Page 40 of Hard to Kill
I feel the urge to ask her if she has lost a bet.
The living room is as spectacular as I remember it. I take a seat on one of the couches. She’s across from me on another one, a truly magnificent antique mahogany coffee table between us.
“Why were you over in North Haven, Claire?”
I don’t know how I expect her to respond, by acting defensive, or simply denying it without knowing what proof I have. But she surprises me a second time. She suddenly and quite unexpectedly appears to be on the verge of tears.
“I’d heard they’d started up again before he turned himself in,” she says, “and I just couldn’t take that. I don’t know why they were the ones to push me over the edge. But they were. And I just wanted to see if I could find out for myself.”
“You mean find out if he’d hooked up with Elise?”
“Or Ellie. Or, knowing them and their weird tastes and knowing my husband’s, perhaps both of them at the same time.”
She smiles weakly at me. At least no tears for now. I’m notsure how I’d deal with that. I’m having enough trouble processing the fact that she’s acting like a human being in front of me, really for the first time.
“Kind of Rob’s thing, mothers and daughters,” she says, not sounding judgmental, just profoundly weary. Or just sad. “I wanted to see for myself, even if it made me feel like a stalker.”
“But he’s not allowed to leave the rented house without his ankle bracelet.”
“Knowing my husband, I thought that where there was a will, there was a way.”
And in this moment, I picture myself in the old days, night after night outside Café Martin around closing time, looking for the chance to see who my ex-husband might be leaving with on a particular evening. When I was the one who felt like a stalker. And a little bit crazy.
A sigh comes out of Claire now, loud and genuine. Like more sadness coming out of her. “I finally got back in the car, realizing how truly pathetic I must look.”
Been there,I think.
Done that.
A single tear appears on one cheek now. Just the one. She brushes it away, as if it’s one more embarrassment, even beyond the story she’s telling.
Definitely a human being.
One I almost find myself wanting to like.
“I still love him,” she says in a soft voice. Whether she’s talking to herself or to me doesn’t seem to matter in the moment. “I’m not sure I know him anymore.” She shakes her head, her eyes fixed on some point behind me, maybe some of the amazing artwork on the wall. “But I still love him. Can you understand that? Or do you just want to laugh at me?”
“Actually, I can understand it. And have absolutely no desire to laugh at you.”
“He’s not a killer,” she says, eyes fixed on me again. “Rob is a lot of things. A lot of quite unattractive things sometimes, as you know. But he’s not a killer.”
“You haven’t always acted as if you believed that, Claire.”
“But, in my heart, I think I always did, no matter how angry I was during the first trial. At him and at you.”
I’ve assumed all along from her behavior that she couldn’t wait to divorce him and walk away with pretty much everything she wanted.
Not feeling so sure about that now.
Because here Claire Jacobson is, in the house they once shared, defending him.
Telling me how much she still loves him.
“There’s something else,” she says. “Something that you need to know.”
I try to soften my own voice, as if trying to make sure the two of us are at perfect pitch.
“What’s that, Claire?”