Claire slammed her fist on the hostess stand and the woman startled. “That isn’t like my husband. He wouldn’t do something like this. You clearly took advantage of him.”
The stripper shook her head and sighed, seeming exhausted. “You know what? You think your husband’s an angel?” She took a step forward, fire in her eyes. “At least half the guys who come in here have wedding bands on.” She paused. “You’re not special.”
You’re not special. The words rang in Claire’s ears and suddenly she felt light-headed. They cut through her posturing, her belief in her husband’s goodness, her determination to lay blame elsewhere. This happened all the time. Gavin wasn’t some man who’d been seduced by another woman, and she wasn’t his beloved wife—she was just some pathetic woman whose husband’s attention had strayed. Her knees wobbled and she leaned against the hostess stand. Why was she here? What was she doing?
“Look, are you okay, lady?” the girl asked, softening.
Claire bit her lip and nodded, trying not to cry. She wouldn’t be that pathetic.
The woman put her hand on Claire’s shoulder and sighed. “You look like you’re gonna pass out. Come on,” she said, grabbing a packet of cigarettes and lighter from behind the hostess stand and leading her outside.
Claire and the woman sat down on the bench outside the building. She looked younger in the daylight, about Claire’s age—in another life, she could’ve been one of Claire’s friends. Claire put her head in her hands. “What am I doing?” she moaned.
The woman patted her on the shoulder. “It’ll be all right, hon.”
Claire sat back up. “What’s your name?”
“Kimmy,” she said. “Yours?”
“Claire.”
Kimmy offered her a cigarette, but Claire shook her head. “Look, Claire,” Kimmy said in an even and understanding tone. “I get that you’re upset. You’re not the first wife to come stompin’ in here looking to start a fight. But we’re all just trying to pay the bills here, not steal husbands.” She inhaled her cigarette.
Claire nodded, a lump forming in her throat. She took her engagement ring off and began fiddling with it. The small solitaire diamond stared back at her. She thought about all the good, thoughtful things Gavin did: How he always had a cup of coffee ready for her each morning. How he’d make sure her cell phone was charging before she went to bed because she always forgot. How he’d sometimes take her car to be filled up with gas so she didn’t have to make an extra stop. She paused, trying to figure out why someone who did all those things would be coming to a strip club. Did he not find her sexy anymore?
“I’m sorry I blamed you,” she said finally. “You’re right—it’s not your fault he’s coming here. It’s definitely his. But maybe it’s also mine.”
Kimmy glanced over at her, her brows raised. “What in the world are you talking about, your fault?
Claire sighed, feeling defeated. “He’s obviously not happy in our marriage, and I have to partly blame myself,” she confessed. “It’s a two-way street.”
Kimmy scoffed. “That’s bullshit, you know that, right?” She ashed her cigarette. “If the wives were to blame for every single married man who comes in here, I’d lose hope in our gender.” Kimmy shook her head and then took another drag. “Seriously, don’t take this personally. Be mad, fine, but don’t beat yourself up over it.”
Claire lowered her eyes to her tightly clasped hands. It was easy for this girl to tell her it wasn’t her fault, but Claire didn’t know what else to think. She was furious with Gavin, of course, but a part of her felt sure that if she’d just spent more time working out, or doing her makeup, or trying to spend intimate time with him . . . things would be different.
She got an idea and grabbed a piece of paper from her bag, scribbling her phone number on it. Before Kimmy could say anything, Claire pulled out her phone and showed her the lock-screen picture of her family, taken in the church parking lot. Their faces smiled as brightly as the sun that was hitting their eyes. She sighed and pointed to Gavin as she said her next words. “Will you call me if this guy comes back?”
Kimmy stared down at the pink and green monogrammed sticky note and winced. “I feel for you, Claire, but I can’t do this,” she said, trying to hand it back. “It’s against club rules.”
“Please?” Claire begged. If she knew the next time Gavin was here, maybe she could confront him in a more meaningful way. And maybe, just maybe, if she concentrated for real on improving their marriage, Kimmy would never have to use that number.
Kimmy looked at her hesitantly, then sighed and grabbed the piece of paper.
“Thank you,” Claire said. She stood up, brushing off her jeans.
Kimmy folded up the piece of paper and held it tightly in her hand. The girls nodded at each other, and Claire walked to her car, shaking even more than when she first arrived. With trembling fingers, she opened her phone and fired off a tweet.
@Pastor_Gavin: “You want real change in the world? Look in the mirror and start with yourself. #BeTheDifference.”
30
laura
“WHERE ARE YOU taking me?” Laura asked Brian as she threw her backpack in the backseat of Rob’s Ford F-150. “Your text was so cryptic.”
He had messaged her during lunch that day as she and Vince were having a heated debate about the best snow cone flavors (Laura insisted on wedding cake, Vince was a root beer guy). Her phone buzzed just as she was about to propose a taste test at Sal’s Sno-Cones that afternoon. It was almost as if Brian knew she was making plans with another guy. . . .
“I just wanted to spend some alone time with my girl,” he said, his muscular arm draped over the steering wheel.
Laura looked out the window and rolled her eyes. They’d barely talked all week. She’d taken to stopping at the local library when she wasn’t working at the Sea Shack to finish her homework, not heading back to the Landrys’ until she knew Janet and Rob would be in bed. Then she’d slip under the covers and turn off the lights before Brian could ask her how her day was. She’d also gone to Gulf Coast Bank and opened her own bank account. There was a measly $131 in it, but it was all hers.
The ride was quiet, save for the country music on the radio. She gazed out the window, watching as they passed sky-high cedar and pine trees. They turned down an unmarked dirt road, the loose bits of gravel hitting the bottom of the truck with steady metallic pings.
“Here we are,” he said, slowly getting down from the truck.
Laura opened the door and realized they were at an access point for Darby Lake. Rob’s fishing boat was docked a few yards away, bobbing in the light waves. Laura felt a sudden rush of nostalgia; this was the place where Brian had proposed. She glanced up at him. He was staring at her nervously, his dirty blond hair newly cut, his hands in his back pockets. It was a smart move, reminding her how happy they’d been that day.