Indiscretion

“Speak for yourself, fatso,” says Maddy, punching him playfully in the arm. Actually, both of them look great for their age. I, on the other hand, look every one of my forty-two years.

We see Claire on the other side of the bonfire and watch as she stumbles and nearly falls. Andrew helps her, and she hangs on his arm, laughing. Have I said she has beautiful teeth?

“She does look pretty sozzled,” says Harry. “Do you think we should do something?”

“I’ll go over and talk to her,” says Maddy. “You two stay here.”

Across the fire I can see Maddy speaking with her. The boy stands sheepishly off to the side. Maddy has a hand on Claire’s shoulder. Claire is shaking her head, attempting to back away. But it is very hard to say no to Maddy.

They come back. “Harry, do you mind driving Claire back to Walter’s?”

“Please,” protests Claire. “I’m fine. Please. I don’t want Harry to drive me back.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” It’s Andrew.

I step in and tell him in my most lawyerly voice that he should probably get the hell out of there.

“Don’t make me,” Claire shouts. “Maddy, can you drive me instead?”

“It’s okay,” says Maddy. “We need to help clean up.” Maddy hates driving at night. Her eyes aren’t as good as they used to be, and she dislikes wearing glasses.

“Come on, Claire,” says Harry gently. He puts his hand on her arm.

She pulls it away. “Leave me alone.”

She starts walking unsteadily to the parking lot, Harry following. “I’ll be right back,” he says.

By the car she is sick.

“Oh god,” she says. “I’m sorry. I’m such an idiot.”

He tells her not to worry. We’ve all been there. He offers her his handkerchief, and then insists she wear his sweater when he sees she is shivering. “Are you all right, or do you think you’ll be sick again?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’ll be fine,” she answers, her voice faint.

On the way back, she is weeping softly, embarrassed and anxious. Harry asks if she’s all right. Why is she so upset? Claire says she doesn’t want to talk about it. He says that it’s all right, they’re friends. If it’s something he can help with, he’d be happy to.

“I’m in love with you,” she blurts. “There, I’ve said it. I’m sorry.”

He laughs and tells her that it’s only the liquor talking.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she says.

He tries to reassure her. That he is not laughing at her.

“Stop the car,” she says calmly. “I think I have to throw up again.”

He pulls over, headlights illuminating the road ahead. The houses slumbering. She jumps out and instead of being sick starts running across a field in the dark. Harry curses under his breath, gets out and runs after her, yelling at her to stop. She is barefoot, and he catches her easily. Panicked like an animal, she tries to escape, twisting her body and swinging at him with her little fists. He grabs her wrists. She is gasping for breath and sobbing about how stupid she is, that he should go away. He tries to soothe her, telling her to calm down, saying what a wonderful, beautiful girl she is. She embraces him fiercely, still sobbing. He strokes her hair. She looks up at him, and he looks down at her.

Her face rises to his, her lips on his, her tongue in his mouth. “Make love to me,” she pleads, placing his hand on her breast. Immediately she can feel him hardening. “I love you. I need you. Now. Here.”

But he does not. “I can’t,” he says. “I’m married. I love my wife. Don’t do this.”

“But what about me?” she asks. “Do you love me?”

“You’re a beautiful girl,” he says. “You shouldn’t be doing this. I’m married.”

“I can’t help myself,” she says. “I need you. Please.”

“Claire, for God’s sake. Don’t make this more difficult than it already is. We should go. Come with me. Please.” He holds out his hand, but she refuses it, walking past him to the car.

They drive in silence. There is nothing to say. He gets out of the car to open her door but she is already out and heading toward my house, the key under the mat. She says nothing.