Heart of Clay (10 page)

Callan felt rooted to the barstool. All this
was too much to take in, especially in her current state.

Big Jim got up and poured their now cold tea
down the sink. He could see Callan’s emotions flitting across her
face and gave her a hug.

“Now, sweet daughter, I know I’ve given you
a lot to chew on. I want you to remember you have to leave the
hurts in the past, give and accept forgiveness, or you’re going to
end up as bitter and lonely as your mother. Let it all go, Callan,
and move on. You’ve got too many wonderful things in your life to
not focus on the good and positive.”

Callan couldn’t speak, so instead nodded her
head. She put his cookies into a resealable bag, hurriedly washed
the dishes, and gave her dad one last hug on the way out the
door.

“Bye, Daddy.” Callan kissed his weathered
cheek. “Call me if you need anything.”

He gave her another hug and patted her back.
“Remember what I said Callan. Let it go and enjoy what you’ve got
right in your hands today.”

Callan drove home in a state of shock. How
could her dad drop a bombshell like that on her, today of all days,
and not expect it to upset her? She didn’t understand what he meant
when he kept telling her to let it go. Let what go?

What did she hold onto? The past? The pain?
The fact that she never had a mother’s love? The fact that she
wasn’t a mother?

Callan pulled into the driveway, and noticed
Clays truck. She promised herself to be civil, if not kind, to him
this evening. As she got out of her car, she tried to decide if she
wanted to share what she’d learned with him.

She opened the front door and sighed. Clay’s
coat was thrown across the living room couch and his boots were
discarded in the middle of the floor. After removing her coat and
hanging both hers and his in the closet, she stuck his boots in the
closet and quietly walked into the kitchen. He’d tossed his gloves
onto the kitchen counter, left his insulated lunch bag on the floor
by the sink, and scattered assorted papers across the dining room
table.

The entire house reeked of the sausages he
loved to eat and knew she hated. The smell made her headache pound
in triple time. Clay sat in his recliner, eating his sausages,
watching some hunting show as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He
didn’t even look up when she walked into the room.

Before she said something she would later
regret, which happened almost daily, she went to their bedroom.
Annoyance riddled her to find his sock drawer hanging open, his
work clothes discarded in a pile on the floor, and his Stetson
tossed on the bed. The urge to throw his hat on the floor and stomp
it to pieces nearly overwhelmed her.

Instead, she put it on his dresser, shut his
drawer, changed her clothes, and placed all the dirty clothes in
the laundry room on the way to the kitchen. Upset, she took his
gloves to the coat closet and stuck them in his coat pocket. She
picked up his lunch bag, emptied it, and wiped it out before
setting it in the pantry. She retrieved several jar candles and set
them around the kitchen, hoping the candle scent would override the
hideous sausage smell.

As she looked in the fridge for something to
eat, she realized they were out of nearly everything. It looked
like cold cereal for dinner. Callan poured herself a bowl and
checked the expiration date on the milk before adding it.

Not wanting to sit among the piles of paper
in the dining room or with Clay in his room of sausage stench, she
went into the living room. Silently fuming, she turned on the big
gas fireplace and sat in front of the fire. She ate the cereal and
nursed a cup of hot chocolate when Clay wandered into the room.

Cautiously, he moved closer to her, as if he
prepared himself to stick his toe in shark-infested waters – afraid
to jump in but knowing he’d receive a bite no matter what he
did.

“Hi.” Callan didn’t know how she did it, but
that one word held all the annoyance and irritation she’d felt with
him since she walked in the door. She didn’t mean for it to sound
so harsh, but it did.

“I, um, was wondering if you were doing
okay.” Clay looked into the fire instead of at her. “I know today
is the day your mother…”

“I’m fine. Thanks.” Callan’s reply was curt
and brusque, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence.
“I went to see Daddy to make sure he was fine.”

When she failed to elaborate, Clay looked
concerned. “And… was Big Jim fine?”

“Yes… no…well, he…” Callan stood and started
pacing the room. She set her mug of chocolate on a side table and
clasped her hands together. She knew if she didn’t tell Clay what
she’d learned, she’d probably explode. “You better sit down, this
could take a while.”

Clay didn’t like the sound of that, but sat
down in the only chair in the room that fit his big frame. The way
Callan decorated the living room, it could have come straight out
of a home décor magazine.

The whole thing looked like it was ready for
a fancy tea party with rose-print upholstered furnishings, fluffy
pillows, and polished cherry tables. The only redeeming feature in
the room, in Clay’s opinion, was a huge overstuffed Queen Anne
recliner that sat next to the fireplace. Covered in a deep forest
green fabric, the hulking chair was surprisingly comfortable.

Clay took a seat, pushed up the footrest of
the recliner, and settled into the chair. He decided he might as
well get comfortable for whatever was coming. “So you went to see
your dad and he was upset.”

“No, he was in a good mood,” Callan said,
still pacing.

At this rate, they’d have to replace the
carpet after she wore a groove in it. Clay wisely refrained from
making any comments, though.

Callan sighed and continued pacing. “He
planned to meet some of his retirement buddies at the clubhouse for
dinner. He was looking at a photo album I’d never seen before when
I got there. It was full of photos of mother. You wouldn’t believe
it, but there were photos of her as a young woman, all happy and
carefree.”

She sat down on the fireplace hearth and
started twisting her hands together. “There was even a photo of her
and Aunt Julie together. Daddy said it was taken out at my
grandparents’ home just before they got married. She looked like a
model, Clay. She had short curly hair, lipstick, a formal gown, and
heels. Can you ever remember my mother trying to be stylish?
Ever?”

Clay shook his head and held his tongue. In
the ten years he and Callan were married before Margo passed away,
the only thing he could remember Margo ever trying to be was
difficult. Most of the time, she succeeded.

“We were looking at the photos and I
couldn’t help noticing that with each page Daddy turned, mother
seemed to look more like the Margo we knew until there wasn’t any
happiness left. The last photo in the album was taken when Bob was
pretty small.” Callan turned and stared into the flames for a
moment before she spoke again. “You wouldn’t believe what Bob
looked like as a baby. He must take after his father’s side of the
family. That’s another thing. He’s not even my real brother. Well,
technically, I guess a half-brother.”

Clay started to nod his head and instead
clanged the recliner upright. “What did you say?”

Callan jumped to her feet and returned to
pacing. “According to what Daddy said, mother was in love with a
boy who promised to marry her and then ran off before she realized
she was pregnant. Daddy was smitten the first time he met mother a
few weeks after her boyfriend disappeared. Daddy said he was in
love with her and thought it was a great idea when mother talked
him into getting married. They were somewhat happy at first, but
mother couldn’t get over the fact that the boy had disappeared or
that he hadn’t come to rescue her from her boring life. Mother
never got over the bitterness. Daddy said she let it consume her. I
guess he threatened to leave her when Bob was small, but she pulled
the honor-your-vows line on him. You know Daddy. He’d never break a
vow or do anything that was less than honorable.”

Callan looked at Clay. “You two are a lot
alike that way. Anyway, he stuck it out and learned to live with it
and her.” Tears began dripping down Callan’s face. “Isn’t that the
saddest thing you’ve ever heard? What if there was someone who
could have brought Daddy true happiness and he spent his whole life
being miserable with Mother?” Callan sobbed so hard she could
hardly speak.

Clay hustled into the guest bathroom and
grabbed a box of tissues, then took it back to Callan. A couple of
months ago, he would have welcomed an emotional eruption from her.
She had clamped the lid so tight on her emotions, nothing leaked
out. She was all business; never raised her voice, never cried,
never showed anything that could be construed as a feeling. He did
things he was sure would make her mad just to see some little spark
of the fire and passion inside her that she held under a tight
rein.

The past week or so had taken him to the
opposite end of the spectrum. The tiniest little thing set Callan
off. She was either yelling or crying, sometimes both at the same
time. He didn’t know what to think. The notion that his wife may be
having a mental breakdown entered his thoughts with alarming
frequency.

She yelled at him about things that happened
at work and then she yelled at him for whatever he didn’t know he
was supposed to have done before she got home. Worn out from
attempting to please her, he decided just that evening he was
through trying. He hadn’t bothered to put anything away when he got
home, intentionally cooking the sausages for dinner he knew Callan
hated. Childish, maybe, but it had been wildly satisfying at the
time.

Clay tried to pretend the wonderful week
during the holidays hadn’t happened. Things between he and Callan
had been like old times when they were so in love with each
other.

He couldn’t get enough of her, of seeing
her, spending time with her, talking to her, loving her. It seemed
like a long-forgotten dream instead of the reality of just a few
short weeks ago.

Callan had suddenly stopped being his loving
wife and morphed into a screeching maniac that he didn’t much
like.

“Callan,” Clay said, unsure whether touching
her would set her off or calm her down. He opted to stand by the
fireplace with his hands in his pockets. “Think about your dad.
He’s one of the happiest people I know. Not only is he happy, but
he takes it with him and spreads it around. How do you know he
wasn’t supposed to be married to your mother? That being married to
her didn’t make him into who he is today. You wouldn’t want to
change that, would you?”

“No,” Callan sniffed. “But it’s still just
so sad. He even apologized for letting mother treat us so awful. He
said if he’d known, he might have done things differently, but I’m
not sure he would. As crazy as it sounds, he truly loved her. I
think he still loves her. He said I sometimes remind him of her. I
can’t believe he said that.”

“I can,” Clay mumbled under his breath.

Unfortunately, Callan’s hearing wasn’t the
least bit impaired by her current state of distress. She turned on
him with a look of pure disgust. “What is that supposed to
mean?”

“Nothing.” Clay looked anywhere but at
Callan, instantly aware of what a trapped animal must feel
like.

“You meant something by it, didn’t you?”
Callan marched over to him and started poking him in the chest with
her finger. “You think I’m turning into her, don’t you? That I’m
going to be a bitter, mean, self-centered woman who makes everyone
miserable.”

Fast losing his patience, Clay took her
finger in his hand so she’d stop the aggravating poking, and looked
her in the eye. “I didn’t say that and it isn’t fair for you to put
words in my mouth. Just stop it, Callan. What is this really
about?”

Callan jerked her hand free and returned to
her pacing. “What’s this about? This is about our life, or what’s
left of it. This is about being miserable and turning love into
hate. It’s about killing our…”

Callan suddenly stopped ranting and pacing.
No sound came from her at all. Concerned, Clay looked at her. She
couldn’t breathe. Callan couldn’t get any air into her lungs.

Grabbing her shoulders, he pushed her down
on the couch. “Stay with me, Callan.”

He ran to their bathroom and started digging
through the medicine cabinet for her inhaler. She hadn’t had an
asthma attack for years. He hoped the inhaler would still work. He
rushed back to Callan and held it for her. Nothing. He pumped it
again and heard it spray.

“Breathe, baby.” Clay pleaded on his knees
in front of Callan, terrified his wife might die in his arms.
“Breathe for me, Laney, please breathe.”

After what seemed like an eternity, she took
a shuddering breath, then another. Clay let out the breath he’d
held and stood. Gently picking up Callan, he sat on the couch and
held her close to his pounding heart. Still shaking with fear, he
brushed the hair off her face and kissed her forehead. Callan
continued taking shallow little breaths and he could hear the
rattle deep in her chest.

“Just keep breathing, baby.”

With a calm he was far from feeling, he
rubbed her back and murmured soft reassurances that she would be
fine. Huge tears rolled out of Callan’s eyes and down her cheeks,
soaking the front of his sweatshirt, but he didn’t care.

“I don’t deserve for you to be so nice to
me,” Callan finally whispered.

“I know.” Clay turned her head so she could
see his face. He smiled at her and handed her a tissue. “You’re
just lucky to be married to Mr. Wonderful.”

“Yes, I am,” she agreed, dabbing at her
cheeks and nose. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“No problem, girl.” Clay kissed her temple
and drew her close against his chest. “But for the sake of my own
ticker, let’s not do this again anytime soon. I was afraid I was
about to lose you.”