be Continued... Comments and/or feedback welcome at vilia@stockholm.com
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