The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(93)
Claire sprang from her seat and circled her dad from behind. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around him, clasping her fist just beneath his sternum, and attempted the Heimlich. She’d never done that before.
What if she failed? Oh God, please.
The first attempt produced nothing but a spike in her own panic. She adjusted her grip and jerked again. Still not hard enough. With all of her strength, she yanked her fists up into his sternum and finally popped the grape loose.
He gasped for air, touching his forehead to his forearms, which rested on the table. Tears of relief slid down Claire’s face while she caught her breath and let her own heart settle. When her mom rounded the table to tend to her father, Claire hugged them both.
Thank God. Thank God.
“Let me get you some water,” her mom finally said to her dad after kissing his face several times.
While her mom poured a small glass of ice water, Claire pulled her seat closer to her dad and stroked his arm.
“Thank you, honey. You saved my life.” His watery eyes set off another round of grateful tears.
“I love you, Daddy.” Claire set her cheek on his shoulder.
He patted her head. “I love you, too.”
Her mother set the water in front of her dad and collapsed in another chair. Like snow in the moonlight, the sheen on her pale face looked icy. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if Claire hadn’t dislodged that stupid grape. I’m getting too old to handle scares like that. You need to be more careful, Tom.”
There it was again. The “careful” mantra her family had repeated for the past sixteen years. The one that had cultivated the fear that had become an invisible fence, keeping them all hemmed in.
“My heart.” Her mom looked at Claire while patting her chest. “Please reconsider taking a job that requires so much travel. There are drifters in those touristy beach towns.”
She studied her parents, her mind churning with its sudden realization. “Dad could’ve just died right here in this kitchen, a place where, according to you, he should be perfectly safe. Peyton’s own body is trying to kill her. Accidents and illnesses don’t respect a safety zone. They just happen. Risk is everywhere, every day. And drifters could come into this community as easily as any other.
“I can’t keep living my life in a bubble. I want to be normal. To drive on the highway. To go to a crowded place and not drown in my own sweat. Maybe I need therapy. Maybe we all do. I’m not sure, but I do know I can’t take the guilt of feeling like I’m ruining your life by trying to live mine, Mom.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, but I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt again. That was the worst phone call of my life, Claire. You can’t understand because you don’t have children yet—”
“And I never will if I let fear make my life so small no interesting man will want to be part of it.” Claire pressed her hands flat on the table.
Her mom huffed, her eyes brimming with tears. “Is that why Logan left? Is he behind this sudden burst of resentment?”
Claire reached for her mom’s hand again. “I don’t resent you or Dad. I’m just asking you to hear what I’m saying and support me. We all went through something tragic together. But after all these years, we need a new way to cope before it’s too late to enjoy the life we still have.”
Her father nodded. “Claire’s got a point, Ruth. Maybe we could try family counseling.”
“We can’t control the monsters out there, and no amount of therapy will change that,” her mom replied.
“The truth is that we can’t control much of anything, Mom,” Claire said. “Only the choices we make.”
Chapter Twenty
Logan roamed the narrow streets of Athens’s Plaka district, hoping the bustle of excited tourists and shopping would help to subdue memories of the misery he’d seen at the Moria refugee camp. Today he’d perused endless rows of stores and alleys, each strung with bright-colored clothing for sale, all waving like flags along the sidewalk. An excess of distractions—sunlight, the high-pitched drone of passing motorcycles, ancient ruins in plain view—yet none of them quieted the overwhelming questions he had about what would happen to unaccompanied minors, like twelve-year-old Aya Khateb, who were two-and threefold victims of a failing system.
Thank God he hadn’t succeeded in convincing Claire to meet him in Italy this week. He’d been out of his mind to think he’d be able to vacation immediately after spending several weeks photographing people trapped in a situation with little human dignity at best, and death or trafficking at worst.
The Council of State’s recent ruling might’ve been lauded by human rights organizations, but the government’s swift reactionary imposition of an administrative order to reinstate the containment policy maintained the standstill that had existed for two years. Thousands of refugees imprisoned in hell.
A vibrant sun beat down on the busy streets now, but although temperatures hovered at a mere eighty degrees, Logan felt depleted while forcing himself to pick up a few gifts to take home: olive-oil beauty products and soaps for Peyton and olive-wood salad servers for his parents. Normally, that would be the end of his shopping list, but he’d stumbled upon a beautiful set of lapis lazuli–and–silver kombolói, or “worry beads.”