Page 77 of The Outsider
“It’s okay,” I replied, trying to recover the pleasant conversation we’d been having. “I’m looking forward to living here with him. I’ve heard so much about Summerhurst and all of you, and it’s kind of a dream come true to be here finally.”
Sarah stared at me for a long moment.
“You’re not what I expected, coming from a compound. You’re alright, Claire.”
It wasn’t exactly a glowing endorsement…but I’d take it.
For our last night at the Armstrongs’, Sarah insisted that John and I sleep in the bedroom that Maisie and Allie shared, even though we said we’d be fine in the living room again. Kimmy and Asha would share the boys’ bedroom.
“They’ll survive one night in the living room,” she said, giving her children a pointed look. “Won’t you, kids?”
“Yes, Mom,” the three oldest mumbled.
That night, I took a real, honest-to-goodness shower—my first in months, and the hot water droplets raining down on my skin felt like a revelation. I may not have missed many things about the Cave…but proper showers were at the top of the list. Sarah had also volunteered to wash our clothes—threadbare and wretched as they were at this point—and so when I went to bed, I was cleaner than I’d been in almost a year.
We retired to a very pink bedroom on the second floor, with childish animals painted on the walls. Clearly, it hadn’t been redecorated in some time. I stood in front of a full-length mirror, brushing my damp hair, while John stripped down to boxers for bed.
“Pretty,” he murmured, watching me.
His gaze reminded me of Sarah’s earlier comment and the reaction to my looks during the council meeting. It bothered me.
“I want to ask you something,” I said, “and I want you to tell me the truth.”
John raised an eyebrow, leaning back on his hands. “Okay.”
“Am I strange?” I asked quietly, concentrating on the knots at the bottom of my hair. “Everyone in that meeting today talked about my looks.”
John frowned. “And?”
“I’ve never had so many people comment on my appearance…other than my mother, who was never happy with it.”
Understanding softened his features. “But she was wrong.”
I set the hairbrush on the dresser, staring deliberately at the floor.
“They acted like I was a…a freak,” I said, mortified. “I spent so long being the ugly duckling in my family…if I’m going to be that again here, I want to be prepared.”
To my surprise, John gave an incredulous laugh.
“Sweetheart,” he said gently, beckoning me over, “you’re so beautiful that they don’t know what to think. Why do you think we disguised you and Asha in Little River? Because your beauty is a dead giveaway that you’re different.”
I stood between his parted knees, giving him a doubtful look as he wrapped his arms around my waist.
“But I never thought you and Kimmy were…that different.”
“Nice of you to say,” John replied, amused, “but to the rest of us normies, it’s pretty obvious that you stand out. I may not be bad to look at, but I have scars, and the odd wrinkle here and there. The sun burns me, and bugs bite me. Not like you—perfect and smooth.”
I moved to straddle his lap and studied his face. His soft, affectionate smile revealed sweet, soft creases at the corners of his eyes that I’d always liked. His skin, paled by winter, was still darker than mine, and I ran my fingers along the length of his sharp jawline, admiring him. His dark amber eyes held mine, exuding warmth. It was true that he wasn’t the same as the people I’d grown up around…he was better. More real. Less concerned with artifice.
“I think you’re beautiful,” I whispered, like it was a secret. “I told you before that I like the scars and wrinkles. They give you character, which is its own beauty.”
He chuckled. “Good news for me, since there’s only going to be more of both as time goes on.”
I traced over the laugh lines at the corner of his mouth. “So, you think I’m going to fit in here, then?”
“Of course,” John said, pecking my lips. “Your family may not have loved you like you deserve, but I promise that mine will, if you let us.”
A swell of emotion rose in my chest. No one had ever accepted me so unconditionally. I thought of the earlier breakfast with the Armstrongs, and my heart ached, once again, to belong. Here I was, being offered the thing I’d wanted since I was a child, and I just had to be brave enough to take up the space I was being freely given.
