Maybe it was time to take it off and put it away. Quick and painless.
Or it would have been if the band didn’t hang up on her knuckle. Dish soap didn’t do it. Butter didn’t help. When even a liberal application of olive oil didn’t budge the ring, she leaned against the counter, tears running down her cheeks unchecked because her hand were so gunked up she couldn’t wipe her eyes.
Maybe it was a sign. If she couldn’t get the wedding band off, she didn’t have to think about dating again. She laughed through the tears and Moxie, who’d been watching her with disdainful interest, retreated to the back of the couch.
“It’s not a sign,” she said out loud. “It’s all those potato chips I ate watching The Biggest Loser.”
After ten minutes with her hand stuck between two baggies of crushed ice and another dousing with olive oil, she was able to work the ring over her knuckle.
Claire set it, slimy and glistening, on the counter while she washed her hands. Even though winter was setting in, she’d spent a lot of autumn outside and the white circle of flesh was stark against the tan that had yet to fade. When her hands were clean, she washed the ring and then rubbed it dry.
Brendan’s wedding ring was on her dresser, in a small wooden box covered in tiny shells-a Cape Cod honeymoon souvenir so tacky they’d had to have it. She opened the lid and took out the gold band that was identical to hers, except larger. It had gotten hung up on his knuckle during the ceremony, though potato chips probably weren’t to blame. They hadn’t had to resort to begging hand lotion from a guest, though Justin had told her in a low voice to spit on it. Instead she’d shoved, Brendan winced and they all laughed about it at the reception.
She had vague memories of being asked if she wanted it left on Brendan for burial, but she hadn’t been able to part with it. For a long time she’d worn it on a chain around her neck, but she wasn’t a necklace person and when the time came that she was annoyed by it more than comforted, she’d put it away.
Now she dropped both rings into the box and, after sucking in a deep breath, closed the lid and waited to feel different. Maybe lighter or more free or…something.
But all she felt was a little hollow. And she wasn’t suddenly hit with an urge to sign up for an online dating service. All she could do was hope that one small step would be enough to satisfy her subconscious and put an end to the deliciously naughty dreams about Justin.
A few minutes later, her phone rang and she almost spilled her second cup of coffee down the front of her T-shirt. To make matters worse, Justin’s name was flashing at her from the caller ID window. Praying her voice sounded close to normal, she answered. “Hello?”
“You awake?”
“No. I answer the phone in my sleep.”
“Smartass. Just wanted to see if you’d be up to leaving earlier than we’d planned. If you’re awake.”
“I’ve been up since five-thirty, thank you very much.”
He laughed. “You? Did the smoke alarms go off or what?”
“Very funny.” She couldn’t very well tell him she’d been awakened by exceptionally good sex with him. “We don’t have to be at my parents’ until two.”
“I’m going to buy breakfast. I don’t know how long it’ll take to get my tires changed, and I still need to pick up a gift for Nicole.”
“She’s turning three and my parents probably bought out the toy store. You don’t need to bring a gift.”
“Can’t go to a birthday party without a gift. Then I feel guilty taking a second piece of cake.”
Claire laughed, letting his easygoing normalcy chase away the last of the lingering weirdness. “Fine. What time do you want to leave?”
“I’ll pick you up at eight?”
“Sounds good.” She hung up the phone, feeling better. It was just a stupid dream.
Justin noticed it right away-the soft ring of pale skin where the gold band had been-and his heart turned over in his chest like a sluggish engine on a sub-zero morning.
He knew he should say something-like maybe hello-but he was frozen, watching that tan-free ring of skin as she zipped her coat, and the only coherent thought in his head was what the hell does it mean?
Five years ago, he’d watched Brendan slip that wedding band onto Claire’s finger and he’d never seen her without it since. It had served as an unmistakable, highly visible reminder she was Brendan’s wife and now it was gone.
“You feel okay?”
No, he didn’t. His pulse was racing. His palms were sweaty. And the chronic ache that was his constant companion had flared into a throbbing pain.
She was ready to move on.
“Justin? Hello?”
“Yeah. Sure. You ready?”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and went back down the stairs, needing to put some distance between them. It didn’t do any good, of course, since she was going with him and a few minutes later Claire and her naked ring finger were sitting next to him in the suddenly claustrophobic cab of his truck.
Having a girl for a best friend was challenging enough. They didn’t have the upper-body strength to help a guy change out an engine. They cried during movies. They needed blenders and umbrellas for their drinks instead of just a cold bottle of beer. Hell, he’d even bought a box of tampons once. Claire had been sick and thank God she’d texted him a picture of the right box or he’d still be standing in the girl aisle because, holy crap, women had options.
But having the girl you were half-or more-in love with as a best friend was a special kind of hell. He’d endured it well enough so far, but there was no way he was going to sit on her bed and watch her dig through her closet for something to wear on a first date. He didn’t want to watch her sigh over a text from some guy. And no way in hell was he going to giggle over the morning-after details if she invited the asshole up for “drinks.”
“What’s got you so pissed off?”
“What makes you think I’m pissed?”
“Oh, how about the fact you’re strangling the steering wheel? Or that your eyebrows are practically touching over your nose? Or the fact you just burned off half your tires in my landlord’s driveway pulling out?”
He made a conscious effort to relax his grip on the wheel, but faking even a half-assed smile was out of the question. “It’s nothing. Rough day.”
“It’s eight o’clock.”
“Fine. Rough morning.”
“You sounded fine on the phone earlier.”
She wasn’t going to let it go until he gave her something. “Hot water heater’s crapping out on me. Cold showers aren’t a happy way to start the day.”
It was only half a lie, since he’d taken more than his fair share of cold showers. The falsehood, of course, was that it was the hot water heater’s fault.
By the time they’d hit their favorite diner for breakfast and had his tires changed, he was finding his footing again. Except for when that band of pale skin caught his eye, which was a problem since she used her hands a lot when she talked.
They were in the toy store, looking at shelves of preschool board games, when Claire crossed her arms and sighed. “Just say it, Justin.”
“Okay. Nicole’s three. Why can’t I just buy her a doll? No pieces to lose.”
“Fine. Buy her a doll, even though she asked for games. And that’s not what I’m talking about. I lost count of the times I’ve caught you staring at my hand about two hours ago. Just say it.”
“You took your wedding ring off.”
She looked at him like she was expecting more, but he didn’t know what else to say. It was a big deal for her and, even though she didn’t love him the way she’d loved Brendan, he knew he was important to her. What he said mattered.