Jackie yearned to reach out and steal him away. Clara’s proprietary hold on his hand reminded her that it wasn’t her place. “I thought you were sick,” was all she found to say, forcing the words past the knot of confusion and embarrassment that seemed lodged in her throat.
Clara waved that aside. “So I played hooky for one day. Not like the office fell apart without me, is it?” She laughed. It wasn’t so far from the truth—one cog gone and a machine that had run perfectly on inertia before seemed suddenly to be teetering on the brink of collapse. In her short time there, Clara seemed to have created a semi-efficient system for dealing with planned and not-so-planned eventualities, a system that broke down completely if she wasn’t there to sustain it. In a couple of short months, she had made their entire department entirely dependent on her presence. She was more than a cog in the machine—she was the machine.
Their wine was brought out and poured, much to Jackie’s relief, and she took shelter behind the first glass. Frustratingly, Clara had picked a white Italian wine, something light and perfect for the season. It annoyed Jackie to find that she liked it from the first sip.
“What do you do, Marten?” Clara asked, smiling blithely while everyone else squirmed. “Jackie must have said, but my memory’s all—”
“Cut the crap.”
If the interruption had come from Jackie, the temperature around the table might have dropped a couple of degrees. Marten might have clamped his hand tight over her knee to prevent a public catfight. But he didn’t. It was Tony who’d spoken up, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced at Clara even as he seemed to try to shuffle that much farther away from her without leaving his seat. “Tell them why you brought them here and let’s go.” He didn’t look at Jackie or Marten—it was as if he couldn’t see them.
Clara’s lips pursed tightly, her pale lipstick flaring her as she dug teeth into her bottom lip to scrape it off. The smile slipped like a mask. “Well…if you insist.” She was a different woman when she faced Jackie and Marten once more. “It’s simple, really. You don’t call or email or text. You don’t send carrier pigeons or smoke signals. You forget you and Tony ever knew each other. And we all get on with our lives.”
“Is that a threat?” Jackie asked, surprised to hear her voice so low and even.
“It’s a friendly warning. Tony is mine and you two were a distraction. Now that’s over—”
“It’s not,” Jackie interjected, glancing briefly towards Tony in search of support. There was a twitch in his jaw, but nothing more. He wasn’t going to speak out about this. She couldn’t understand why. “You don’t get to make decisions for him, Clara. And you certainly don’t get to threaten us.”
Her fists were coiling tight beneath the table. The last time she’d had to defend a loved one, it had been Christmas of 2011 and her parents had implied Marten wasn’t serious about her because he hadn’t proposed marriage yet. This was so much worse.
“Excellent advice,” Clara drawled. “You should follow it.” She gave Tony’s fingers a squeeze. “Well? Tell them, darling. Who do you love most?”
His teeth were gritted, his eyes downcast, but Tony still answered, “You.”
Every bone in Jackie’s body ached with the distress in his voice. But Clara wasn’t finished, “And who commands you, darling?”
“You do,” Tony said, the words heavy like the stroke of a gavel.
Clara turned to them, triumphant. “See?”
“See what?” Jackie shot back. “Other than you being super creepy, that is.”
“Proof that Tony is no longer your problem to deal with.”
Marten, who had been silent until then, shook his head. “He was never a problem.” To Tony, he added, “If you’d like to come home with us, we can…”
“He can’t,” Clara said, almost at the same time that Tony himself mouthed, ‘ I
Clara waved that aside. “So I played hooky for one day. Not like the office fell apart without me, is it?” She laughed. It wasn’t so far from the truth—one cog gone and a machine that had run perfectly on inertia before seemed suddenly to be teetering on the brink of collapse. In her short time there, Clara seemed to have created a semi-efficient system for dealing with planned and not-so-planned eventualities, a system that broke down completely if she wasn’t there to sustain it. In a couple of short months, she had made their entire department entirely dependent on her presence. She was more than a cog in the machine—she was the machine.
Their wine was brought out and poured, much to Jackie’s relief, and she took shelter behind the first glass. Frustratingly, Clara had picked a white Italian wine, something light and perfect for the season. It annoyed Jackie to find that she liked it from the first sip.
“What do you do, Marten?” Clara asked, smiling blithely while everyone else squirmed. “Jackie must have said, but my memory’s all—”
“Cut the crap.”
If the interruption had come from Jackie, the temperature around the table might have dropped a couple of degrees. Marten might have clamped his hand tight over her knee to prevent a public catfight. But he didn’t. It was Tony who’d spoken up, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced at Clara even as he seemed to try to shuffle that much farther away from her without leaving his seat. “Tell them why you brought them here and let’s go.” He didn’t look at Jackie or Marten—it was as if he couldn’t see them.
Clara’s lips pursed tightly, her pale lipstick flaring her as she dug teeth into her bottom lip to scrape it off. The smile slipped like a mask. “Well…if you insist.” She was a different woman when she faced Jackie and Marten once more. “It’s simple, really. You don’t call or email or text. You don’t send carrier pigeons or smoke signals. You forget you and Tony ever knew each other. And we all get on with our lives.”
“Is that a threat?” Jackie asked, surprised to hear her voice so low and even.
“It’s a friendly warning. Tony is mine and you two were a distraction. Now that’s over—”
“It’s not,” Jackie interjected, glancing briefly towards Tony in search of support. There was a twitch in his jaw, but nothing more. He wasn’t going to speak out about this. She couldn’t understand why. “You don’t get to make decisions for him, Clara. And you certainly don’t get to threaten us.”
Her fists were coiling tight beneath the table. The last time she’d had to defend a loved one, it had been Christmas of 2011 and her parents had implied Marten wasn’t serious about her because he hadn’t proposed marriage yet. This was so much worse.
“Excellent advice,” Clara drawled. “You should follow it.” She gave Tony’s fingers a squeeze. “Well? Tell them, darling. Who do you love most?”
His teeth were gritted, his eyes downcast, but Tony still answered, “You.”
Every bone in Jackie’s body ached with the distress in his voice. But Clara wasn’t finished, “And who commands you, darling?”
“You do,” Tony said, the words heavy like the stroke of a gavel.
Clara turned to them, triumphant. “See?”
“See what?” Jackie shot back. “Other than you being super creepy, that is.”
“Proof that Tony is no longer your problem to deal with.”
Marten, who had been silent until then, shook his head. “He was never a problem.” To Tony, he added, “If you’d like to come home with us, we can…”
“He can’t,” Clara said, almost at the same time that Tony himself mouthed, ‘ I
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