CLAIRE FISHER'S APARTMENT
"That was all I wanted," Diane says
as she and Claire exit the bedroom. "Wasn't so hard, was it?"
"No, I guess not." Claire's voice
bears a strong edge of annoyance. "I still don't know why this was necessary
right
now."
"Because I am a mother! I haven't
had the opportunity to spend any time with
my daughter lately. I just wanted
to say goodnight to her."
Suddenly Claire's will to argue is
diminished greatly. "Still," she manages, "you could have picked a more
appropriate time. Samantha has been in bed for hours."
"I'm sorry!" Diane snaps. "I wanted
to see my daughter, that's all. It happened to be late. She doesn't know
the difference anyway. And you weren't asleep, so no harm done, right?"
"Yeah, fine," Claire says, hoping
that Diane is about to let herself out.
Diane picks up on the vibe easily.
"Jeez, sorry to get in your way! Wouldn't kill ya to be pleasant for a
couple minutes."
It takes a deep breath for Claire
to keep herself from kicking into a full-fledged argument. "Look, Diane,
we can get along. When we're both with Samantha, we're fine. There's no
need for us to be arguing all the time."
"You should remind yourself of that
more often."
That nearly puts Claire over the
edge, but she manages to restrain herself. "How have you been, anyway?
How are things in Los Angeles? How's
Brian doing?"
"Don't try to make small talk!" Diane
fires bitterly, although Claire is sure that she sees a momentary flicker
of anguish dance over the other woman's eyes. Suddenly she wants to push
further, but Diane has already yanked the door open.
"Thanks for letting me see her,"
she says quickly before disappearing out the door and down the hallway.
Claire waits a few seconds before
shutting the door. What was that? she wonders, going back to the
couch. She picks up her book, but the feeling is ruined. Marking the page,
she closes it and sets it on the coffee table.
Everything is wrong now. Diane's
visit reignited the flames that Claire had managed to subdue tonight. Seeing
Diane with Samantha -- seeing how she practically transformed around the
little girl -- intensified her worry tenfold.
"She is a good mother," Claire says
softly, suddenly wishing she had someone to whom she could vocalize her
thoughts. "And she's her biological mother ..."
She heads to her own bedroom, hoping
that the weariness washing over her will be enough to overpower her renewed
panic.
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