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toothbrush still hung in its holder over the bathroom sink. Gripping the sink,

Clayton squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the sense of loss that seemed to

assail him at the oddest times. This is how Vi found him.

53

EIGHT

Using the key Clayton gave her before they left to pick up breakfast, Vi

opened the apartment door. While Clarence retrieved the bigger boxes from

the car, she’d taken breakfast and a few smaller boxes in her arms. Entering

the apartment with her arms full, Vi called out to Clay as she closed the door

with her foot. When he didn’t answer, she set her burden down on the living

room coffee table and walked down the hall looking for him.

“Clayton? They were all out of bagels, so Clarence went over to

McDonalds to get breakfast sandwiches and coffee,” her words trailed off as

she came upon him in the bathroom.

It was a bachelor’s bathroom. Masculine colors dominated the walls and

the scent of cologne and shaving cream permeated the air. But those things

paled in comparison to what she encountered as she got closer to the open

bathroom door.

Clayton was in front of the bathroom mirror, slumped over the sink. He

was unaware of her presence, and she took in his drooping shoulders and

watched as they shook slightly. Vi looked at his reflection in the mirror, his

head was down but she could see tears running freely down his face. His

solitary sadness touched her deeply. Approaching him from behind, she

slipped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek between his shoulder

blades, holding him in comfort. He’d never gotten around to buttoning the

shirt he donned earlier and her fingers came in contact with his bare chest,

where his shirt lay open.

When she touched him, he sucked in a sharp breath and his arms fell to his

sides. Clay squeezed his eyes closed as she held him like this, and neither of

them said a word. Outside of their breathing, the only other sound in the

room was a bird singing outside the bathroom window. Finally, he drew in a

fortifying breath, expelling it with a harsh shudder. “You know, I don’t think

I realized it until yesterday. I loved him like a brother, but I never told him.”

“Clayton, he knew it and I know he felt the same way.”

“But I never told him, ya’ know?”

“You told him in so many countless ways,” she told him reassuringly. “I

can’t count how many times he told me you worked on his car, or covered

his shift so he could get away for the weekend.” When he didn’t respond,

she continued to try and convince him. “And how many times did you wash

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his car just because you were out there in that parking lot washing your own?

Believe me, he knew it.”

“Yeah, but… but I never told him. I’ve never been good with these

things.”

This last statement escaped his throat in a ragged whisper and her mother’s

heart wrenched at his desolate admission. It was unbearable to think that

love had been so absent in his childhood. Removing her arms from around

him, she grabbed his shoulders and turned him around to face her. “Think

about it. Did he ever say it to you?” When he didn’t say anything, she

looked into his eyes. Searching his face, she spoke earnestly, trying to

ensure he would hear and understand what she was about to say. “Clay,

even brothers by blood have a hard time saying they care about one another,”

she reasoned. “Most men are uncomfortable expressing their feelings—it’s

normal. Trust me when I say to you, Craig felt the same way about you. I

can remember several times he came over for dinner and refused to take

leftovers home unless I had enough left for you too.”

“Yeah, but...”

“No buts. Since the two of you moved in together, not one holiday

celebration went by without Craig making sure you were invited. He’d say,

‘
Mom, don’t forget to invite Clay. If he’s not on duty, he’ll spend the holiday

alone, if we let him.’”
Searching his face to ensure he really understood,

“So, stop beating yourself up?” she implored, touching his strong chin with

the tip of her fingers.

In that moment, the air in the room seemed to heat up noticeably. Clayton

felt as if his nerve endings were tingling from some unseen electrical current

in the room. They stared into each other’s eyes, for what seemed like

forever. Was she aware of this change? This awareness, this shift in the

atmosphere? If she was, she quickly hid it behind a nervous smile, chucking

him on the chin with her fist playfully.

“Now, do you feel better?” she asked him encouragingly.

He couldn’t have uttered a word if he’d wanted to. Suddenly his throat

clogged up and every muscle in his body tensed in reaction. When he

nodded, she stepped back, giving his shoulders a quick squeeze for good

measure before releasing him.

A short time later, they rejoined Clarence and sat at the kitchen table to eat

McDonald’s and talk about the arrangements made earlier that day.

“Oh, by the way Clayton, the funeral home mentioned we needed

pallbearers.” Vi searched his face when she said, “We were wondering if

you could talk with the officers that were close to Craig at the station, and

see if they would be willing.”

55

Clay cut off her inquiry and quickly offered. “Of course, I’d be glad to.

I’m sure Stokes and Piterrelli would be more than willing.”

“Good. And what about you Clayton, would you also consider being a

pallbearer?”

He looked at her seated across from him at his small, oak kitchen table and

said. “I’d have been insulted if you hadn’t included me Mrs. Simpson. I’d

be honored.”

She smiled and grasped his hand across the table. Clarence smiled his

gratitude also. After they finished eating, Vi cleared the table. Looking

around the kitchen, she discovered odd plates and cups from her house that

Craig had brought to his apartment. They formed a mismatched table

assortment of cups, plates, forks and knives in this kitchen. She did notice

that all the dishes, however, were sparkling clean and neatly put away in the

cabinet. Circling the cooking area, she ran her hand over the countertop. It

was also clean.

She entered the living room where Clayton and Clarence were working

together, filling up small boxes and taping them closed. Straightening her

shoulders, she announced, “I guess I might as well tackle his room next.”

Rising, Clayton moved ahead of her down the hall. He opened the door to

Craig’s room, then stepped aside to allow her to enter. Vi looked around.

“It’s so neat and clean,” she said in surprise.

“Yeah, Craig knew I was a bit of a clean freak when he moved in here

because of my past. He told me that was not a problem because while he

lived at home you ran a tight ship.” Clayton smiled faintly before he

confided. “He said something about your Saturday morning cleaning

requirements before anyone was allowed out with their friends.”

She moved over to the dresser where some of her son’s personal

belongings were laid out. His holster and gun lay in a chair next to the bed.

A brush and more bottles of cologne sat on top of the dresser. Moving into

the room behind her, Clayton handed her several white envelopes.

“I’ve paid all the apartment-related bills, but these are personal ones that I

thought you should have,” he said, handing her the envelopes.

She took the envelopes from him and began looking through them. “This

is his credit card account. I guess I’ll have to call and cancel these.” Sighing

heavily, she continued studying the envelopes in her hands until her vision

blurred, making the address information waver before her eyes. “Oh,

God….oh, God, I’m so tired of crying,” she whispered desperately.

Without hesitation Clay moved over to where she stood and took her in his

arms. She went willingly, his strong arms lending her a measure of comfort.

56

Although his eyes were dry now, his heart beat along with hers, chest to

chest in their shared misery. Holding her in the security of his arms, it

occurred to him how often he’d held this woman in the past 24 hours. Past

relationships aside, he’d held her closer and longer than any woman in a very

long time. While it made him feel good that she seemed to rely on him, it

also felt very foreign to him. Besides the fact that he let very few people get

close to him, Clayton didn’t quite know how to deal with this type of loss.

No one close to him had ever died before.

The closest relationship he’d ever had was with his baby sister, Sabrina.

When Sabrina ran away at fifteen, he had no one. He knew from the

postcards he received every few years that she had five kids now and the man

she’d run away with was incarcerated. Clayton left home soon after Sabrina

did, and hadn’t had any contact with his parents since. He knew in his heart

that if his parents died tomorrow, he would not shed one tear.

Clayton released Vi when Clarence walked into the bedroom, holding

Craig’s Mets shirt. The gift from his grandfather had Craig’s name stitched

on the back. Vi shared with Clay their plans to lay Craig to rest in the shirt.

He listened intently to her and Clarence explain the funeral arrangement

changes they’d made and he seemed to be pleased, much to Vi’s surprise.

As the day wore on, the boxes they packed began to pile up in Clayton’s

living room. Most were marked for Goodwill, but a few had Janae’s and

Tony’s name on them. Vi brushed her hands on the worn jeans she had on

and looked over at Clayton as a thought occurred to her.

“Clayton, before you say ‘No,’ you should know I will not take ‘No’ for an

answer this time.” Taping up the last box, he paused and gave her a

questioning look. Vi waited until she had his full attention, then she politely

informed him. “You’re coming back with us tonight. I can make up the

spare room or the sofa for you, so go grab a few things.”

He was slightly amused by the ring of authority in her voice and deeply

touched by her generosity, but he couldn’t. When he started to decline, she

quickly cut him off. Smiling at him to take some of the bite out of her next

words, Vi calmly told him. “Didn’t I just say I wasn’t taking ‘No’ for an

answer? Besides, what else do you have to do tonight except wander around

in this empty apartment?”

“I couldn’t.” Stalling for time, Clay pounced on the first thing that came to

mind. “I have to pick up my new truck before the dealership closes tonight.”

There, that was at least partially true. The dealership had called all day

yesterday when he didn’t show up to finalize the paperwork.

Apparently that was only a minor concern to Vivian Simpson. He watched

her pick up her handbag and stride over to the front door, calling out

instructions to him as she left through the front door. “Then come over as

57

soon as you pick it up. Pack a bag and Clarence and I will see you later,

alright?” She turned around right before the closing the door. Her eyes bore

into him, willing him to concede.

“Okay,” he agreed, out of excuses.

She gave him a satisfied smile, right before the door closed.

58

NINE

A short while after Clarence and Vi left his apartment, Clayton drove to the

car dealership. Finalizing the paperwork didn’t take long and, within the

hour, Clayton was leaving the apartment, carrying a small overnight bag in

one hand and the keys to his new truck in the other.

It was a quiet evening, normal in everyway, signifying that the world had

moved on. The occupants in cars next to him on the freeway were not aware

he’d just lost a best friend or knew the degree of turmoil coursing through

him. Besides the questions he had surrounding Craig’s death, Clay’s mind

was suddenly preoccupied with thoughts of Vivian Simpson. Trying to

block this train of thought, he focused on the details of the shooting,

rehashing what they knew, searching for clues. After a time, he gave up

trying to concentrate as she crept into his thoughts again and again. Giving

his mind free reign to focus on just her, the visions that ran through his mind

were troubling, to say the least. They crowded in on him—disturbing

thoughts of Vi Simpson in his arms, Vi Simpson standing behind him,