Jen's Legacy.

Mrs. Prescott watched as Claire began to dress, pulling on her panties, and then swore at her bra until her grandmother helped her. Her breasts had changed. It had to be fastened on the outer hooks where previously it had been tighter.

She’d been as good as naked for a week and her body had changed in quite a few places. Indeed yes. She’d lost some weight, but put it on in others. Her legs and buttocks had firmed up, and maybe her breasts had benefited from being well attended to, as men always did when they got free and unlimited access to them; never able to leave them alone.

She’d certainly been with a man to be so heedless of everything, feeling no embarrassment or shyness, and with her mind on everything outside of where she actually was.

The shy girl that she had seen grow up, had gone, and in her place was this determined, mature young woman who’d had a fire lit under her, and a man going at her in a very personal and intimate way. And about time.

The older woman picked the remnants of Claire’s other clothing off the radiator, pushing them into the carry-all, as Claire completed dressing, pulling on her socks, but carefully, as her grandmother noticed, seeing the damage to her feet, flaking blisters, then pushing her feet into her shoes before tying the laces.

She checked herself in the mirror and brushed out her hair. Not much she could do about it.

That was when her grandmother pulled back the curtains, to let the first light of day in (letting those in the car know that they would soon be out, and put out the lights), confirming, in daylight, how suntanned and windblown Claire looked; happy, though worried, and a little depressed at this moment with Royce not being with her. She also saw a determination about her that she’d never noticed before.

“He left you a note.” She pointed “I didn’t read it.”

Claire then saw the things that Royce had left for her, reading the brief note as she sat on the bed—visibly relaxing as she read it, regaining confidence again, though still saddened that he had left her as he had. She picked up those rings and threaded them over her head, just as Royce had worn them. There was something comforting about having those upon her, just as Royce may have been comforted by them.

Claire shrugged into his jacket, pushed that note into her pocket then shouldered his backpack from the stand at the foot of the bed, putting his cellphone in another pocket.

He had left everything behind for her to see to; another good sign. Jen’s ashes and their letters to each other were in there, and he would never have left them with just anyone. She would look after everything for him and protect his privacy. His secrets, their secrets, were her secrets to guard now.

Her grandmother would have liked to have read that note, and would, later, but she noticed other things too that an older wiser woman would see. She took her own photographs of what she saw to join the others she'd surreptitiously snapped of her granddaughter first swinging her feet out of bed, walking around naked, and others in the shower. She’d got photographs of all critical events and displays, and her granddaughter had been too pre-occupied to notice, or to say anything if she had noticed.

Mrs. Prescott had a sense of humor that her uptight son often objected to, and it would never die, until she died. She’d got half a dozen good shots of that naked, shaved scut, and Claire’s firm breasts. Royce must have loved to handle those. She had no photographs of herself from that age or of love's first encounters, more’s the pity, but there hadn’t been cell phones at that time. These, would do to remind her of herself. She seemed to remember that she’d looked just like that. Or wished she had.

She looked again at where her granddaughter had lain, and Royce with her, there was just the one pressure valley in the bed where they had lain together. There were many tell-tale stains, still damp, of a man having been with her. She’d get the full story, later. The other bed had not been disturbed. She photographed all of that too.

The less her mother and father knew of any of this, the better.

Claire looked suddenly very sad, and her voice caught in her throat. “Oh, Gran. I’m so scared. What will I do if I don’t see him again? I’d go mad. I feel as if I’m going mad now.” She really did feel his absence, and was too close to tears. Love did tricks like that, playing on one’s nerves and emotions.

“You won’t go mad. You’ll see him again, my love. I can promise you that. I know what I heard. I know him. Just keep thinking of that. It will only be a very few days, and it will give you time to think about and to build upon what you have and what you know.”

She straightened her granddaughter’s clothing.

“I suggest you tuck those wedding bands out of sight into your blouse or your mother will ask about those.” She looked around at the general untidiness, but she didn’t have time to do anything about it.

This motel saw a lot of that kind of activity at all hours of the day, so no one would raise any eyebrows about this mess, and no one would know or care who had been here. The sheets would be into a scalding wash in less than an hour.

“We’ll talk later. If I don’t come to your room, you come to mine and we’ll have another one of those conversations with our warm milk nightcap that I so miss now that you are grown up.”

They had often spoken after Claire had come to her grandmother’s bed to let her know of her difficulties growing-up, but that had ended some years before. They would have to pick up that habit again now, except, when Royce got back she wouldn’t have time or inclination for that.

Claire left the motel, carrying Royce’s backpack on her shoulder, as he had carried it, with her grandmother not far behind her.

She closed the door firmly behind them, seeing that room service was already started near the office at the other end of the verandah. Too far away to be able to identify her and her granddaughter.

Claire’s mother and father embraced her tearfully, of course, pleased to see her, but she had no patience for that.

“Are you alright, Claire?”

“Yes mother, I’m alright.” She was more than alright, but she was also too quiet.

They slid into the back seat of the car.

“Should we get you to the hospital?” They were still worried.

She felt her grandmother’s hand on her leg, shaking her head.

“No. Of course not. I’m alright. I feel good.”

Her gran broke in. “Just take us home, Alfred, before we are noticed.”

“Who’s is the backpack? That man’s?” He put it in gear and they headed out.

“Yes, Dad.”

“We’ll find out more about him from that, then.”

Claire didn’t want that. “No, Dad, you won’t. That’s his, and it’s private. I’ll deal with it.”

His letters to Jen, and Jen’s ashes were in there, and no one should poke around those and ask questions, except her.

He accepted that. “Who is he? Do you know him?”

“I know all I need to know about him, Dad.” To the point, and no more than that.

That was being direct and did not invite any other questions.

“Not now with all of the questions, Alfred. Let the poor girl settle back in, before you ask her anything else.”

Her grandmother was sitting back in her seat and smiling as she squeezed Claire’s hand. Her granddaughter had got herself a life at last. It would be a tough few days for her, but she’d be alright.

Claire took the note from her pocket and re-read it as her grandmother sat back and tried not to see any of it, then she passed it to her gran to read.

Her grandmother was crying when she passed it back, and then held her granddaughter’s hand, raising it to her face to kiss it. Her heart was bursting with happiness for her. She was having difficulty wrapping her head around everything that had happened to her granddaughter in such a short space of time. She’d rather they hadn’t rushed into becoming intimate with each other so soon, but it had been in Claire’s hands not hers, and she’d made that decision for herself.

She’d get updates from the hospital as the day dragged on and would even hear how the new Doctor was managing, and would keep her granddaughter informed too.