Now that Claire knew my secret, we were intimately connected, in a way that I could never express in words. We were inseparable. She became my gravity, my focus. I concentrated forever on keeping her safe and protected from pain of all kind, watching out for the people she loved the most. We even visited her father.
Over the autumn of 1960 and the winter moving into ’61, we moved about like magnets, shifting with the other, only capable of the mildest of separations before we would snap back together. Missing pieces of one puzzle.
We made love the first time the night of my supposed birthday – January 28, 1961. I was seventeen.


Claire fell backwards onto her bed, her red hair landing before we did. I braced myself, extending my arms behind her, to keep from falling on her. She crawled backward, into the center of her bed, lining herself up with the pillow. I followed, the length of me stretching beyond the length of her. She pushed her hips forward, keeping our bodies fused at the pelvis, her eyes staring up into mine with hunger.
My hands clutched her hips.
She yanked her shirt off over her head and tossed it away. A small white bra with little pink rose buds all over it covered her breasts. My eyes drank them in. Her heavy breathing made them heave, making them more interesting to watch. I dropped my face to the space between them and breathed deeply the scent of her. She gasped and made a small noise. I kissed directly where my face had just been. “Oh God,” she whispered.
“Do you want to stop?” I asked.
“No. More,” she breathed.
I kissed her smooth skin again. She tasted slightly salty, musky. It was a wonderful flavor.
Her hands ran up my spine and I arched my back as she reached the collar of my shirt and touched my neck. She pressed her palms against either side of my throat, then trailed ever so softly with her fingertips, touching my skin. Her hand cupped against my Adam’s apple. She touched my chin, my mouth, my nose. She let her fingers linger on my face, both of us gasping for air.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“And I, you, my Love,” I answered, my voice husky.
“I want you, Nick,” she confessed, “Forever.”
I dropped my face to her neck. Kiss after kiss after kiss trailed along her throat and collarbone.
Her hands grasped the bottom of my shirt and dragged it over my head. I allowed my arms to be pulled free of it, and, freed from that which had separated our skin, I lowered myself so that our bare bodies touched, and continued kissing her neck, and collarbone.
“Don’t ever leave me,” she begged as my mouth found the soft expanse of her stomach. “Ever, ever.”
“Never,” I promised.