Page 78 of Letting Go
Without responding right away, Marcie Claire hums before reaching for a decorative ornate box on the lower shelf of the coffee table and sets it on the glass top. She takes a drink of her tea before running a hand over her hair to smooth it down a little. As she sets her teacup back down on the table, she clears her throat before replying, “Yes dear, we are in the sunroom.” Seconds later, Clark barges into the room and is livid, focusing solely on his wife and failing to notice me at all.
“Hi, darling. How was golf?” Marcie Claire asks, without acknowledging his vibrating rage.
“Golf was unbelievable,” Clark snarls as his eyes fall on me and he notices me for the first time. “Oh, hello, Vivian, I didn’t see youthere.” I always liked Chase’s dad, but I don’t recognize this version him. His arrival could be my chance to listen to my gut and get out of this bizarre situation.
“Hi, Mr. Riley. No need to apologize, but you two clearly need to have a private conversation so I’ll just be on my way.” I grab my handbag and stand before Marcie Claire somehow manages to glare politely at me.How does one glare politely?I don’t know but Marcie Claire manages it.
“There’s no need to rush off. Besides, we aren’t done with our tea, dear.” Nodding down to the chair, it’s clear I have not been dismissed. I slowly sit back down, griping the handle of my bag tightly to try and stop my hand from shaking as I attempt to figure out another exit strategy. Clark walks over to the bar and pours himself what looks like a shot whiskey, and he quickly throws it back.
“Thirty-four damn years, Marcie Claire. How could you?” Clark roars at his wife as his nostrils flare and he minutely shakes his head. “James felt awful explaining things to me, but he thought I should be aware of the bullshit that I’ve been living with under my own damn roof.” Clark slams his glass down on the side table, pouring another shot and swiftly downs it. He turns to point at his wife. “You were never going to tell me, were you? What else have you lied about? Are any of them mine?”
In an extremely uncharacteristic move, Clark hurls the shot glass in his hand against the wall above the bookcase. The explosion of crystal against the pristine white wall makes me jump and I clamp my hand over my mouth to prevent any noise from escaping.
“Dear, I don’t know what James told you, but there must be some misunderstanding.” Marcie Claire gives me a look like her husband is the one acting crazy.
“Chase is a perfect match for Frank’s kidney transplant,” Clark says. I don’t understand why this has Clark so upset. This isn’t new information;the entire town was thrilled when Frank found a matching donor.
“Yes dear, it’s marvelous news, but that’s not something to be upset about.” Marcie Claire tries to pacify her husband.
“I am so far beyond upset, Marcie Claire,” Clark continues. “I didn’t think much of it when my brother and I didn’t match. But I learned a lot today. Our different blood types are possible because of our parents, but because of my own AB blood type, it is physically impossible for me to have fathered a child with type O blood.”
My eyes go wide at the realization of his comment, but I try to hide my shocked expression. I need to get out of here before this escalates more.
“This really seems like a private family matter. I really should get going.” I stand and try to make my escape again. Before I can take a single step, Marcie Claire opens the decorative box she set on the coffee table. Reaching in, she pulls out the last thing I expected to see.
What the hell is Marcie Clarie doing with a handgun?I freeze as she raises her arm and points the gun at me.
“No dear, now for the last time I need you to sit back down until we finish our conversation, and I would really appreciate it if I didn’t have to repeat myself again.” Her tone is sinister, and a sense of dread blankets me. My phone vibrates continuously in my pocket as someone calls me repeatedly, but I don’t dare move to answer it. She gestures with the gun toward the chair, and I once again sit back down. My chest tightens as adrenaline pumps through me.
“What the hell?! Marcie Claire, put the damn gun away! What are you doing? Let Vivian leave, this is ridiculous!” Clark steps toward his wife and she turns the gun on him as his eyes bulge.
“Tsk tsk, no, no, no darling, I’m going to need you to stay over there as well. You’re being a tad unreasonable, and I need you to calm down.”
Clark stands there with his hands raised in front of his body, frozen and unsure what to do. “Please tell me more about this enlightening golf game, darling,” Marcie Clarie says to her husband. “I am quite interested in hearing all about it.”
“As one of my best friends, James knew I had the right to know that Chase is not my biological child,” Clark responds.
“And how did he come to that conclusion?” Marcie Claire sneers without denying his accusation.
“You have type A blood.” Marcie nods. “Tommy is type A like you, and Max is type AB like me. It is not possible for someone with type AB blood—like me—to have a child with type O blood.” Clark takes a small step toward his wife.
“No, your brother is type O, so it’s in your genes somewhere. James must be mistaken,” she replies.
“He’s a doctor and that’s not how it works, Marcie Claire. My parents could have children with any blood type, but my children can only be type A, B, or AB. Type O is not possible if a parent is type AB.” Clark takes another small step toward her. “So, who was it, Marcie Claire? Who gave Chase his blood type?”
“Heavens and saints, I do apologize for this outburst, Vivian. We are usually much better at minding our manners.” Marcie Claire turns to me with a manic smile, as if she wasn’t currently alternating between pointing a gun at her husband and me. “This is quite unfortunate, and the timing is really less than ideal.”
“This sounds like a delicate family issue, but of course I would be happy to continue our conversation another time.” I try to keep my voice steady so I sound as brave as possible.
“Darling, I don’t know what it will take for you to realize you are family, or you will be when I get my way.” Marcie Claire leansin and stage whispers to me, “And don’t you know, I always get my way, dear.” As she winks at me.
She winks at me!
This lunatic is officially off her rocker, and I’m stuck in a room with a crazy person who looks far too comfortable wielding a gun toward me. “Yes ma’am,” I agree but I need to somehow figure out how to safely get out of this room—and soon.
“This is quite the unexpected pickle. I apologize for the family drama, Vivian. I’m sure we can all navigate our way to a solution, yes?” Marcie Claire’s eyes are now hysterical with the gun still firmly in her hand. Small beads of sweat slowly run down my lower back as I wish I had a panic button or some way to alert Tony the Tank out front that I’m in trouble.
“I will do whatever I can to help you, ma’am,” I tell her honestly, but not referring to the type of help she’s probably thinking of right now. She can assume I mean helping her get her way but really mean I will help get her locked away in a padded cell to protect everyone from her crazy ass. “I think Chase is a kind, smart, and wonderful man. And I think he’s capable of choosing his own happiness.”
