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1975-1976


I'd managed to stay away from Claire for one week. Away, but not completely away. I followed her, at a safe distance, checking on her as frequently as I dared, making sure that her time was safe, that she was okay. I imagined myself as her guardian angel... always present, always ready to guard... but never seen.

However, if one thing will get to you, it's certainly winter weather in the northeast. Particularly when you don't have very warm clothing and no real shelter to stay in. I mean I was sleeping in a make-shift stucture I'd built myself in the woods behind the house.

I got sick.



Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

My breathing had fallen into the soft pattern of the heart monitor. A pointless apparatus, obviously, since I couldn't die. I closed my eyes and let the sound of it melt over me. I contemplated sitting up, ripping the IV out of my arm and walking out of the hospital. But they'd already called her. All that would do is make her seem like a bad person. I had no choice but to wait.

Even though I wanted to run.

"Nick?" she stepped into the room, her eyes landing on me. She inched closer to the bed and laid her hands on my forearm. "Oh Nicky," she whispered, her eyes softening.

Her red hair was haloed by the light coming in from the window. Lines around the corners of her eyes and mouth told me she'd spent a good deal of time sad.

Because of me.

"I'm sorry they called you," I whispered.

Claire shook her head and a pair of dangling pearls bounced off the soft spots beneath her ears. "No, no it's okay," she whispered, "Don't ever be sorry for that."

I felt cold all over, like I'd been dunked into ice water. I reached for her, "Claire," I whispered, "I missed you."

She bent forward, her arms easily wrapping around my scrawny fourteen year old frame. "I missed you, too," she said back, squeezing me into her. I wrapped my arms around her, too, drinking in her smell. It warmed me, like liquior in the veins. I felt hot tears on my cheeks. "Don't go away again," she pleaded quietly, "Don't leave me again, please. I don't care how old you are..."

I pressed my cheek into her shoulder, "But it isn't fair for you," I replied. "You deserve so much more than I could ever give you. And the people - imagine what the people would think?" I asked, "You, a thirty-one year old woman and me, a fourteen year old boy? It's not even legal, Claire."

She shivered with tears. "Then say you're my son," she pleaded.

"Your son?" I asked thickly, "Your son who's madly, insanely in love with you?"

"It's better than being apart, isn't it?" she asked. I held her tight to me, and lifted my chin to rest on her head as she melted into my chest, shaking slightly. My fingers moved across her back, along her spine like the keys of a piano. I clutched her to me. "Please..." she cried. I could feel my chest getting damp from her tears. "Just don't go."



"You like oranges, don't you Nicky?" she'd asked, picking one up.

I nodded.

Claire had picked up an orange and rubbed it in her palm before dropping it into a clear plastic baggie and sealing it with a twist-tie. She smiled and dropped it into the cart.

"Excuse me, son," a tall, lanky guy had pushed by me with a cart full of crates of oranges. He was probably 35 or so, with messy brown hair and sharp green eyes. He looked at Claire, with her long, red hair and form-fitting sun dress - and did a double take. I recognized a hungry expression in his eyes. "Can I help you, ma'm?" he asked.

Jealousy instantly flared up in me. Take your eyes off her, you bastard.

"No I'm okay, thank you, though," Claire replied. She started to push her cart around the guy, I followed in her footsteps.

"Cherries are in season," he said, stepping up alongside the cart. "Your son might like some of those. They're on sale this week." He smiled.

Claire looked at me, as though to remind herself that this produce guy was referring to me as your son. "Do you like cherries, Nicky?" she asked in a motherly tone.

We'll laugh about this later, I thought. And nodded.

"Where are the cherries?" Claire asked.

"I can show you," the produce guy abandoned his cart to lead the way toward a display of them, near the grapes, and waved his hand. "Maybe your husband would like some also?" he asked.

Claire blushed. "I'm not married."

Yes you are! I thought, looking at her, aghast at how smoothly it had come out of her...

"Oh," the produce guy was struggling not to smile, "I'm sorry, I thought --" he glanced at me.

"My husband's gone," Claire said flatly.

I'm right here, I thought, Not so far away...

"I'm sorry, ma'm," the produce guy frowned, legitimately this time. He looked at me. "Sorry, Tiger."

Go away, I thought, scathingly.

Claire shook her head, "It's been awhile, no harm done. Thank you for showing me to the cherries." She turned and started poking around through the bags.

The produce guy didn't leave. "This bag here will be especially juicy," he said, lifting a particular bag from the top of the pile. He handed it to her. "The color, you know? You can tell the flavor by the color."

"Thank you." Claire put the cherries in the cart and looked at me. My face must've been sour, because she quickly nodded her head and grabbed the cart's handle and started to walk away.

The produce guy just couldn't take a hint. "My name is Greg," he said, extending a hand. "Greg Brunner."

Claire only glanced at me a second before accepting his hand and shaking it. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Brunner," she said. "My son and I are running late," she added hastily, catching my eye. "I need to run."

"Anytime you need help," he said, waving his hand around the produce section, "My office is over there." He pointed to a counter in the corner, by a large display of apples. "I'm more than willing to answer any questions you have about fruits and vegetables."

She smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Brunner." I grabbed hold of the cart and yanked, pulling her away from produce. She trotted alongside me. My palms were sweating.

Why is this a surprise? I wondered, I knew it would happen, sooner or later...



"Greg is a good man," Claire was saying as she dragged her lipstick across her mouth. I stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, scowling. "He cares about me, and about you too..." she looked at me in the mirror of her vanity table and sighed. After a long pause, she turned and looked into my eyes directly. "Nick," she said, her voice even, "I thought this was what you wanted?"

I hung my head. "It is," I whispered.

Claire stood up and crossed the room and stood before me. She rested her hands on my skinny shoulders and I looked up into her eyes. "Please," she whispered, "Don't make this harder on me than it already is."

I nodded.

"I will always love you," she said, "More than I will ever love any other man."

"...and I you," I whispered.

A glistening tear leaked into her eye. "Why," she whispered, "Why do you have to- to be-" she stammered and sucked in a deep breath before turning away. Her shoulders shuddered.

I reached out a hand and touched her back. "If I knew how to stop it... to change it... I would," I whispered, "But I don't know how."

Downstairs, the door bell rang.

"He's here," she gaspd. She shook her hair back from her face. "Can you go answer the door and keep him occupied just a moment while I change bags?"

I nodded, "Of course." I started for the door.

"And Nick?"

"Yeah?" I turned to look at her.

She forced a smile, "Thank you."

I nodded, then turned and trotted down the stairs as the door bell rang a second time. I pulled open the door and there he stood, clutching a hat in one hand and a bouquet of daisies in the other, wearing jeans and a button-down shirt with a goofy looking bow tie on his neck. "Hello Mr. Brunner," I greeted him, stepping back so he could come in.

"Why hello there, Tiger," he said, stepping into the house. He looked around, "Your mothers here, right?" he asked.

I nodded, "She's getting ready." I closed the door behind him as he stood awkwardly in the foyer, still clutching the hat and the flowers. He smiled at me in a nervous sort of way, like he wasn't sure what to say to me. I leaned against the wall and stared at him, giving him a sour once-over. "Look," I said after a long pause, "I'm gonna be straight-up with ya," I said.

Greg Brunner's eyes met my own. "Yes?"

"If you hurt her," I said, "I will not be afraid to kill you. Do you understand?"

He blinked in surprise, then a chuckle issued from the back of his throat. I didn't relent my glare. The chuckle died. "Y-Yes," he said finally, "I understand."