It had been a week since Claire decided to move to Briarshore, and so far, she did not regret her decision. It was a coastal town where fishing boats swayed in the harbor and tourists lined the streets all through the year. Classy hotels glittered along the waterfront, their terraces echoing with laughter and clinking glasses.
But Claire barely noticed. She lived alone in a small four-bedroom villa tucked between olive groves and the sea, far from the bright side of the town. For that first week, she did little more than sleep--long, heavy hours that blurred into one another, as if her body was trying to stitch itself back together.
Her parents had visited twice and offered to move in to help her around the house, but she turned them down. They had lives before the swapped grenade was tossed into their lives. She didn’t expect them to give up those lives and follow her.
Claire’s brothers Archer and Ansel had also come by three times. The Bens sent her messages or called every day. The whole family was going out of their way to pull her into their circle.
Coincidentally, just as this thought traveled through her mind, the doorbell rang. Reluctantly, Claire flipped the covers and got out of bed. It was almost nearly lunchtime, and she guessed the takeout she had ordered for had been delivered.
When she opened the door, with messy hair, blanket around her shoulders and a wallet in hand, Claire was yawning.
"Good morning," a deep voice greeted, with sarcastic humor.
It was Victor Dane, her father. He had not come alone--Donna and Claire’s maternal grandparents had also decided to stop by. She had never seen them in person, but Donna had mentioned that they lived in the area and sent her a picture of them.
Her grandmother was average sized, with thick grey hair and a crooked smile. Her grandfather was tall and slender, with warm eyes. He was a fisherman, and so was her great grandfather. For generations, like other families that lived in the town, they made their living by fishing. Alden and Victor’s family also came from the same background, and this very town.
Alden had been desperate to escape his roots, so he moved to the city at eighteen, met the daughter of an average family and never looked back. When he made money, he had moved his parents to the city as well and sold the house in which Claire now lived.
Alden Dane was obsessed with erasing this history of his family which he considered a shame.
"You moved here and didn’t think to say a word?" Her grandmother screeched. "And you have been eating take out for a week!"
"Are you sick?" Her grandfather asked.
"Are you depressed?" Her grandmother quickly added another question. "You city youth suffer such illnesses easily."
Her grandfather winced. "You look skinnier than the young woman in the pictures Donna shared with us. Are you on some kind of diet?"
"Not on my watch." Her grandmother declared.
Claire grimaced. These two elderly folks talked so much that they didn’t give anyone a chance to respond before leaping to their own conclusions. Her eyes were lowered to their hands, and she noticed that the old couple had a suitcase each. And so did her parents.
"Oh no." She whispered. She raised her wide eyes to her father. "Why do you all have luggage?"
Her grandmother shoved her father to the side. "Because I am not going to sit aside while my granddaughter diets herself to death! From now on, I will cook and clean your house."
Claire raised her brows. The old woman was enthusiastic, but could her old bones handle such work?
"And I will take out my old fishing boat and earn money for you." Her grandfather declared. "There is no need for you to return to that awful company which treated you poorly." He sneered. "I have never liked Alden Dane. That boy always thought he was too good for Briarshore. When he made a little money, he returned here only one time, and it was to look down on us and take his parents away. He said he was going to wash the stench of fish off them."
"Well Briarshore was too good for him, I say." Her grandmother declared, pushing past her.
Claire tried to stop the old woman, but it was too late. Her face flushed red when she heard the gasp which came from her grandmother. She knew the cause: it was her messy house!
"Donna!" Her grandmother screamed. "Get in here and see how my grandbaby has been living while you and Victor were pussyfooting around because you are too scared to act as her parents."
Claire grimaced. "What old woman says pussyfooting?" she muttered.
A faint laugh came from her father who shook his head. He whispered to her softly, "Your grandmother swears a lot. Around here, they call it a sailor’s mouth. So, you will often hear things like: Lord love a duck! Damn cow’s ass! To hell with you! Son of a bitch or gun or ass! Well, I’ll be jiggered!"
Another screech came from the house. This one was from her mother Donna.
Claire sighed, lowered her shoulders and head, like a guilty teenager and shuffled into the living room. Her grandmother’s cane was tapping against the dusty tiled floor like a gavel of disapproval. The room was a battlefield of unwashed laundry, half empty mugs, take out boxes and crumpled magazines.
The old woman wrinkled her nose, muttering, "Bloody hell, looks like a pigsty in here. Damn it Claire, ever heard of a broom or housekeeping?" She kicked aside a pair of sandy slippers with surprising force for her age, swearing under her breath about "lazy children and their blasted mess."
Donna sat stiffly on the couch, arms folded, while Victor leaned against the doorway, jaw tight. They had come to introduce their daughter to her parents and share the surprise that they were moving next door, but her mother Wilder was already in full swing. What would Claire think of them now?
Would she refuse their visits or order them to stay out of her life? Donna bit her lower lip in anxiety.
"For crying out loud, this place smells like your grandfather’s wet socks! Mercy me, if it trip over one more blasted shoe, I will throw the lot out of the window!" Wilder declared. She bent to scoop up a pile of magazines, cursing when her back twinged. As she straightened, a thin sheet slipped free and fluttered to the floor.
She snatched it up. squinting at the grainy black and white image. For a moment, her voice faltered. "Well, I’ll be jiggered, what in God’s name is this?"
The room froze. Donna’s lips parted, Victor’s eyes narrowed. Donovan, Claire’s grandfather covered his right eye with one hand and sighed. Claire stood still, looking suddenly pale.
Wilder jabbed the paper with her finger. "This ain’t no crossword puzzle. It’s a sonogram with Claire’s names. Damn it all, Claire, are you---?"
Donna rose, her voice trembling. "Claire, is this really yours? Are you pregnant?"
Victor’s tone was sharper, almost a growl. "Who is the father?"
Claire did not rush to answer. She didn’t know how to explain that it was Andrew’s baby. The same man they had witnessed belittling her a week ago and declaring his love for Ritah.
Wilder, never one to soften a blow, barked, "Well, spit it out girl! Don’t pussyfoot around. You have been sleeping all week, hiding in this blasted mess, and now this? Damnation Claire, you don’t owe us any explanations because we didn’t raise you, but we love you already. You are ours. That is why we want to know. Because we are your family and we will support you."
Claire clutched the blanket she had come downstairs with tighter, her knuckles turning white. "It’s mine." she whispered. "I’m pregnant."
Donna gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. Victor’s face hardened, the veins in his temple standing out. Wilder swore so loudly the neighbors might have heard.
"Holy hell! Pregnant? You have known all this time, and you didn’t say a word? As far as I know, you just got out of a relationship. Who is the blasted fool responsible?"
Claire’s eyes flicked to the floor. "It’s...him."
Victor’s voice thundered. "Which him?"
Claire swallowed, her voice breaking. "Andrew. The one marrying Ritah."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Donna sunk into the chair, clutching her chest. Wilder let out a string of curses so colorful they could have painted walls. "Son of a bitch! That two-timing bastard! He got you pregnant and proposed to your cousin? Bloody hell, what a fucking mess!"
Victor paced the room, fists clenched. "You mean to tell me the man who had a big engagement party with Ritah last night is the one who got you pregnant?"
Claire nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Yes."
Wilder slammed her cane against the floor. "Damnation! you should have knocked his teeth out when you met him, Victor. I have never seen him, but I can already tell that he is slicker than snake in oil. I have a pregnant granddaughter, and the wedding bells are for her scheming cousin!"
Donna’s voice cracked. "Claire. what are you going to do?"