sanity.”
“Like slow-acting poison,” Jackie said under her breath.
“Do you think I should come completely clean with Michael?” Claire asked after a moment. “Tell him everything, and pray for the best?”
Jackie looked through concerned red eyes at her before answering. “I’m not sure he needs all of the details at this point.” She dispensed a tissue from the band of her sleeve to Claire. “Eventually, maybe, but men are different. They don’t always crave the information and minutiae we do. The broad facts, yes, but . . .”
“The fact is I did something neither of us could have ever imagined me doing. I still can’t believe it. And I’d give anything to undo it all. For Nicky to just wake up and be okay.” She looked in the direction of Nick’s room and saw a trail of attendants, could hear the zip of curtains being drawn. “I don’t know how I’m going to face Michael.”
Jackie inched in closer and lowered her voice. “How well do you know this Bricker character?”
Claire smirked, shaking her head.
“I mean, do you think he’ll keep things quiet about the two of you if Michael tries to string him up for the drugs? It would certainly be in his best interest.”
“Maybe Andrew will just disappear. Maybe he’s already on a plane back to New York.”
“Right. And maybe the story just stops with the coke having accidentally fallen out of his pocket, Claire.”
“But Nicky saw us together in the library. He saw the bedroom.”
“I don’t mean to be indelicate here, sweetie, but,” she squeezed Claire’s hands tightly again, “it’s possible that Nick might be confused when he wakes up, right? What you and Michael need to focus on right now is Nicky’s recovery. Help each other get through that. There will be plenty of time for the whys and wherefores later.”
Claire stared into her sister’s unwavering eyes, trying not to go down such a dark alley. “I’m a horrible liar, Jackie. You know that.”
“That’s a whole other Oprah,” Jackie said, smiling softly and shaking her head. “And I can’t believe I just gave you such Mother-like counsel. But occasionally Cora does come up with some winners. Very occasionally.”
They both laughed through their tears over the harebrained advice their mother regularly bestowed over the years, the momentary distraction bringing a guilty levity to the otherwise grave scene. Claire wiped her eyes. “So what do I do then? What would you do?”
“Well, I don’t think you should lie, Claire. I just don’t think you should be generous with the truth either at this point. Omission isn’t the worst thing under the circumstances.”
“I don’t expect Michael to forgive me. I don’t know that I could forgive him, but maybe if he just understood that—”
“Do you understand, Claire?” Jackie asked, her confidently questioning expression hinting at an established theory of her own.
She rubbed Nicholas’s paper towel square, searching. “I . . . I . . . no. I just lost my bearings. Or my mind. Jesus, I could never even color outside the lines, and the one time I’m impulsive in my entire appropriate, rule-following life, look what happens,” she wept. “Look what I’ve done.”
“Michael isn’t going to care about that. He’s my brother-in-law, and I love him to bits, but . . .” Jackie paused, looking around the long, mauve-flowered room, as if searching for her words on the walls. “He’s definitely on the emotionally constipated end of the spectrum.”
Claire slumped in her chair.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be harsh, but you know he’s not going to get the emotional piece. Think about all the times we’ve joked”—Jackie placed the word in air quotes, emphasizing the not-so-funniness of their longstanding jibes—“about Michael’s allergy to peoples’ feelings . You just need to keep him focused on Nick’s recovery right now. Go with the broadest of facts, and then let things fall where they
“Like slow-acting poison,” Jackie said under her breath.
“Do you think I should come completely clean with Michael?” Claire asked after a moment. “Tell him everything, and pray for the best?”
Jackie looked through concerned red eyes at her before answering. “I’m not sure he needs all of the details at this point.” She dispensed a tissue from the band of her sleeve to Claire. “Eventually, maybe, but men are different. They don’t always crave the information and minutiae we do. The broad facts, yes, but . . .”
“The fact is I did something neither of us could have ever imagined me doing. I still can’t believe it. And I’d give anything to undo it all. For Nicky to just wake up and be okay.” She looked in the direction of Nick’s room and saw a trail of attendants, could hear the zip of curtains being drawn. “I don’t know how I’m going to face Michael.”
Jackie inched in closer and lowered her voice. “How well do you know this Bricker character?”
Claire smirked, shaking her head.
“I mean, do you think he’ll keep things quiet about the two of you if Michael tries to string him up for the drugs? It would certainly be in his best interest.”
“Maybe Andrew will just disappear. Maybe he’s already on a plane back to New York.”
“Right. And maybe the story just stops with the coke having accidentally fallen out of his pocket, Claire.”
“But Nicky saw us together in the library. He saw the bedroom.”
“I don’t mean to be indelicate here, sweetie, but,” she squeezed Claire’s hands tightly again, “it’s possible that Nick might be confused when he wakes up, right? What you and Michael need to focus on right now is Nicky’s recovery. Help each other get through that. There will be plenty of time for the whys and wherefores later.”
Claire stared into her sister’s unwavering eyes, trying not to go down such a dark alley. “I’m a horrible liar, Jackie. You know that.”
“That’s a whole other Oprah,” Jackie said, smiling softly and shaking her head. “And I can’t believe I just gave you such Mother-like counsel. But occasionally Cora does come up with some winners. Very occasionally.”
They both laughed through their tears over the harebrained advice their mother regularly bestowed over the years, the momentary distraction bringing a guilty levity to the otherwise grave scene. Claire wiped her eyes. “So what do I do then? What would you do?”
“Well, I don’t think you should lie, Claire. I just don’t think you should be generous with the truth either at this point. Omission isn’t the worst thing under the circumstances.”
“I don’t expect Michael to forgive me. I don’t know that I could forgive him, but maybe if he just understood that—”
“Do you understand, Claire?” Jackie asked, her confidently questioning expression hinting at an established theory of her own.
She rubbed Nicholas’s paper towel square, searching. “I . . . I . . . no. I just lost my bearings. Or my mind. Jesus, I could never even color outside the lines, and the one time I’m impulsive in my entire appropriate, rule-following life, look what happens,” she wept. “Look what I’ve done.”
“Michael isn’t going to care about that. He’s my brother-in-law, and I love him to bits, but . . .” Jackie paused, looking around the long, mauve-flowered room, as if searching for her words on the walls. “He’s definitely on the emotionally constipated end of the spectrum.”
Claire slumped in her chair.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be harsh, but you know he’s not going to get the emotional piece. Think about all the times we’ve joked”—Jackie placed the word in air quotes, emphasizing the not-so-funniness of their longstanding jibes—“about Michael’s allergy to peoples’ feelings . You just need to keep him focused on Nick’s recovery right now. Go with the broadest of facts, and then let things fall where they
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