53 Ganymede

Episode 27 - Refuge

Gusts of wind beat at the house like ocean waves, rhythmically crashing against the walls and windows before subsiding into eerie silence. An occasional clattering of hail fills the gap between the violent gusts, rattling against the glass so hard that Claire lies awake, anticipating the shattering of broken glass.

For the first time, Claire is grateful for the single tall window that has replaced the panorama of glass she left behind in the tower; she wonders how well Declan is sleeping.

After another onslaught of wind and ice she groans in frustration and pushes herself up from the bed, ignoring the small whine of protest from Beans. Without turning on the light, she throws aside thick curtains and drops onto the cushioned bench that has been built into a snug little alcove of shelving surrounding the window. Most of the shelves are lined with books, though many are still waiting to be filled. It was not long ago that they were overflowing with Lucy's photograph's and treasures.

Claire sighs and leans back into the alcove to watch the storm. It is late — shortly after two in the morning — but there is enough light for Claire to see the faint silhouettes of the nearby trees as they bow under the force of the wind, some so low that their uppermost branches nearly reach the ground. Claire's heart races every time the gusts return after tapering off, as if this might be the time when the entire house is lifted away from its foundation. She has never liked windstorms, but the impossible dance of the trees and the turbulent rise and fall of the lake are hypnotic.

Involuntarily, she begins to recall the worst storms of her childhood. To her surprise the memories are warm: Snuggling in next to her sister. Flashlights under a thick blanket that muffled the worst of the thunder and wind. Sneaking to the kitchen for a forbidden snack. Making Ginny feel safe had forced her to overcome her fears, if only temporarily. In a way, being needed by Ginny had provided Claire with the same comfort that she had hoped to provide.

She wraps her arms around herself, inwardly blaming the cold emanating from the window.

She doesn't have Ginny now, but then again, she hadn't always had her as a child. Her memories of life before Ginny are hazy and scattered — visiting her cousins, her first days of school, her brief stint on a soccer team, days spent with her Granny — but she can vaguely recall nights stealing into her parents' bedroom, her mother's warm arms pulling her in close.

She tries to remember the last time she hugged her mother — three years ago, just before Claire moved out and her parents absconded on yet another business trip? Had she even hugged her that day? In nearly three years they hadn't even made the time to see each other — whenever her mother came home she seemed to fill every moment of free time picking up the pieces of her work life, organizing events and fundraising campaigns for various not-for-profits. She crammed in as many appointments and clients as possible while her father did his best to finagle another business trip. The further away, the better.

Not that Claire had gone so far out of her way to book a day off to visit her either. She misses her mother. Maybe not in the urgent way she sometimes misses Ginny, but the absence still aches like an old injury on a rainy day. On a night like tonight when she can feel the ghost of her mother's arms around her.

I wonder if protecting me made her feel safe the way protecting Ginny made me feel.

The wind howls and Claire can almost imagine that it is a voice calling out in the night. The sound dies and with it the clatter of hail. With the next gust Claire again hears a voice almost lost within it. She must be dreaming, she thinks, because her ears make a word out of the wail — mom.

And again. A child calling for their mother. Claire shakes her head but then notices Beans sitting at the end of the bed, his ears trained forward, his nose sniffing toward the bedroom door.