Do You Take This Maverick?. Marie Ferrarella
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and his great-granddaughter even if it meant that he had to go sleep in his car. Gene Strickland would have thought nothing of it if doing so meant helping out Claire.
He needed to go see her grandparents, Levi decided. Her grandmother wasn’t exactly a fan of his—the woman had made no bones about telling him that she thought Claire was too young to get married the first time she met him. But he did get along with Gene. If he could win the man over to his side in this, he’d have a fighting chance of winning Claire back, he reasoned.
Taking one last long look around, Levi closed and locked the front door behind him—fervently hoping that it wasn’t for the last time.
* * *
How had she gone from feeling like a fairy-tale princess to being Cinderella before the fairy godmother had come into the picture in such a short amount of time?
Claire asked herself that question for the umpteenth time since she had come to her grandparents, asking if she could move into the boarding house until she could get on her feet again.
She could remember the way her grandmother had looked at her that day. Melba Strickland had never been what could be called a sentimental woman by any stretch of the imagination. But the woman was fair and she was family, which was what Claire felt she needed at a time like this.
At the time, her grandfather, a somewhat crusty bear of a man, had asked her, “What’s wrong with your place?”
That was where she had broken down and cried. “I don’t have a place anymore, Grandpa. I’ve left Levi.”
“Left him?” Taking the fussing Bekka into his own arms, Gene cooed a few syllables at the baby, calming her down, and then looked at his granddaughter incredulously. “Don’t you just mean that you’ve had a lovers’ spat?”
Claire shook her head, unable to speak for a moment. When she finally could, she showed the two her bare left ring finger and said, “No, not a lovers’ spat, Grandpa. Levi and I are separated.” She took a ragged breath, telling herself that saying the words didn’t hurt—but it did. She felt as if a jagged knife had just ripped through her heart. “We’re getting divorced.”
“Now hold on there, that’s a big word, honey,” Gene had told her. “Do you know what it means?”
Melba had frowned at her husband, annoyed. “Of course she knows what it means.” And then she turned toward her granddaughter. “What happened, Claire? Did he disrespect you?” Her expression suddenly darkened. “He didn’t lay a hand on you, did he? Because if he did, your grandfather is going to kill him.”
Claire had struggled to keep her sobs from surfacing. “No, he didn’t lay a hand on me, Grandmother.”
“Then what happened? Why are you divorcing him?” Melba had demanded in her no-nonsense tone.
But Claire just shook her head, waving away the question. She had no intentions of reiterating the incident. She knew she’d break down before she even got to the middle of the story.
“It doesn’t matter what happened. We’re getting divorced. It’s over,” she told her grandparents with finality, her voice catching at the end.
For a moment she thought she was going to burst into sobs, but she managed to get herself under control at the last second.
Melba shot her husband a knowing look that all but shouted, “I told you so.”
“I knew you were too young to get married.” Although it was a declaration, there had been no triumph in Melba’s voice. “You haven’t had a chance to live yet. After graduating college, you’re supposed to sample life a little. Travel. Do things, not tie yourself down with a marriage and a baby.” She looked at her granddaughter knowingly. “Neither one of you was ready for that, especially not you.”
“Melba,” Gene warned, giving her a look that told her to keep her piece.
As headstrong and independent as ever, Melba was not about to listen. Hands on her hips, the diminutive woman turned on her husband. “Don’t Melba me, Gene. She wasn’t ready.”
The steely older woman looked at her granddaughter, then, after a moment, she enfolded the girl in her arms. Melba’s intentions were obviously good, but it still made for a rather awkward moment.
“Oh, Claire,” Melba said with a sigh, “you wound up setting yourself up. Marriage isn’t some magical, happily-ever-after state. At best it’s an ongoing work in progress.”
“I’ll say,” Gene chuckled, his chest moving up and down with the deep rumble. It managed to entertain Bekka, who in turn gurgled her approval. “The first hundred years are the hardest, honey,” he told his granddaughter with a twinkle in his eye. “After that it gets easier. But you have to invest the time.”
Claire had sniffled then, doing her best not to cry. Doing her best to face the rest of her life stoically. “That’s all water under the bridge, Grandpa. I threw Levi out.” That had been two days ago. “It’s over.”
Melba’s dark eyebrows drew together in a puzzled single line. “If you threw Levi out, what are you doing here?”
Claire shook her head. “Well, it’s his apartment. I can’t stay there now. Everywhere I look—the kitchen, the closet, our bedroom—I can see him. It’s just too hard for me to take.”
Gene had glanced over toward his wife as if he knew that Melba was obviously going to say something that would echo the voice of reason—and be utterly practical. But Claire didn’t need practical. What she needed—rather desperately, if the look in her eyes was any gauge—was understanding.
In order to forestall his wife and whatever it was that she was going to say, Gene quickly spoke up, trying to stop whatever words were going to come out of Melba’s mouth.
“Claire-bear,” he said, addressing his granddaughter by the nickname he’d given her when she was about a month old, “You can stay here as long as you like. As it so happens, we’ve got a couple of vacancies, and it’s been a long time since your grandmother and I have heard the sound of little running feet.”
“Bekka is only eight months old, Grandpa. She doesn’t even walk yet, much less run,” Claire reminded her grandfather.
What her daughter did do, almost all night long, was fuss and cry. Another reason that she felt so worn out, hemmed in and trapped, Claire thought, struggling not to be resentful.
Her hostile feelings were redirected toward her husband. If he had been there to share in the responsibility, if he would have taken his turn walking the floor with the baby, then she wouldn’t have felt as exhausted and out of sorts as she did.
“But she will,” Gene was telling her. “She will and when she does, we’ll be there to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself, won’t we, Mel?” he said, turning toward his wife.
“Sure. And the boarding house will just run itself,” Melba commented sarcastically.
Gene shook his head as he looked at his granddaughter. “Don’t mind your grandmother. She always sees the downside of things. Me, I see the upside.” He winked at Claire. “That’s why our marriage works.”
“That’s why your grandfather is a cockeyed optimist,” Melba corrected.
For the sake of peace, Gene ignored his wife’s comment. Instead, he said to Claire, “Like I said, you can stay here as long as you like.” He turned toward the staircase, still holding Bekka in his arms. “Come on, we’ll get you and the princess here settled in.”
“I’ll pay for the room, Grandmother,” Claire had said, looking over her shoulder at Melba.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Gene informed her. “Family doesn’t pay.”
“But family pitches in,” Melba had interjected. “We’ll find something for you to do here at the