Clara grimaced. "You ate him?"
"I was starving from the change. And, well, my body is truly more a snake's than a human's now, dear. I eat live or freshly killed whole animals."
Clara frowned. "I remember - something, I think."
Joan nodded. "You didn't see me eat him, but you saw me bite him. And you were quite the little warrior; you gave me a punch or two in the nose."
"I did?" Clara tried to picture it - a tiny girl pitting herself against this huge snake creature. It didn't seem likely.
"Mmmm. And, Clara," tears filled the woman's eyes, "I came far too close to striking out at you as I had Frou Frou. It terrified me. To harm you, or through neglect let you come to harm, was my single worst nightmare."
"Are you trying to say you left to protect me?"
Joan winced at Clara's tone. "I know I failed you. You can't know how many times I've wished I had made a different choice. But you see, I'd had no experience with courage or self-restraint. And I didn't know then what I'd become. I didn't trust myself not to harm you. So - " she spread her arms in a helpless gesture. "I left Brandon to care for you. Much as we despised each other, I knew he adored you, and would take care of you. But God how I've wished I had made another choice."
It was Joan's turn to break down and cry. Clara extended her kerchief and Joan took it.
After a long moment, in which they both sat without speaking or looking at each other, Clara said, "This is an awful lot to absorb."
Joan laughed shakily, dabbing at her eyes. "Oh, my dear, it most certainly is."
Clara stood and picked up her purse. She hesitated feeling awkward. "I appreciate your agreeing to see me."
Joan gave her a smile of great sadness. "I hope to see you again. You are always welcome here. Always."
"Thank you."
"And Clara - I want you to know that I love you. I'm very proud of the woman you've become."
Clara gave her a little, bleak smile. "But you don't know what I've become."
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
The flat nasal blat of an endlessly ringing phone. Five rings, and the answering machine finally cut in again. "Hello, you've reached 993-2323, leave a message." No warmth, quick, level, professional. Like the first impression of Clara. Finn knew the nuances of the voice now. How her eyes could warm, smile and sparkle. The annoying bleat of the message signal.
"Hi, it's me. Either you're feeling better and you're not home, or you've died. You better not have died. I'll bring Chinese - no MSG - around six. Okay? If it's not okay, call. Otherwise, I'm descending."
Finn hung up the phone. Felt giddy. Felt silly. Felt sixteen again. You're weird, he thought, most people don't find vomit a turn on. But it wasn't that. It was the fact she had trusted him. Allowed him to see her at her most vulnerable. Clung to him when sickness washed over her. Then the cynical, armored side marched in, and wondered if he was overreacting to the night. Had she really known it was him caring for her? If she hadn't been quite so sick she would probably have preferred a different nurse. One of her own kind.
There was a knock. "Come in," Finn bellowed.
Cody entered, settled on the sofa, lit a cigarette. "You look like I feel."
"Well, you may be drawing an erroneous conclusion. 'Cause while I may look like shit, I feet great."
"Happy mind. Tired body."
"Yeah," Finn agreed.
"I didn't see you at the block party," Cody said.
"What time did you arrive?"
"Chris and I wandered over around seven."
"Clara and I had moved along by then."
Cody cocked an eyebrow at him. "And how 'far along' did you move?"
Finn felt himself blush. "Well, not that damn far. She got a headache."
Cody gave him one of her ironic looks, and he groaned with embarrassment. "Not that kind of a headache. I mean serious migraine. I took her home. I stayed."
"The things you men will do to get laid."
Finn swallowed his anger. It bothered him to have Cody reducing what he felt to mere sex. But his tone was light when he said, "Hey, in my case that's a lot. It don't happen enough for me to get blase."
Cody stood, stretched, closed her eyes briefly. "Be careful, Bradley. I'm fond of you."
"Cody, what's wrong?"
She kept her back to him. Waved a hand helplessly in the air. "My kid wants to go to school at Harvard. Wants me to get a 'real' job. Something that won't embarrass him, hurt his chances to get into one of these Ivy League shit holes. When did my kid grow up and become a bigot?"
Finn came around behind her. Laid a hand on her shoulder. "He'll outgrow it. We always do."
"Not when the whole world makes it acceptable, preferable to tolerance." She turned back to face him. "So, when I see you falling for a nat, I worry."
"Thanks, Cody, but I'm not expecting anything."
She smiled sadly, brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. "Yes you are, that's why I love you. You never stop wanting and hoping and believing." She leaned in, kissed him softly on the lips, and left.
Left Finn confused and breathless and more than a little sad.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
She got home at five twenty. Bradley had left another message on the machine, threatening to show up with Chinese food. But there was still enough time to call and tell him not to come. If she called right now. She orbited the phone, picked it up, put it back down.
She picked up her ancient, broken china doll, dropped onto the couch, tucked a leg under herself, and cradled it in her hands. The eyes opened and closed, click, click, as she rocked it back and forth. Bradley's face lingered in her mind like a touch.
He hardly knew her. She'd taken the position he'd so coveted - and then been barely this side of unpleasant with him for weeks. And yet, all last night, he'd stayed with her. Wiped her brow, cleaned up her messes, helped her to the restroom, held her hand. He'd been a perfect gentleman. And he hadn't abandoned her to her pain.
And he was a true philanthropist. He used his own power to buoy up those around him, not to trample them underfoot. She'd watched him with the patients and staff at the clinic: a word or look from him smoothed troubles like balm. And she'd seen the looks on those teenagers' faces when he'd spoken at the high school. He'd given them hope. At the spring festival, people's spirits were lifted by the celebration he'd organized, and by his presence.
And his face was such a transmitter of his moods - no secretiveness, no deception. If it was on his mind, it was on his face. With all the deceptions she was unearthing in her life, that seemed quite a comely characteristic.
Bradley Latour Finn. Wild card victim. No - wild card survivor. He'd made a lie of all her principles ... because those lofty principles had been built on a huge, stinking pile of prejudices and fears.
Bradley Latour Finn. Clara had been involved with any number of men, and she knew a good one when she found him.
She was falling in love with him. And that terrified her.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
She was waiting when he arrived with a bag of Chinese food. The General Tso's chicken had started to leak, filling the room with its pungent scent, and making his palm sticky as he tried to keep the bottom from collapsing out of the sack.
Before he could maneuver for the kitchen, Clara shyly took his hand, and pressed it (sauce and all) against her cheek. She then kissed him on the cheek. Quickly, gently on the lips, then hid her face against his shoulder. General Tso's chicken slid with a plop onto the floor.
She mumbled something against his neck. Her voice was thick with unshed tears.
"Sweetie, what is it? What's happened?"
"My mother. My mother's alive."
Finn felt stupid, like a kid involved in a game where he didn't know the rules. He hadn't known her mother was dead. Or supposed to be dead.