Isaac had been hurt, too, but Jeremy hadn’t heard about that, or he didn’t care. Unlike the teenage girls now sitting at a booth across the restaurant, who kept glancing over at Isaac, Jeremy hardly seemed to notice that he was there. But he didn’t think like other people, had always been “different.” Although, as far as Claire knew, his parents had never sought an official diagnosis, he had some undeniable mental and emotional problems, but he meant well. She thought he was sweet.
“Will you have time to give me a haircut this week?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. She’d endured his obsession for years, but every once in a while his devotion made her uneasy. “Isn’t your appointment already scheduled?”
“I don’t remember.”
He should have a card on which she’d written his next appointment. She always sent him home with one. He wasn’t a client she was dying to keep—she cut his hair for whatever change he had in his pocket—but she figured it was the least she could do for someone who’d been as teased, shunned and mistreated as he had. It was no secret that his father would never win any parenting awards; he had too many problems of his own. Don Salter had managed Walt’s gun shop for years after Tug quit, until Walt accused him of stealing. Don’s complicity in the theft was never proven, but the suspicion was enough to cost him his job.
After that, he worked in various capacities, eventually becoming a roofer. Then he fell off a house and hurt his back and hadn’t held a job since. She bumped into him every now and then. If he wasn’t inebriated he was hungover, but that wasn’t why she didn’t like him. Some people claimed he was merely neglectful to Jeremy; she feared he was borderline abusive. She or someone else in town might’ve tried to get some government agency to intercede, except that Jeremy would probably be institutionalized if he was taken from his father. It wasn’t as if he had a loving mother. His mother moved to Oregon when he was just a kid, and refused to take him with her.
“I’m sure it’s on the books,” she said. “I don’t have my schedule with me, but I’ll check and give you a call.”
“That’d be nice, Claire. That’d be real nice.”
She stirred the ice in her drink. “If it’s this week, we might need to reschedule, though,” she added. “I’m taking some time off.”
“You are? Why? Are you going out of town?”
He seemed almost panic-stricken, but Claire had known him long enough to understand that anything beyond his normal routines upset him. “I’ve got some…problems to take care of. But we’ll get you in soon. Don’t worry.”
“I am worried,” he said. “I’m really worried.”
He looked it. She reached out to squeeze his arm. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
“You’re a nice person, Claire. You—you don’t deserve what’s happening.”
She supposed he meant the bump on her head. She doubted he’d heard about her house yet, but in this town she could never be sure. At any rate, Jeremy frequently said odd things. “Thanks again. Tell Hank the burger was delicious.”
“Can I get you a shake?” he asked. “I can make it really thick. For free. To make up for your fall.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m stuffed.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe you could get me a shake,” Isaac said.
Jeremy looked startled, as if he’d forgotten Isaac was sitting there. “Um, yeah, sure. I guess I could. What kind would you like?”
Isaac’s lips curved into a smile. “Actually, I’m stuffed, too. But thanks.”
“If you say so.” Jeremy’s eyes darted back to Claire. “I’m glad you came in. It’s always good to see you, Claire.”
After several more rounds of thanks and compliments, Jeremy finally went back to work. Claire wanted to return to the conversation they’d been having before he’d interrupted, but Isaac’s wry smile stopped her.
“Looks like I have some competition.”
“Jeremy’s harmless. You remember him from high school, don’t you? He was—” And then it hit her where Isaac had gotten at least some of his reputation as a fighter. “Wait! Of course you remember him. You beat up every kid who looked at him crosswise.”
“I can tell he’s grateful,” he said with a chuckle as he gathered up his wrappers. “Apparently, my paltry friendship can’t compare to your pretty face. But I’m not surprised. He’s had a thing for you since I can remember.”
She was sliding out of the booth when the bell jingled over the door and her stepmother walked in. Roni didn’t usually eat red meat, so Claire was surprised to see her here—until she made it clear she hadn’t come to order dinner. When she hurried over, Claire realized she’d only stopped because she’d spotted Isaac’s truck.
“Is it true?” she demanded.
Claire hesitated. “Is what true?”
“Did you go to April’s house?”
Word was getting out. She’d feared as much. “We—we had a short chat, but—”
“But I’m not supposed to be offended, is that it? It’s not as if you were there discussing me.”
Claire didn’t respond.
“Of course you were discussing me. What else would you have to say to each other? What’s wrong with you? What have we done to make you turn on us?”
“You’ve done nothing. It’s just that…I have to look everywhere, hear it all.”
Her lip quivered. “I can’t believe you suspect us. After everything we’ve done for you.”
“I don’t know who to suspect, Mom. I’m merely searching for answers.”
“And meanwhile, you’re moving in with a man who’ll dump you as soon as the mood strikes him. Just like before.”
Isaac tensed. Claire could sense it. “Mom, please. Leave my personal life out of this.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” she retorted. “I raised you!”
Not really. But Claire let that slide. “And I’m grateful—”
“You have a funny way of showing it.” She paused. “Leanne says you two are moving in together.”
Claire began to wonder if everyone else was right and she was wrong…?. “For a short while, yes. Until I get my house fixed up. If you’ve talked to Leanne you must’ve heard what happened.”