She crossed her legs on the bench and looked into my eyes. She looked sympathetic, but I didn’t want to turn this into an emotional tirade. I just wanted to give her the facts and move on to a different conversation.
“We pretty much had to fend for ourselves. I was eight and she was three. At first, they only left us for a few hours, a night here or there. But in the summertime they would leave us locked in there for weeks at a time. The two of us would cry for someone to come help us, but no one ever did...”
I sighed. “By the time I was twelve, I was taking care of my little sister all by myself and just trying to keep us out of my parents’ way. I tried to stay after school as late as I could and made sure she was out the trailer as much as possible. But on one particular Friday, all the activities were canceled because of a storm, so we had to go home. When we got there, my parents were getting into a car and saying they’d be right back. We went inside as usual and they locked the door behind us. I tucked my sister into bed and was about to take a nap, but all these pots and bottles were in flames on the stove. I tried to put the fire out, but the flames only grew bigger and bigger.”
I suddenly remembered waking Hayley up, listening to her deafening screams once she saw the flames behind my back, once she realized that the flames were blocking the only door.
I locked us both in the bathroom, hoping that the neighbors would see the flames—that they would call the fire department in time to get us out. But black smoke started seeping underneath the door, and I could see the metal hinges twisting and bending in the heat.
I started throwing things at the small window that was above the toilet—soap dishes, shampoo bottles, the plunger— attempting the break it, but it wouldn’t crack.
Hayley was crying hysterically—beating her hands against the shower glass, and I was trying my best to get that damn window open. After a while I didn’t hear her erratic screams at all. She’d passed out.
“I didn’t know what to do so I just kept throwing stuff at that window. I didn’t have time to stop and help her.”
“She died?” Claire looked saddened.
“No.” I ran my hand through my hair. “I managed to get the window open by beating at it with a metal trash can. I picked her up and threw her out of it, and then I climbed out minutes before the whole trailer exploded...If I were to write about it in my bio, it would read something like: My parents left me and my little sister in an exploding meth lab alone and we were eventually separated and put in different foster homes while they served out long prison terms. That’s not something I really want my employees or competitors to know about. People are sick these days and will use anything in a smear campaign.”
“I’m so sorry...I wouldn’t have asked if—”
“It’s okay. I don’t think about it that often.”
She was quiet for several moments. “Can I ask you something else?”
“Is it something else depressing?”
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s about the women you’ve dated before.”
“Ask away.”
“Have you ever dated anyone else older than you?”
“No.”
“Any reason why?”
“I don’t need to know how old a beautiful woman is before I ask her out.” I watched her blush. “It just never happened before you. There’s no other reason.”
“And you’ve really slept with seventeen women?”
“Would it make you feel better if I lied to you about it?”
“Maybe. Try it.”
“Okay, Claire.” I tried to sound as sincere as possible. “No, I haven’t really slept with seventeen women. That’s a ridiculous number...I made that up to seem like I was more experienced than I was. The truth is, I was a virgin when we first met. But I knew that the moment I saw you and heard a few words come out of your smart ass mouth, that it was you that I wanted to lose my virginity to. I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I cried after the first time we—”
“You’re so full of it.” She playfully hit my shoulder and I pulled her close to me.
“I don’t lie.” I ran my fingers across her soft lips. “Unlike some people I know...” I stifled her laugh with a kiss and laid her against the park bench, but she suddenly jumped up.
“Oh my god...” she said as she shook her head. “I knew we should’ve left earlier...”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Claire? Mr. Statham?” Mr. Henderson, one of the campaign directors, stopped running right in front of us and took out his ear-buds. “You two are here...together?” He raised his eyebrow.
Claire sighed and looked like she was about to say something, but I stood up. “Not at all, Mr. Henderson. I saw Miss Gracen running by and asked her to sit with me for a minute. Do all directors meet here on Saturday mornings? Am I keeping her away from the rest of the group?”
“Oh, not at all.” He shook his head. “But I may have to start coming here more often...Claire, I had no idea you ran. Maybe we can run here together sometime?”
This secret dating shit isn’t going to work for too much longer...