Chapter 4: Unwrapping the Damage
Clara turned away from them, her hand trembling as she reached for the zipper of the plastic garment bag. With a sharp, ripping sound that echoed down the quiet hallway, she tore the protective film away from the red dress. The chemical smell of dry-cleaning solvents filled the small space, mixing with the scent of Helen's lemon pound cake.
"Look at this," Clara whispered, holding up the hem so the dark, oily stain was directly under the yellow bulb. "This dress cost half my monthly stipend. I worked weekend shifts at the framing shop for four months to afford the alterations. And you carried it under your arm like an old sack of laundry while you were busy playing savior to a brother who has spent his entire adult life burning bridges."
Arthur reached out tentatively, his fingers hovering inches from the fabric. "I'll pay for it, Clara. I’ll call the boutique in the morning and see if they have another one in stock."
"It’s the only one of its kind in the tri-state area," Clara said, her voice dangerously quiet. "It was the center piece of the retrospective. The gallery owner specifically mentioned it in the preview catalogue." She dropped the hem, letting the fabric pool around her sensible heels like spilled wine. "And now I have to go to my own exhibition looking like I spilled soup on myself at a diner."
Helen walked over to the chair, picked up the discarded smartphone, and pressed the screen. It remained black. "Your battery is dead, Arthur. How did you expect anyone to reach you if something happened?"
"My charger is in the car," Arthur muttered defensively. "The car that broke down."
"It’s all connected, isn’t it?" Helen observed, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms over her light blue blazer. "One poor choice leads to another, and pretty soon you're standing in a drafty hallway making excuses to the people who rely on you most. I've watched your father do this for thirty years. He always had a noble reason for being late, and he always left everyone else to pick up the tab."
May you like
Arthur bristled at the mention of his father. "Don't compare me to him, Helen. I didn't ask for Julian to lose his job. I didn't ask for the transmission to drop out on the expressway."
"No," Clara said, turning to face him fully, her expression hardening into something resembling granite. "You didn't ask for any of it. But you accepted it. You made Julian’s crisis more important than our life. And that is what hurts the most."
