Never Too Late (19 page)

When Mike wasn't away at school, it was very often the three of them. In fact, the only time Pete wasn't included was at their make-out sessions. They'd go to ball games, movies, parties, skiing, beaching and hangouts together, then drop Pete off at home and park, steaming up the windows. How that must have tortured Pete, just knowing.

She spent a lot of time wondering how things might have been different. If that night hadn't happened, Pete and Clare would have remained close in the aftermath of Mike's death. They might've ended up together; Clare had loved him like a brother. That love could have easily been transformed, as she had learned that night in her apartment.

What if Pete had told her while he was making love to her? That he had always loved her, wanted her? Would that have shocked her out of the act like a cold shower? Or would it have made the whole thing seem less sinful?

But probably the most profound question was this—what if Pete had been stronger and smarter than she and had confronted her about their guilty tryst before she met and married Roger?

For the first time since it happened, she realized that Pete's pain must have exceeded hers. His actions had been both deliberate and wrong. The burden must have been immense. Clare couldn't decide if she was glad Pete had come clean about that childhood crush, or not. He certainly hadn't had to—they had worked through the event and got their friendship back on track. Except that the other person who didn't walk into the store door or call was Pete.

And, inevitably, Roger crossed her mind. She couldn't help but wonder how he was holding up, now that it was official—she was divorcing him. But even he hadn't called. It was a long and empty week, full of many questions and no answers.

 

Friday morning when Clare entered the hardware store, she found George at the back counter wearing a very troubled frown. “Something's going on with your sister and I want you to find out what it is,” he said.

“Maggie?”

“No, Sarah. She's changing. At first I didn't notice—I don't notice things like that.”

“Things like what?”

“Like hair and clothes. Everything is changing.”

“What? I just saw her on Sunday. Nothing was different.”

“It is now,” he said, and then he went back to his office, brooding.

Clare got a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She would never forget Sarah's transformation.

When they buried their mother, Sarah had cried the hardest. But then she seemed to almost sink out of sight. She couldn't get out of bed, barely ate. When Dotty came on board, she forced the girl up, shoved her into the shower, nearly spoon-fed her, but her morose mood was a terrible thing.

Maggie and Clare were not in the best shape to be objective, for their grief was terrible, as well, and they had small children who needed them. Ironically it was Roger who came to the fore. “She's sick, Clare. We have to get her to a doctor. This isn't just normal grief. She needs help. And fast.”

Indeed, that was confirmed immediately and Sarah was hospitalized. It was very fortunate for her that medication eased the darkness quickly and she was only in the hospital for two weeks. But change was not over for their family. While Sarah got great comfort from her counselor and her new hobbies of painting and weaving, she stopped caring about her appearance. It would have been obvious it was some sort of defiance if it hadn't been so gradual. As she slowly replaced her clothing, she chose the plain and dull clothes that hid rather than accentuated her figure and she stopped wearing makeup altogether. Next, the contacts disappeared and the old glasses came out. Her hair, which she used to spend countless hours grooming and teasing into a high hussy mound was left thin and flat. There was a
time you wouldn't know what hair color Sarah would show up with—black, red, white-blond, or some combination. Her natural color, which was not a particularly fetching kind of dirty blond, became her new preference. It was as though she wanted to become invisible.

She would spend hours and hours in front of an easel or at her loom and could barely be coaxed away. But then she decided to go back to school and relief flooded the McCarthy family. From that point on, this new Sarah was what they were going to have. “I only wish I had made a few sensible changes before Mama died,” she said when her sisters voiced their worry over the way she looked.

“Mama wouldn't want you to stop paying attention to your appearance completely,” they assured her.

To which Sarah said, “I bet she'd prefer this look to the previous one.” And she'd go back to her painting or weaving or art studies.

Well, if those were the only two choices, they'd rather have Sarah at least doing something productive, as long as she was healthy, which her doctor assured them she was. All that loose and wild behavior has a heavy price. A far heavier price than looking plain.

Clare didn't waste any time in getting over to Sarah's art shop. Sheer dread accompanied her. She just couldn't imagine what image Sarah would present next. Had she gone to sackcloth and ashes? Was she sick again? When she opened the door and the little bell tinkled, a young woman she barely recognized came out of the studio in the back. Clare gasped and took a step backward. “Sarah?”

Sarah just smiled, giving her head a little tilt. “Hiya,” she said.

Her hair was highlighted and shaped in a bouncy cut that framed her face and curled at her shoulders, her eyes were an almost mystical green, and she was wearing slimming jeans with a crisp white blouse, tucked in and unbuttoned to almost—but not quite—her cleavage. On her feet—boots! Stylish boots with slim, high heels!

“Sarah!” Clare gasped. “Oh, God!”

“What do you think?”

“What do I think? I think you scared ten years off Dad's life!”

“Well that's certainly not what I intended.”

Clare came closer. “What in the world happened to you? Have you been hypnotized or something?”

“No,” she laughed. “It's actually your doing, Clare.”

“Me? I haven't said a word!”

“You did something much more significant. When I saw you last Friday night at the restaurant, you looked incredible. Unbelievable. I mean, you always look great, but you usually look great in your jeans. I don't know where I've been—but I haven't paid much attention to how striking you are all dressed up. That dress…”

“I've had that dress for three years!”

“Okay—it was a combination of things. That dress, which by the way is very sexy, but in a very elegant and chic way. Your boobs weren't hanging out or anything. And you had that good-looking man drooling. And it got me thinking—here is my big sister, not even divorced yet, having a
life.
”

“Oh, Sarah,” she said, feeling the threat of tears come to her eyes. “Please tell me this is totally sane! You're not, like, going through some manic thing…?”

“God, I hate that you all think I'm crazy. I had a very bad time when Mom died, but I got help and I've been
happy since then. I know it seems boring to you—my pieces, my little shop. But this is my world! I just decided I'm going to expand that world. I can sculpt and weave in clothes I don't look so homely in.”

Clare walked to her sister and touched her pretty hair.

“You know what would be so nice, Clare? If when I met you and Maggie for a glass of wine, a waiter hit on me.”

“Honey…”

“It came to me when I saw you last week—life can be bigger than this. It can be beautiful and fun. I think I've been hiding—just afraid to take a chance. Afraid that if I emerge, I'll be out of control again.”

“Well, promise me you won't take too many chances.”

“I'm thirty-three, Clare.”

“You'll always be my little sister.”

“But I'm not made of glass. Have you any idea how taxing an exhibition is? How stressful trying to land a big sale that will keep me in business? I'm not a baby. I'm strong.”

Clare smiled at Sarah. “I guess I just don't give you enough credit. This is good,” she said, relenting. “Maggie is going to die.”

“Well, I just hope she dies of happiness and doesn't freak out.”

F
or Clare's fortieth birthday, Sarah and Maggie took her to a day spa where the three sisters indulged in massages, facials, manicures, pedicures and had their hair done. They brought along nice clothes to change into for dinner later.

Sarah had a new dress for the occasion. A sleek, dark green knit that hugged her curves and lit up her eyes. When she put it on, she was so beautiful that Clare almost wept. “The best birthday present I could possibly have is you back, Sarah. I've never seen you more stunning.”

“I've always been like a hangnail on the middle toe, standing between you two,” Sarah said.

“Does this make you happy?” Clare asked her. “This gorgeous new you?”

“I'm kind of amazed it didn't occur to me sooner—how good it might feel. Maybe tonight's the night,” she said. “Maybe a waiter will hit on me, or something.”

“Well, not so fast,” Maggie said, holding out her cell phone toward Clare. “Your phone must be turned off. It's Jason. He locked himself out of the house.”

“Well, how in the world,” she said. She spoke to him for a moment and handed the phone back to Maggie. “I'm sorry, but can we swing by the house and let him in on our way to the restaurant? He says he can't find Grandpa.”

Not a problem, they assured her. And so they went. When they got to Clare's neighborhood, there were cars parked up and down the street. “Someone's having a party,” she observed. Her house was dark and Jason was standing outside, shuffling his feet back and forth, shivering in the cold. “Sorry, Mom,” he said.

“You lose another house key?” she asked him.

“I might've,” he said.

“I swear, I'm going to have one imbedded in your head,” she said, unlocking the door for him.

The houseful of people yelled “SURPRISE” and almost knocked her off her feet. There were over thirty people in the living room. Her entire family plus some neighbors, employees from the hardware store, a couple of girlfriends she'd kept up with since high school, and there, at the back of the room by the table of food, Sam and Pete. Standing together. Not far from those two was Roger, standing next to Bob. Oh boy, she thought. This should surpass interesting.

She turned to her sisters. “How'd you do this?”

“All we had to do was manage the guest list and order the food. Dad, Bob and the kids did the rest.”

“And a very comprehensive guest list it is, too,” she said, stepping into the house. She greeted every person, including the three men who had been most on her mind lately. Someone pressed a glass of wine into her hand, which she drank perhaps a little too quickly. The stereo was cranked up, the dining room table was covered with
food and there were balloons and streamers all over the family room and kitchen. The patio doors were open and the fire pit outside was lit and flaming, around it the young people—Jason and friend, Stan, Hillary and girlfriend, Lucy, Lindsey and boyfriend, Christopher.

On her second glass of wine, she was able to actually brave a conversation with some of her more controversial guests, Roger first. “How are you, Roger?” she asked.

“I'm sorry about this, Clare. I wasn't actually invited. I just came by to wish you a happy birthday and Bob said I should stay.”

“That's okay, Roger. How's Jason taking it?”

Roger shrugged and looked toward the patio. “He's giving me a wide berth. Can I steal you away from the crowd for a second? I have something for you, and I don't want to be overheard.”

“Oh, Roger…”

“Now, don't do that to me. I know where we stand. Just come over here,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her toward the hallway, out of the earshot of guests. He pulled a small gift-wrapped box out of his pocket and said, “You should have something special for turning forty, and for putting up with me for sixteen years.”

She wouldn't take it. “I wish you hadn't…”

“Clare, call it a divorce gift. Whatever. Sell it, pawn it, I don't care. I want you to know that I'm moving on, which is what you want. Still, it just wouldn't be right for me to let it go unsaid, you were wonderful to me. I wasn't so wonderful to you and I regret that. I'd at least like us to be friends.” He pushed the box at her. “Please.”

Reluctantly, even fearfully, Clare took the small box. She opened it very slowly. Inside was an absolutely ir
resistible diamond pendant necklace on a platinum chain. “Roger, this is out of the question. Too much.”

He closed his hand over hers that held the opened box. “You deserve it. And don't worry—it's not an attempt at begging you back. By now I know—it's out of the question. Just the same, Clare. Thank you for sixteen years and a son.”

“Roger. That might be the loveliest thing you've ever said to me.”

“Hmm. Well, I regret that, too.” He looked over his shoulder toward the buffet. “I suppose I owe your young man an apology.”

“He's not my young man—we're just friends. But that would be a nice gesture. If you're up to it.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

She put her hand against his cheek. “Thank you, Roger. Not so much for the gift, but the thought. It's very nice.”

“Would you like to put it on?” he asked.

“Why not?” she said, turning for him so that he could fasten it around her neck. When that was done, she said, “Come on, I'll take you over to Sam.”

She pulled his hand and led him to the far corner near the back door where Sam stood, slowly nursing a beer. “Sam, this is Roger, who you didn't quite meet under very unfortunate circumstances.”

Roger stuck out his hand; Sam slowly and perhaps reluctantly took it. “I apologize, buddy. Terrible thing I did. Believe me, it's not habitual.”

“That's good to hear. If it were, I'd worry about you.” He looked at Clare. “Nice necklace,” he said, nodding toward the diamond.

She touched it and smiled. “Divorce bauble. Right, Roger?”

“Yeah. It seemed like the right thing to do—after all Clare has put up with from me. The least I could…”

Pete joined them and pressed a glass of wine into Clare's hand. “I noticed the birthday girl has an empty glass, and we can't have that.”

She laughed at him because she had had enough wine now to not be uncomfortable about anything. She was, in fact, growing a little giddy. “I'd better slow down—who knows what might happen.” And she hiccuped.

Across the room, Maggie took a seat next to Sarah, who was staring at Clare. Maggie stared, as well. “Look at our sister,” Maggie said. “Look at those men. Look at those three incredible men making her laugh and hanging on her every word. Lord above.”

“Yeah, but one of them is Roger,” Sarah said.

“You have to admit—they're all drop-dead gorgeous. Even Roger. When she comes out of her shell, she comes all the way out.”

It was a sight to behold—the men, so different, but certainly equally handsome. Sam had that pitch hair and dimpled smile, Pete with his light brown hair and tan face, and the blond and sadly beautiful Roger.

“It's her birthday. Think she'll pick one?” Sarah asked.

“If she has another glass of wine, she might pick all three,” Maggie said.

They stared impolitely, leaning to the side as their view was blocked by a guest passing through the room. “Isn't it amazing?” Maggie said.

“Amazing,” Sarah concurred.

But what Sarah was focused on was Sam. She'd been watching him all night. She watched how he looked at Clare. She thought there might be longing there. Perhaps sadness—it was hard to tell. What was
easy to see was that when someone didn't engage him in conversation, his eyes would drift to Clare and watch her intensely.

Well, it had only been a couple of weeks. The important thing was that Clare didn't look at him with longing. She was busy having a birthday, enjoying her party. When she did connect eyes with Sam, she smiled at him, but not in a way that suggested heartbreak.

That made it official in Sarah's eyes—Clare was finished, and Sam was healing. Sarah wouldn't mind helping him get past that. If she ever got the chance.

Clare was having fun with Roger, Pete and Sam. She'd been circulating and visiting and hadn't had more than a tiny morsel of food, so she was feeling a bit frivolous and light-headed. Then, with a sudden whack of clarity, she realized she was standing in a circle with three men she'd known in the biblical sense! Okay, she told herself, she hadn't actually been that intimate with Sam, but it had been a serious enough dalliance that she knew what he
had,
what he was capable of doing, what he almost did. Little difference. She blanched. Holy shit, she thought. Look at me! Am I crazy?

She faked a smile. “You'll have to excuse me,” she said somewhat lamely. “I should circulate.”

“Sure,” Roger said.

“Of course,” said Pete.

“Clare? I'm going to head out,” Sam said. “But thanks for including me.”

“And thanks for coming,” she said, putting out her hand.

He rejected the hand and, grabbing her upper arms, gave her a peck on the cheek. “Forty looks great on you. Happy birthday.”

 

Sam grabbed his jacket and walked out the front door. He was halfway down the sidewalk when he heard his name. “Sam?” He turned to see Sarah coming toward him. She hugged herself in the cold.

“Hey,” he said.

“I wanted to say goodbye, and thank you for coming.”

“Thanks for having me, Sarah.”

“I hope you had a good time. Clare told me that you and she…That you're not dating anymore. I thought maybe you wouldn't come, but I'm glad you did.”

“Hmm. Me, too. You know, I have to admit, I didn't even recognize you. I guess I wasn't paying much attention the other night, when we met.”

She laughed at him, but she shivered, as well. No matter, she thought. She would brave an arctic blast just to have a few minutes alone with him. Especially if she could get an insight on where he stood. “I was pretty wiped out that day. Long day of work. I didn't have time to primp or anything before meeting my sisters. I looked like hell, probably.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I think it was the glasses.”

“Oh, that. I wear them when I work long hours. To keep my eyes from getting dry, tired and itchy.”

“What is it you do? Clare probably told me and I just forgot…”

“Art. I'm an artist. I have a small shop with a studio in the back for working, and in the front I sell art supplies.”

“Yeah, I think she did mention that,” he said, and he thought, they're all beautiful, these three women. Then she smiled at him and he thought, yup. Beautiful. Lethal. This one was perhaps the prettiest. Younger than
Clare. What had she said? Seven years? She shivered again. Though he really wanted to get away, he whipped off his jacket and put it around her shoulders, then watched as she hugged it to herself. No way, he thought. I'm not about to get kicked around by another one of these women.

“Now you'll be cold,” she said.

“Actually, I have to get going. Let me get you inside before you freeze. Then I'll take my jacket and head out.” He turned her and with a hand to her back, pushed her gently toward the front door.

“You probably have a date or something.”

He laughed. “Not hardly,” he said. They were sisters. They knew everything, so why pretend? “I think there's going to be a little break in the action for me.”

She turned around and faced him. “Are you okay, Sam?” she asked.

“Sure, Sarah,” he said. He shrugged. “It takes two, you know. Apparently there was only one. So? Life goes on. But I wanted to come tonight so Clare would know there are no hard feelings.”

“That was very nice of you,” she said.

“Yeah, I'm a helluva guy.”

She slowly removed the jacket and handed it to him. “Thanks again,” she said. “See you around.” And she went in the house.

Sam went to his car, got in and drove. He didn't have the slightest idea why things didn't work out with him and women. He tried to be a gentleman; the kind of man a woman would want to be out with. It had always been important to him to put a woman's needs above his own—he hadn't had any complaints in that department. As a date, as a lover, he thought he was passably good.
Yet here he was, twenty-nine and still unattached. When he found someone he thought he could make a life with, for some reason it just didn't stick. He kept hearing that boring old line—“you could have anyone.” Being good-looking was no free pass.

Okay, there hadn't been that many. Most of the women who let him know they were attracted to him were much younger and it was he who couldn't get that interested. Cops tend to attract these giddy girls—it was the uniform. A couple of times since Molly's mom, he had been in love, or thought he was in love. There was only one long-term relationship—two years—and the end of that had been so hard on Molly that he didn't take dates home anymore. Molly had gotten attached and when Roxanne had said she was through, it hurt Molly as much as it hurt him.