Jennifer. She scrambled to her feet when she saw Claire, and blurted, "What are you doing here?" Her eyes were red, and she sniffled and swiped angrily at her eyes, smearing mascara and ruining what was left of her makeup. She had freckles. Claire had never known that.
"Saving your friend," Claire said. "I hope."
It took three days for the lab to work out a counteragent, but once they did, Monica came off the ventilator within hours. Or so Claire heard from Richard Morrell, who dropped by on Wednesday night, as the four of them -- Shane being finally released from the hospital -- were sitting down to dinner.
"I'm glad she's going to be okay," Claire said. "Richard -- I'm sorry. If I'd known -- "
"You're lucky that stuff didn't fry you too," he said, but without any real heat. "Look, my sister isn't the best person I've ever met, but I love her. Thanks for helping."
Claire nodded. Michael was nearby, seeming to be just lounging but, she knew, ready to step in if Richard went postal. Not that Richard would. So far, he was the best-adjusted Morrell she'd met.
"Don't come by the hospital," Richard continued. "I'm trying to convince her you weren't out to kill her. If you show up, I may not be able to keep a lid on things. As it is -- " He shifted uncomfortably and looked away. "Just watch your back, Claire."
"She doesn't need to," Eve said, and put her arm around Claire's shoulders. "Tell your sister, if she messes with Claire, she messes with all of us."
Richard's expression went deliberately bland. "I'm sure that'll terrify her," he said. "Night, Claire. Eve." He nodded to Michael. Shane hadn't gotten up from the table, partly because hey, bullet wound, but also he wasn't about to put himself out for any Morrell, even Richard. Claire had the impression Richard was just as happy not to have to make nice.
Claire saw Richard out the door, locked it, and came back to fight over who would get the last taco. Which, of course, turned out to be Shane. "Wounded!" was his new comeback, and it was one they couldn't really argue with, at least for a couple of weeks. He happily loaded up his plate, and Claire sat back and felt, for the first time in days, a little of the tension relax. Shane was even being civil to Michael again, especially after she'd explained to him how Michael had raced to her rescue. That mattered to Shane, in ways that other things didn't.
When the knock came on the front door, the four of them froze, and Michael sighed. "Right. My turn to play doorman, I guess."
Claire nabbed some meat off of Shane's plate. He pretend-stabbed her hand, and ended up licking Claire's fingers for her, one at a time.
"Okay, that's either gross or hot, but I'm thinking gross, so quit it," Eve said. "If you're going to be licking each other, get a room."
"Good idea," Shane whispered.
"Wounded!" Claire whispered back. "And anyway, I thought you wanted to play it safe."
"Dude, I live in Morganville. How exactly is that playing it safe?"
Michael came back down the hall with a very odd expression. "Claire," he said. "I think you should come."
She pushed away from the table and went after him. He opened the door and stepped aside.
Her parents were standing on the step.
"Mom! Dad!" Claire threw herself into their arms. It was stupid to be so cheered by the sight of them, but for a second she enjoyed being stupid, through and through.
And then she backed up and said, "What are you doing here?"
Her mother -- dressed in pressed blue jeans and a starched blue work shirt and a Coldwater Creek jacket, even in the heat of summer --looked taken aback. "We wanted to surprise you," she said. "Isn't that all right? Claire, you are only sixteen --"
"Nearly seventeen," Claire sighed, under her breath.
" -- and really, we ought to be able to come see you when we want to, to be sure you're safe and happy." Claire's mom gave Michael a distracted, nervous smile. "All right, then, I'll tell you the truth. We've been very worried about you, honey. First you had that trouble in the dorm, then you were attacked and ended up in the hospital -- and someone told us about that party. The one where Shane was shot."
"What?" She sent Michael a look, but he looked just as surprised as she felt. "Who told you?"
"I don't know. An email. You know I can never figure those things out, anyway, it was some friend of yours."
"Oh," Claire breathed, "I really don't think it was. Mom, look, it was -- "
"Don't tell us it was nothing, honey," her dad cut in. "I read all about it. Drinking, drugs, fighting, destruction of property. Kids having sex. And you were at this party, weren't you?"
"I -- no, dad, not like -- " She couldn't lie about it. "I was there. We were all there. But Shane wasn't shot at the party, it was after, on the way home."
"I don't think that matters," her father said. He looked so grim now. "We've decided we had to make a change."
"A change?" Claire echoed.
"We're moving," he said. "We bought a nice house on the other side of town. Looks kind of like this one, maybe a little smaller. Even has the same layout to the place, I think."
"You're -- " She could not have heard that right. "Moving here? To this town? You can't! You can't move here."
"Oh, Claire, I was so hoping you'd be happy," her mom said, in that tone that Claire dreaded. The I'm-so-disappointed-in-you tone. "We've already sold our old house. The truck with the furniture should get here tomorrow. Oh -- " She turned to Claire's father. "Did we remember to -- "