The Christmas Wedding - James Patterson [30]
Hank was all charm, but Claire was not about to fall for it, not the way she had so many times before. She knew the routine by heart. Hank cleaned himself up, transformed himself into the perfect gentleman, looked as young as one of the surfers over at the Grand Strand Beach.
“Get a plate, Daddy,” said Gabrielle, laughing at Hank’s sloppiness.
Then Claire finally spoke: “You’re going to have to leave, Hank.”
“Aw, c’mon, Claire. It’s Christmas,” he said.
Then Hank managed to transport the entire portion of baked macaroni from his hand to his mouth.
“No, Hank. This is it.”
He swallowed the huge mouthful before he spoke again. The pause was effective, and excruciating for her.
“Claire. I got the message. I got the news. I’ve been a total jerk, but it’s going to be different from now on. Okay? I got it.”
She knew this conversation should not be taking place in front of the children, but she also knew she could not back down now.
“No, it’s not okay,” she said.
“Mom, give the dude a break,” Gus said.
“Yeah, Claire. Give this dude a friggin’ break,” Hank said.
“Get out, Hank. Get out now. You’re not welcome here anymore.”
Hank stood up and wiped his hand on Toby’s napkin. For a moment Claire thought that he might come at her with a fist or a fork or a knife. Instead he walked to the door.
“Good night, guys,” he said. “Merry Christmas to one and all.”
All three children said “Merry Christmas” in voices soft and nervous. And all Claire could think was I hope I have the brains to give myself a great Christmas gift. I hope I have the strength not to let him back. But as she looked at Toby’s and Gabrielle’s gloomy faces, as she watched the quiver of their lips as they held back tears, Claire wasn’t sure she would have the guts to see this through to the end.
But she had to—she had to have the guts.
Chapter 35
“TELL YOUR BROTHER I want him down here in ten seconds or less,” Claire said to Toby.
It was eight o’clock on a damp Carolina morning, the day after Hank’s dinnertime visit. Claire, Toby, and Gabrielle were packing the truck for the long drive to Massachusetts. Claire would be at the wheel, Gus would be riding shotgun, and the twins would be stuck in the jump seats.
“Tell your brother we’re ready to leave,” Claire repeated.
Toby screamed at the top of his lungs: “Gussssss! Mom said get down here! We’re ready to go!”
“I meant go upstairs and tell him to come down,” Claire said. “Go on, now. Scoot. I’m waiting on you both.”
Then she did what any mother would do—she took out her cell phone and telephoned Gus.
“Gus, I told you that I want to make central Jersey before it gets dark, and we’re not going to do it unless we leave right now.”
There was a pause. She clicked the phone shut, mumbled the phrase “Son of a bitch,” and ran inside, passing Toby along the way.
“We’re leaving,” she shouted outside Gus’s room. “Right now, young man. Toby—get in the truck!”
“Go ahead without me,” she heard Gus say.
“Get out here now.”
“I’m not going,” he shouted back. “I’ll go stay with Dad.”
“I swear…I’ll break this door down.”
“Go ahead.”
Claire took a deep breath, rubbed her face, and went downstairs and outside. Toby and Gabrielle, rapt, watched her unhook the side compartment of the truck where the spare tire was kept. The twins were wide-eyed as she walked back inside the house.
She was carrying a tire iron.
At Gus’s bedroom door, she said, “Last warning.”
Gus replied, “Get the fuck away.”
And that did it. She held the tire iron high and smashed it against the door.
The wood began to splinter. Claire landed blow after blow after blow with the tire iron. There was now a hole in the door that was larger than her head. Through that hole she saw a very frightened-looking Gus.
“Are you ready now?” she said.
“Yes,” he said softly.
“We’ll be in the truck.”
She walked down the stairs. By the time she reached the kitchen she realized that her hands were shaking and that her eyes were tearing up. I’m a mess, she thought. I’m an