Heart of Clay (16 page)

After parking next to Callan’s car, Clay
took a cleansing breath and walked to the front door. Hesitantly
stepping inside, the house seemed quiet. He hung up his coat, took
off his boots, and wandered into the kitchen.

Snickerdoodles, his favorite cookie, sat on
a plate. He bit into one, closed his eyes, and enjoyed the rich
cinnamon flavor. They were so much better than the cookies his mom
made. He lifted the lid on the slow cooker and saw a pork roast,
surrounded by potatoes and carrots. His wife was an amazing cook
when she had time to do more than slap together something fast to
eat.

Callan wasn’t in the family room so he
checked their bedroom where he found her sleeping. Tears clung to
her eyelashes and dried on her cheeks. He was beginning to wonder
if she wouldn’t suffer from dehydration if she didn’t stop
crying.

A box sat on the floor and all sorts of
papers and things were scattered around her on the bed. He noticed
she held something in her hand. Bending closer, he saw it was the
little dog trinket he’d bought her at the fair that long ago day
when he fell completely head over heels in love with her. He had no
idea she’d kept it or that it meant so much to her.

Gently taking it out of her hand, he set it
on the nightstand, picked up all the other remnants of her memories
and tugged a quilt over her.

Clay realized there was a lot he had to
learn about his wife. He placed everything back in the box and took
it with him into the family room. He settled into his recliner and
gave thoughtful attention to each item. Some he remembered, some he
didn’t recognize.

When he pulled out the dried bouquet, fresh
pain constricted within his chest. Callan loved pink roses. She’d
treasured the special vases and loving notes he sent her to mark
special days. He started sending her the red ones out of spite when
things between them went south. How those flowers must have
irritated and wounded her.

As he rubbed his hand across his eyes, Clay
began to think there would be no end to the things he would regret
doing in the past few years. It had all started when Callan began
her event planning business.

Maybe if he’d been supportive when she’d
wanted to start the business instead of fighting her every step of
the way, she would have felt like she could trust him enough to
tell him she was pregnant, to share her grief and her loss.

It was easy to blame Callan for the mess
their lives had become. In effect, she’d lied to him by not telling
him she may never be able to have children from the beginning.
However, Clay knew he had a hand in creating many of their
problems.

There was no good reason why he’d so
completely rejected her business. He knew she would excel at it,
knew she loved it. It could have been jealousy that Callan would
have less time for him. The way he behaved, it was no wonder Callan
had shut herself off and pushed him away.

If he’d known how she really felt about
herself and how afraid she was of losing him, he would have
handling things so differently, would have treated her so
differently. He would have made it clear he meant forever when he
made that commitment to her.

Clay made a vow to himself at that moment to
make sure Callan knew every day going forward just how precious she
was to him.

Riffling through the box, he discovered a
plain envelope in the bottom and opened the flap. The grainy black
and white image made no sense to him at all. He turned it this way
and that then finally flipped it over. On the back, someone had
written, “Baby Matthews, 14 weeks.”

He turned it over again and studied the
ultrasound photo of a baby. His baby. Fresh pain tore through his
heart. Not just for the baby he never had the opportunity to know,
but also for the pain Callan forced herself to bear alone.

Clay stared at the photo and finally
distinguished the outline of a head, arms, and legs. The loss of
the baby suddenly seemed a hundred times more real, more
devastating. A tear rolled down his cheek as he prayed for help to
get through this heartache.

Leisurely stretching as she came awake,
Callan felt better than she had for a while. Her spirit, while
tender and hurt, didn’t feel beaten and abused as it had for so
long.

With her thoughts centered on Clay, she
rolled onto her side. She was ready to talk to him, to apologize,
to beg for his forgiveness.

When she opened her eyes, her gaze connected
with a pair of deep blue eyes, studying her intently. Startled, she
gasped and slid back. She realized it was Clay, stretched out
beside her, watching her sleep.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi.”

“I came home early.” Clay scooted closer to
Callan.

“I’m glad.” She reached out a hand and
touched his.

“I’m sorry,” they said in unison. Clay wiped
her damp cheeks while she clung to his other hand as if it was a
lifeline.

“I think we’ve got some things to talk
about.” Clay was afraid to move, hoping Callan would keep her
defenses down. He decided to jump in and ask the tough questions
first. Slowly sliding the ultrasound photo across the bed, he
tapped it with his finger. “Why didn’t you tell me you were
pregnant? Why didn’t you show me this?”

Callan studied the grainy photo. Another
wave of pain ripped through her chest. Every time she looked at it,
she relived the awful experience of the miscarriage.

Despite that, she couldn’t make herself
throw it away. It was the only link she had to their lost baby.
Gently brushing her fingers across the image, she took a deep
breath.

“I didn’t know how to tell you, Clay. It
took me a while to figure out I was pregnant and then there were so
many complications. We’d never talked about being ready to have
kids, and I never shared with you that I probably couldn’t have
any. I wasn’t sure how you would feel about it. How you’d react. I
kept putting off telling you. When I found out I was expecting, I
desperately wanted to have our baby. I wanted our son.”

“Our son?” Clay choked on the words.

Callan nodded her head, finding it extremely
difficult to speak. “A nurse let me hold him for a while. I named
him Zach Clayton. He had all his fingers and toes. He was so tiny
and perfect. It hurt so badly to lose him, especially without you
there. I wanted you to notice I was pregnant and say something, but
you didn’t. I wanted to tell you so many times, Clay. I thought
you’d notice something was wrong. I just… I …”

“Callan,” Clay whispered, his voice filled
with pain and regret as he clasped her hand tightly in his own.

Callan looked into his eyes, willing the
love she’d seen there so many times to still be strong. Relief
washed over her when she realized it was. “I never meant to shut
you out. The day I found out I was expecting was the day we had to
put Sassy down. The timing didn’t seem right. I thought I’d tell
you at Christmas, but mother was sick and went so fast. Then you
had the trip planned and I didn’t want you to be distracted, so I
decided to tell you when you got home. By the time you came back, I
wanted to forget it had ever happened. I was so afraid of telling
you I’d not only lost the baby, but I couldn’t ever give you
another.”

“Why, Callan? What were you afraid I would
do?” Clay rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand, trying to
keep them both calm.

“Deep down, I was always afraid you would
leave me someday and I thought the baby would be the thing that
pushed you out the door.” Callan stared at their joined hands,
wishing they’d never gotten to the point where they’d let go of
each other and gone their own way.

As deeply and as completely as he loved
Callan, Clay couldn’t believe she’d think, even for a minute, that
he would ever leave her. He sat up, placed the ultrasound photo on
the nightstand then pushed some pillows against the headboard.
Leaning against them, he bracketed Callan with his legs and gently
pulled her back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her
and held her close, resting his cheek against her temple.

“We’ve spent a large part of the past few
years not being very good to each other. Part of it is my fault,
part of it’s yours, but no matter what, I never once thought about
leaving you. I love you, with all my heart. I always have and I
always will. Until I draw my last breath, you are stuck with
me.”

“I’m so glad, Clay,” Callan whispered. “I’m
sorry I shut you out. I’m sorry I never told you. You had a right
to know I might never be able to have a baby. You had a right to
know I was pregnant. You also had a right to know about the
miscarriage. Since you didn’t know I was expecting, I thought it
wouldn’t matter if you knew that I lost Zach. If I’d only taken
better care of myself, if I’d not gotten so stressed, if I’d
only…”

Clay interrupted her. “It wasn’t your fault.
It just happened. You didn’t kill our baby. God had other plans.
You have to believe that. If we never have a baby of our own, then
so be it. None of that changes my feelings for you.”

“I still should have told you,” Callan said.
“I’m so sorry. I was wrong and even though I can’t change what
happened, I would do it all so differently if I could. Someday, I
hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Clay kissed her temple. “Callan, girl, I
forgive you. I would be lying if I said it didn’t hurt or that I’m
not still angry, because I am. What you need to understand is that
I’m sorry as well.”

“For what?” Callan swiped at the tears that
once again trailed down her cheeks. “What do you have to be sorry
for?”

“For not seeing your pain. For not
supporting you. For not letting you know how amazing I think you
are. For not protecting you. For not making you feel secure enough
to be yourself. For not telling you every day how much I admire you
and love you.”

“Oh, Clay.” Callan turned, burying her face
into his shoulder while he held her close. “I wish I could take it
all back. I wish we could start over.”

“Who says we can’t?” Clay pushed her back
enough he could look into her face. “How about a clean slate going
forward? Do you think you could work with that?”

“Yes.” Callan let out the breath she held.
Maybe they had a second chance after all.

Callan slid a chicken and rice casserole she
prepared for dinner into the oven as the doorbell rang.

Too emotionally drained and exhausted to
think about entertaining unexpected company, she wondered who in
the world it could be. Anyone close to them knew it wasn’t a good
time to visit.

Hastily plastering on one of her fake
smiles, she opened the door. Suddenly, the smile became
genuine.

Clay held a beautiful bouquet of baby pink
roses in a heart-shaped crystal vase, looking eager to please.

He stuck out his hand and gave her a dimpled
smile. “Hi. I’m Clay. Clay Matthews. You must be Callan. Sorry I’m
late for our date. May I come in?”

Grateful to him for being playful and
keeping the mood light, Callan went along with the pretense. She
grasped his hand and gave it a firm shake. “I’m Callan. It’s very
nice to meet you. I just put dinner in the oven, so you aren’t
late. Please come in.”

Clay handed her the flowers and took off his
coat, hanging it in the closet. After removing his boots, he set
them inside the closet along with his hat then shut the door.

“Nice place you have here,” he said, looking
around the living room. He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her.
“Kind of girly, but nice.”

“Why don’t you go sit in the family room
while I finish preparing dinner? You’d probably be more comfortable
in there.” As they walked into the kitchen, Callan placed the
bouquet on the dining table. “The flowers are beautiful. Pink roses
are my favorite and I love the vase. Thank you.”

“I’d like to hang out in here with you, if
that is okay.” Clay washed his hands at the sink and glanced
around. “What can I do to help?”

They worked together to get dinner ready and
on the table then sat down to enjoy it. It was hard to carry on a
normal conversation. When they’d wounded each other so deeply, it
was a struggle to find something to say.

Callan was very thankful to Clay for trying
to make the situation less stressful by pretending they were on a
first date.

“So what are some of your favorite things to
eat,” she asked Clay, passing him a plate of warm biscuits.

“Meat and potatoes, meat and rice, meat in
general.” Relieved that Callan was willing to play along, he knew
they had to do something to get into the habit of talking again.
This seemed like an easy place to start. “What are a few of your
favorites?”

“Chocolate, chocolate, and chocolate.”
Callan shot him a saucy smile.