a work of art

chapter 43: transitions

Slowly, surely, my days fell into a rhythm that didn't include Claire. I still thought about her most of the time, but like how it is after all break ups: less urgently, the pain not quite so  sharp and all consuming.

Billie helped, as I knew she would, and I helped her, too. She admitted every night as we held each other that she missed Claire too, that she desperately wished she could call her or see her, or even that she was there in between us. It made me feel less alone in my heartbreak.

And Bill and I were still as moony eyed for each other as ever, and it helped to be able to pour out all my affection on her.

"Baby," I murmured in her ear one afternoon. "Mmm, baby."

She was making a salad, and I was sat on the island beside the bowl, leaning over to bite at her neck and whisper sweet nothings.

"Lucy Ann Christine Stewart," she muttered, using my full name. "Can I not make lunch without creaming my pants?"

"Are you?" I whispered in her ear, then licked it.

"Am I what? Making lunch or creaming my pants?

"Well, I see the lunch," I chuckled. I slid my hands down and tugged the waistband of her sweats toward me. "C'mere and let me check your pants..."

"Go away," she said, shaking her head and giving me a playful shove. "Little minx."

I grinned, straightening up to let her finish our lunch. I stretched. We'd spent the morning with her horses, grooming and exercising them, and it was exhausting work. But it was so fun to see Billie at her best, spending time with her animals. We'd come back to the house sweaty and exhausted, smelling like horses, and took a very adult shower to clean up.

We were soaking up every last lazy, lustful moment together before next week, when Billie and Finneas planned to return to the studio to start on her next album.

I was so excited. I had all the scoop, and I'd get daily updates about the album; it was the mega fans dream. Bill had already played me some voice notes she had saved of little things she'd written here and there, and I turned to a puddle every time. She would push for opinions, and I always said a variation of the same thing.

"It's perfect."

"You have the voice of an angel."

"Your songwriting is incredible."

She'd sigh, and roll her eyes. "Constructive criticism, baby! I need help, not praise!"

But I never had anything bad to say. She really was perfect to me.

I watched her finish the salad, then cross the kitchen for bowls. My phone buzzed, and I picked it up, expecting Lee, who had been texting me about her work problems all morning.

It was Claire. I gasped.

"Shit!" Billie jumped, gripping the bowls. "What's wrong?"

"Sorry," I managed to whisper. "I'm sorry. Claire texted me."

She stood, frozen, staring at me. "Don't do that."

"Sorry..." I said softly, staring at the text. I read it over and over.

Billie set the bowls down beside me. "Care to share...?"

I swallowed. "She, um, started a book I suggested."

"Oh," Billie frowned. "And she wanted to tell you?"

"I guess so," I whispered. "She hasn't said anything normal to me since..."

Billie moved in front of my legs, took the phone I gripped tightly away, and set it beside me. She put her hands on my waist. "You okay?"

I tried to take a deep breath, but it got caught in my chest. "I don't know."