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“Claire!” Sherry’s bright voice and megawatt smile catches her attention, and her heart stills in her chest at the sight of her. Before she can blink, her vision is obscured by a flood of blonde hair, already up to her height even though it’s only been two years since she barely reached Claire’s shoulder. Her grip is as tight as it was then, hands clasped around Claire’s back like she doesn’t want to let go, and Claire’s doesn’t either. She drops a kiss to Sherry’s head out of habit, drinking in the feel of her alive, safe, smiling. “You’re back! This is the best birthday gift—ever!”
Tightening her grip, just for a moment, Claire lets the feeling linger. Despite her fears that Sherry would hate her for leaving, she’s here, in her arms, and everything feels right.
“I’m so glad I could be here, Sher,” she murmurs into Sherry’s hair, waiting until her tears dry up to let go. She leaves her hands on Sherry’s shoulders when she pulls back and traces her gaze up and down but finds nothing amiss. Just lanky limbs and sparkling blue eyes.
“And you look so pretty!” Sherry comments, reminding Claire, for the first time since she pulled up the zipper, that she’s traded in her usual leather jacket, boots, and revolver for a dress, heels, and purse. Sage green, the only shade of green that doesn’t make her feel like she’s Christmas incarnate, with small white flowers trailing up the fabric. It reaches just under her knees, the straps thin but sturdy over her shoulders, and the nude heels feel surprisingly nice even as a low ache buzzes in the balls of her feet. Confidence that no one will have to do any running tonight.
“Well I had to get all dressed up for my girl’s birthday dinner, didn’t I? But I think anyone would agree that you look the prettiest tonight. C’mon, give me a spin.” She grins as Sherry blushes, her giggle as light as champagne bubbles against the beige walls as she turns in her own dress, white and blue, cap sleeves, lace trim. “And…we have one more little surprise.”
“We? Who else is—”
The door opens with a soft click, and watching Sherry is like watching the sun rise for the first time.
“Leon!” Sherry throws herself at him, too, and Claire can’t help that laugh that escapes at the air being knocked out of his lungs. Then she softens at the sight of them together, even more when Sherry turns around with tears in her eyes, holding an arm out for Claire to join them.
She hasn’t felt this kind of relief since seeing Chris again. Like a tiny piece of the world can mean so much, and it’s finally slipped back into place. The scent of Leon’s aftershave and Sherry’s cucumber shampoo mix into something smelling distinctly like where she’s supposed to be.
“I missed you both so much,” Sherry murmurs between them. Claire feels Leon’s fingers splay wider over her back, his hand pulling her just a little closer, and she wants to be pulled.
“We missed you, too, Sher,” Leon answers, his voice deeper in person than it’s sounded over the phone, more rasp at the edge of his words. “Happy Birthday.”
“Happy Birthday,” Claire hears herself say, and then clears her throat.
Sherry squeezes them one more time before taking a small step backwards to look over both of them. In her periphery, Claire meets Leon’s eyes, and swears she sees the air spark with the same electricity that runs up her spine.
“So,” he breaks the growing tension with a smile that could cure anything, looking back at Sherry. “Where do you want to go for dinner?” And then, with the same awkward shyness that the government hasn’t quite trained out of him, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a list to hand over. Claire follows down the line of his body. Leather jacket and a pressed white button-up. Nice jeans, dark denim. Dress shoes. “I don’t know if—these are some places I’ve tried in DC that I’ve liked, but it’s totally up to you, Kiddo.”
“I’m fourteen,” Sherry says, dragging the word out with every bit of attitude that Claire remembers giving Chris at that age, only betrayed by how tight she’s holding the paper. She reads it with the same careful consideration she does everything, and brings a finger to her mouth when she reaches the end. Biting the hangnail off, she folds the list back in half and holds it to her chest, looking between Claire and Leon. “Don’t be mad but… can we go to McDonalds?”
Silence falls like Leon’s jaw, and Claire’s eyebrows raise on instinct.
Only for a moment, before her face breaks into a wide smile, and she jumps in without missing a beat.
“Anything the birthday girl wants.” She crinkles her nose at Sherry’s grin, the joy radiating off her warming the entire room. “You got a route to Mickey D’s somewhere up there?”
Leon seems to have recovered as well, his bangs brushing against his eyelashes when he nods with a chuckle.
“Know it by heart.”
The radio plays quietly in the background, a synth pop beat that just matches how the streetlights and neon arches reflect off the parking lot. Boxes of chicken nuggets and burger wrappers are spread across the dashboard, with a mess of fries and sauces on the console, grease shining under the cabin lights. Sherry slurps her Pepsi and wipes a crumb off the corner of her lip with the back of her hand.
“What did you guys do for your fourteenth birthdays?”
Swallowing the barbecue-covered nugget and washing it down with a sip of Leon’s Dr. Pepper instead of her own Diet, Claire twists further in the seat. A heel falls off as she curls her knees up into her side, and she uses her foot to get the other off, the leather cool against her skin.
“Let’s see,” she pretends to think back as Leon and Sherry look at her expectantly, Leon’s fingers still reaching for fries in the comfortable silence like, if he moves slow enough, they won’t notice. “Chris pulled me out of school for the day. He took me to the CD store and let me get whatever I wanted, and he made us waffle sundaes for dinner. It was a good birthday.”
Her chest goes warm at the memory, at the taste of sugar on her tongue that mirrors the salt on her lips now. Sighing as the feeling fades just so, she glances down at the now-smaller pile of fries, and then at Leon.
“What about you, Rookie? What did you do to ring in fourteen?”
“I was staying with my Aunt for the summer. I’m pretty sure I helped her clean the pool, but after we did go see Terminator 2. And then we—”
“Oh my God!” Claire interrupts, pulling Leon and Sherry’s baby blue eyes to her immediately, all full of concern. She shakes her head like they don’t understand, gears turning in her mind, practically giddy.
“John Connor! All this time I thought it was a boy band cut. No! Your hairstyle is totally John Connor. Oh, it’s so obvious now. I cannot believe I didn’t see it sooner.” Her face is flushed with laughter, cheeks pink like sunset as she sees embarrassment wash over him. Sherry’s brow furrows in the rearview.
“Who’s John Connor?”
“Future ‘Leader of the Resistance’ that they sent Arnold to kill. We’ll watch the movies next time we all get together.” Claire explains with a wave. “But my point is: same hair cut. Exact. Longer now but when we met? Dead ringer.”
“Okay!” Leon breaks, but Claire hears the mirth in his tone, light as fireflies. “Maybe. I don’t remember. Anyway, why don’t you enlighten us as to what albums you bought, Redfield? Hmm?”
“Ooh! Yes!” Sherry claps. “I have a CD player in my room! There’s not a lot of actual CDs in the library, but maybe if I make a list, they’ll get some of them.”
“If they don’t, I’ll sneak them in on movie night,” Claire says. Her hair splays across the headrest when she rolls her neck, toes curling into the seat. “Let’s see. The Cranberries, ‘Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can’t We?,’ obviously. ‘In Utero,’ by Nirvana—which I doubt they will buy you because I definitely shouldn’t have been listening to it, but Chris and I did until the disk was basically one giant scratch. ‘Wish,” by The Cure, and—”
Claire stops abruptly and it’s her turn for the pink to skew fire-engine red. She sees Leon cross his arms and tilt his jaw just so, not at all holding back his smirk.
“C’mon, do tell.”
“This isn’t as fun the other way around,” Claire murmurs, and takes a moment for a long sip of her drink as if they’ll get bored and drop it if she stalls long enough. But Sherry’s still looking at her with wide-eyed wonder and Leon’s still smirking.
“‘Streetfighter.’ Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons.”
Leon whistles, the sound high and clear in the air and low and hot in her stomach. Her gaze falls over him, a foot crossed over his knee, back leaning against the door, the heat from his neck fogging up the window, shaking his head at her in faux disappointment.
“Easily their—Sherry, it’s easily their worst album. I remember it tanking when it came out. And you bought it a decade later?”
“I was fourteen!” She shoots back, in the same defensive tone he had not five minutes earlier. “We had a copy when I was little and I thought I remembered liking it. And then I got it home… Still listened to ‘Veronica’ every day for like, two months, though.”
“That’s amazing.” Leon says, all his teeth in his smile as he reaches for his drink, shakes it, and then takes a sip. It slides back into the cup holder and he rests his clasped hands on his stomach. “John and Veronica. What a pair we could’ve been.”
The words hit Claire like a snowstorm: blinding, cold, heavy. Something she wishes she could hold onto for longer than she can before it burns her palms. But she catches sight of Sherry in the rearview and blinks away the melancholy, refusing to be anything other than happy.
“Yeah,” she agrees, more breath than she means. “Maybe. How about dessert, Sher?”
“Yes, please! Can I go in and order?”
“Of course,” Leon laughs, handing over $15. “Oreo McFlurry for me. Claire?”
“Butterfinger. And whatever you get, Sherry, it better be the largest one on the menu? You hear me? Bigger than you.”
“Okay! I’ll be right back.”
She slides out of the car like a tornado, the door slamming just hard enough to make Leon wince, and in her absence, a thick silence fills the cab.
Claire looks at Leon to find him already looking at her, the same thing reflected in both of their eyes, threatening to swallow them whole. It’s too late for apologies, too late to change anything about where any of them are, and it’s all she can do to change the subject before she suggests he turn the ignition over the second Sherry’s back and they figure it out from there.
“Well…so much for this dress.” She says with a small laugh and a smaller smile, taking the hem in her hand and running her thumb over it. A soft blush paints Leon’s neck as he glances down at her, takes in her bare collarbones, the delicate ruching around her chest, the flare of the fabric at her hips.
“You look beautiful,” he says, low, like he didn’t mean to let the words surface beyond his own thoughts. Claire goes still aside from her heart beating like a drum in her chest. The grip that froze on the lid of her drink tightens around the plastic, her eyes flashing to his for only a second.
“Thanks.”
She lifts her drink like one wrong move might kill her and doesn’t dare look at him when her lips close around the straw. It empties too quickly, only air and ice left to rattle around, and she hears the soft smack of Leon’s mouth opening when she sets it back down.
He can’t get anything out before the back door opens again, Claire’s heart jumping at the noise and her mind glad to have a distraction. Sherry’s beaming between them, a cupholder in her hands.
“Oreo.” She says matter-of-factly, handing the cup to Leon and turning to Claire. “And Butterfinger.”
“What did you get?” Leon asks, and Claire catches the edge to his tone, like he just ran a marathon when they’ve been sitting for 90 minutes. She tries to focus on the cold.
“M&M. What did you guys talk about while I was gone?” Sherry raises her eyebrows and moves to take a bite, only to be stopped by Claire, stilling her with a hand on her wrist.
“Wait! We have to sing, and you have to make a wish!” She reaches behind her seat with her other arm to grab her purse. Blowing her hair out of her eyes, she unzips the bag and pulls out two gold candles, shaped like a 1 and a 4. She hands them to Leon without a word and hears him begin to open them as she rifles through the car keys, wallet, and receipts to pull out a lighter. “There we go. Alright, we ready?”
The candles stick out of the ice cream tall and proud, both of Sherry’s hands curl around the cup like it’s the best thing she’s ever held, and she nods with certainty. Cupping her hand around the flame, Claire lights them both and then looks over to Leon, nodding once.
They sing too loud for the cab of a Jeep, out of key, holding out the last note until both of them have to gasp for air and Sherry’s turning red from laughter. She closes her eyes and blows out both candles, and the easy scent of smoke fills the air.
“Okay,” she whispers once she’s made her wish, opening her eyes and looking between them. “Can we eat?”
“Yes.” Claire approves. She takes a scoop that’s more candy than ice cream and holds it out, Leon and Sherry following. “Cheers to the birthday girl.”
“To Sherry.” Leon adds, throws a wink her way before downing his spoonful in one go.
“Thank you guys.” She says softly. “I’m really glad I got to see you.”
“We are, too, Sher.” Claire smiles without teeth, then cuts her air with sweet, buttery ice cream.
Silence falls as all three try to finish before the ice cream melts. Leon does first, and then tips his head back against the window with a content sigh, his hand reaching out to turn up the radio a hair.
“So now what did you guys talk about when I was gone?” Sherry says after she’s scraped the bottom of her cup as many times as she can. There’s a sparkle in her eyes that still looks distinctly 12 when Claire catches it, and she feels something like love and exasperation for her poking around her stomach. She tips her not-quite-empty McFlurry at Leon, and he sits back up to take point.
“If McDonald’s should impose a dress code or not.”
The half-truth makes the tail end of Claire’s ice cream that much sweeter, and she leans in. The seat presses into her shoulder where she turns to face Sherry.
“I said I think I’m a little overdressed,” she explains.
“And I said I think she looks nice. Both of you look nice.”
“Which means I guess you have to be our tie-breaker.”
Sherry crinkles her nose and twists her lips to the side, humming gently for a moment before she quiets, her decision settling on her face.
“They’d probably go under pretty fast if they did.”
Claire laughs harder than she has in a long time. She slides the half-empty sauces into a bag and tosses it into Leon’s lap so she can kneel completely on the seat and lean over the console. Her lips meet Sherry’s cheek with a loud mwah, and she wears her victory like a crown as she settles back in the front to the sound of Sherry giggling.
“Women,” Leon mumbles just loud enough for them to hear. “Always ganging up on me.”
It only makes Claire and Sherry laugh harder, but somewhere in the shiny blur of the tears on her lashline, she sees his face, his eyes, and knows this is as grounded as he’s been since she first saw him after the island.
“It’s true!” Sherry defends her position. “It’s economics. And they have a drive-thru. I don’t really know how that would work.”
Putting his hands up, Leon surrenders.
“Alright, I hear you.” He leans over, too, to ruffle her hair even as she whines. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know.”
Sherry smiles and shrugs like it’s something she can’t help.
“But I do agree that Claire looks pretty. So I guess you’re both right.”
Claire rolls her eyes, looking out the window before either of them can see the way her face flares pink. Her chest is still warm, cheeks still aching from how much she’s smiled, and the stars seem to hang a little lower in the sky, as if she could reach out and pluck one down.
“Thank you, Sherry,” she says softly when she faces, eyes fixed on Leon’s white button-up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. She clears her throat. “I think all 3 of us cleaned up nice.”
Spying the time, she breathes in as deep as she can, throwing a glance to Leon for a conversation that doesn’t need words, and he gives her a nod in return.
“It is almost 10, though; that’s when they asked we have you back.” Reaching backwards, she grips Sherry’s hand tight when her face falls. “I know. But we’ll drive slow. And I promise, we’ll find a way to do this again. As soon as we can. Things are—I think they’re finally settling down a little bit. Hopefully.”
“As much as they can be.” Leon jumps in, taking Sherry’s free hand in one of his own, and resting the other on Claire’s shoulder. Goosebumps prick at her skin, her heart skipping once and then calming down like a baby in a swaddle. “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”
“Okay,” Sherry nods, but the sadness in her voice is too much. Before she even thinks about it, Claire’s out of the car, the rocks of the pavement pressing into her bare feet, and sliding into the backseat next to her.
“You, too, Rookie. Get over here.”
Leon follows without question, only stopping when Claire asks him to grab her purse, next to her heels. Their fingers brush when he hands it over but the electricity is subtler now, on the edge of familiar. She finds what she needs easily this time, a disposable camera.
“Everyone say cheese!”
“Cheese!”
The flash bursts bright and all three of them lean into the light. Dust floats by like sparkles in its wake, and Claire insists on one more picture for good measure.
“I’ll have them developed and send copies. Or drop them off in-person if I can. Sound good?”
“Sounds good,” Sherry smiles, the disappointment from earlier lightened.
“Sounds good.” Leon agrees. “You gonna ride in the back with the birthday girl?”
“Yep,” she pops the P and draws a laugh from both of them. Only when Sherry’s laugh turns into a distinct giggle does she realize Leon’s back in the front seat, and she was staring at his back the entire time he went.
They leave with tight hugs. With lingering kisses on Sherry’s forehead. With a small swell of pride in her chest for the tears she saw, but Sherry didn’t let fall. Claire waits until she’s through the double doors to blow all the air out of her lungs, her back hitting the wall and her head tipping back to meet it, eyes closed.
It’s the worst silence of the night. Her knuckles go white around the strap of her purse, every nerve trying to hold onto the semblance of calm that’s never come easy to Redfields.
Leon’s presence helps. She tunes into his breathing—measured—and the aftershave—now only a faint woodsy smell. His eyes are on her, she knows, and she makes no move to get him to look away.
“Okay,” she whispers as she presses her palms flat into the drywall. “That fucking sucked.”
“It did,” Leon agrees gently. “But we made it here. The night was good.”
Claire opens her eyes into his and takes in all the shades of blue in his irises. She bites her bottom lip and nods, gaze falling away.
“Yeah. We’ll figure this out, how to be here more often. They can’t just keep her here 24/7.”
Leon lets out a tired laugh, his hand hovering like he wants to rest it on her back but isn’t sure he’s allowed.
“I know. We will. Tell me when and if I can be here, I’m here. And if not, I’ll talk to Benford, he knows Simmons. See if we can get her set up with an email at least.”
“That’s a good idea. Thank you, Leon.”
“I have one every once in a while,” he tries to lighten the mood, and Claire feels it work as her chest loosens and her jaw unclenches. “And there’s no need to thank me.”
“Mmhm.” She hums, no comment on his humility. Taking one last glance around, she pushes herself off the wall and gives him the easiest smile she can. “Walk me to my car?”
“Course. You want my jacket?”
It’s draped over her shoulders before he’s finished asking the question. With a soft laugh, Claire shakes her head but slips her arms into the sleeves. The leather is warm from his skin, a stronger scent of his cologne clinging around the collar, and her body settles into it as if she’s known it all her life.
They walk in silence to her car, surrounded by the gentle rattle of the breeze and her heels clacking with every step. She finds her fob and unlocks the door a few feet early, tossing her purse onto the passenger seat before facing him again and slipping off the jacket. She shivers in its absence and then there’s no precursor, just her arms tight around his back, and his just as tight around hers.
Their hands slide off one another slowly, her palms brushing the slippery fabric of her dress.
“It was a really nice night. Get home safe.”
“Yeah, you too. Goodnight, Claire.”
“Goodnight.”
She watches him turn towards the Jeep but makes no move to get into her own car, just wraps her fingers around the frame to anchor herself. He only makes it a few steps before he stops, his shoulders rising and falling, and then faces her again, eyes narrowed.
“Claire?” He asks across the short distance.
“Yeah? What’s up, Rookie?”
“Maybe—” he coughs, and she glances down to where he’s holding his jacket against his stomach like armor. “Maybe we can grab dinner again soon? Somewhere with a dress code?”
The faint sting of her cheeks returns when she smiles, licking her bottom lip and squeezing the door frame.
“I’d like that.”
A lot.
“Me too.” He smiles at her, and it’s all been worth it for his and Sherry’s smiles. “Goodnight, Claire—again.”
She laughs, and he laughs at her laugh.
“Goodnight, Leon.”