Heart of Clay (2 page)

The last night of the fair, they wandered
through the promenade before stopping to get some doughnuts from
Mrs. Biggs. The old gal herself sat outside, waving one of the free
fans the insurance companies passed out by the hundreds, stirring a
little breeze, while several of her granddaughters scurried around
inside the booth. The sound of sizzling dough and the scent of
vanilla and cinnamon floated out on the evening air.

“Well, look at you two.” Mrs. Biggs cackled,
giving them a gap-toothed smile. Clay and Callan smiled at her in
return. “It does an old heart like this a world of good to set eyes
on a young couple so in love. It’s not often you see people your
age so devoted to each other. God bless you both.”

Clay’s ears turned the color of the candied
apples they’d passed earlier and Callan’s cheeks burned from
embarrassment. The old woman was obviously off her rocker.

“Thanks, ma’am.” Callan offered a tight
smile while attempting to move away from Mrs. Biggs and her crazy
proclamations. “Oh, gosh,” she said as they walked out of earshot
of Mrs. Biggs, carrying the bag of fresh, hot doughnuts. “I wonder
what she was thinking. I can’t…”

Clay squeezed her hand, took a doughnut, and
flashed one of his dimpled grins. “I think Mrs. Biggs is one smart
woman.”

Callan shivered from both the cold and her
memories, dropping the curtain back into place. Ultimately, she
wasn’t sure old Mrs. Biggs was as smart as Clay thought.

After the fair, Callan and Clay began dating
seriously. Engaged a couple of months later, they wed just before
Christmas. It was all exciting, wonderful, and romantic.

Their first few years together had been so
happy and carefree. Everyone talked about them being the perpetual
honeymooners.

She had loved Clay so much then. It seemed
like she only felt complete when they were together. Gradually,
they started to drift apart. It was impossible to pinpoint the day
they had become distant and not always polite strangers.

Maudlin, Callan wondered how love could just
disappear. Then again, she wasn’t sure it had, at least not
completely.

Confused and exhausted, she decided it best
to clamp the lid down on those thoughts. She excelled at closing
down her emotions to keep things neat and orderly.

On silent feet, Callan returned to the
bedroom, pausing at the door to release another beleaguered sigh.
Quietly removing her robe, she climbed into bed, careful not to
disturb Clay. At least the snoring had stopped.

The cool sheets gave her a chill and she
fought down a shiver. Refusing to scoot closer to Clay’s warmth,
she turned onto her side, willing sleep to come.

Unable to get warm, she debated putting on a
pair of socks or freezing. Callan started to slide out of bed when
Clay rolled her direction and threw an arm around her waist,
bringing welcome heat and security.

Callan relaxed for a moment, enjoying the
weight of his arm around her and the feel of his strong body
pressed against hers. His warmth and proximity threatened to open
the box of emotions she worked so hard to keep tightly sealed.

Too exhausted to fight her conflicting
feelings, she finally drifted into a less than peaceful
slumber.

Callan awoke to the sound of the alarm
blaring. It took her a moment to register that Clay let it continue
resonating in the early morning quiet.

She felt across the bed. No Clay. As she
opened her eyes, she realized she was alone in their big bed.
Nothing unusual about that. Rolling over, she silenced the alarm
and tossed back the covers.

Hurriedly jumping into the shower, she
mentally ran through her to do list, dreading the meetings and
deadlines ahead.

It took just minutes for her to blow dry her
hair and twist it up on her head then apply a coat of mascara.
After brushing her teeth, she selected a skirt, blouse and blazer
from the closet. It didn’t really matter what she choose to wear
since most everything was black. She disliked her current wardrobe
almost as much as everything else in her life. Even if her
selections seemed somber and depressing, she maintained a
respectable and professional appearance.

Between bites of cold cereal, she threw
together a lunch. She shoved her feet into shoes, snapped on her
watch, slipped on her coat, and headed toward the front door. Clay
left a note taped to the glass in the door’s window.

Had an early
meeting
.
See you
for dinner.

“I seriously doubt that,” Callan muttered.
She tugged on her gloves then hurried outside to start her car and
scrape the windshield before running back inside the house. In the
days when Clay was madly in love with her, he would have scraped
her windshield when he did his. Recollections of the past only
served to add fuel to the fire of irritation burning a hot blaze
through her, despite the early hour of the morning.

Snatching Clay’s missive off the door, she
slammed it down on the counter and added her own note.

Working late, don’t wait up. Please do the
dishes!

Angrily stomping out the door, Callan slid
in her car and headed off to work. As she turned into the parking
lot at the convention center where she worked as the creative
director, she knew the sink would still be full of dishes when she
got home late that night.

The only dinner she’d been home for in the
past week was last night’s pizza. They’d eaten it on the good china
because all the other plates were dirty… in the sink. Perhaps Clay
thought she joined in the spirit of celebrating because she’d
brought out the china.

The dirty dishes had definitely become
another hot button with her that Clay seemed all too eager to
press.

Their rule of thumb had always been the
first one home was responsible for dinner. If she made dinner, she
made it as quickly as she could with as few dishes as possible.
When Clay cooked, she was surprised there was a pot, pan, or plate
left clean. She couldn’t fathom how he created such a mess making
something as simple as soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.

Unfortunately, Callan and Clay rarely ate a
meal together. When they did, it more often than not involved them
sitting in separate chairs in front of the television with Clay
watching sports or hunting programs while Callan quietly seethed
that he always controlled the remote.

She would spend the remainder of her evening
in her home office, working to get her own business off the ground.
At bedtime, she’d return to the kitchen expecting Clay to have done
the dishes. Disappointment always washed over her to find them
still piled on the counter, covered in dried-on food.

Instead of addressing the issue, she’d say
nothing and start loading plates into the dishwasher. Clay would
wander into the kitchen and ask if she needed help. Rather than
responding, she’d send him a heated glare that would have fried
lesser men and continue slamming dishes. Clay wouldn’t say
anything, retreating to their bedroom. By the time Callan climbed
into bed, she would be in a snit because he always left the dishes
for her to do. She was the one who cleaned house, purchased
groceries, paid the bills, and did all the laundry. She didn't
think it was such a big deal for him to take responsibility for the
dishes. Especially when she worked two jobs and wasn’t home most
nights.

In addition to her full-time job at the
convention center, Callan ran her own event planning business. The
board at the convention center fully approved of her second job
because it brought in a respectable amount of additional revenue.
Callan always suggested the meeting space there to her clients who
searched for a place to hold an event. Too bad Clay didn’t
appreciate it as much as her employers did.

When she started the event planning business
four years ago, Clay half-heartedly agreed to her trying it. It was
the ideal career for her. She loved to socialize, was known for her
attention to detail and organization skills, and she possessed a
unique creative flair. Event planning was her passion.

Callan attended some small business classes,
put together a business plan, took out a loan, and started her
business. She ran it out of her home office and spent any free
moments during her evenings and weekends meeting with clients and
organizing their events. She dreamed of growing the business to the
point she could do event planning full-time and quit her job at the
convention center.

The first few years in business had been
rough as she sought to establish herself and gain a client base.
The business was like a, “black hole of debt, sucking money left
and right,” or so Clay said in one particularly unpleasant
conversation.

He didn’t want to incur any debt and instead
thought it better to borrow the money from his parents to start her
business. Callan refused. They had never borrowed money from
relatives and she wouldn’t start just because Clay acted
hardheaded. Clay quickly went from offering unenthusiastic support
to being actively annoyed at any mention of her business, Elegant
Events. They finally agreed not to discuss it at all.

Due to that fact, he was unaware that her
business had recently experienced remarkable growth or that she had
made a sizeable dent in the debt. If the growth continued like it
had for the past two years, she should be debt free in another
eighteen months.

Callan pulled her car into the parking space
she had used for the past eight years. It was hard to believe she’d
been at the convention center that long, but she did enjoy her job.
The only fly in the ointment was the general manager the board
hired to replace the last in a long line of incompetent general
managers.

Arty Bierwagen was in his late sixties,
short, overweight, and a prime candidate for a study on the early
stages of dementia. He took a daily bath in cologne that smelled
like a cheap motel’s lounge and walked as if his hips might come
unhinged at any moment. A tacky comb-over graced his shiny bald
dome, creating a vision similar to limp, greasy gray noodles
stretched across the top of his head.

Callan had yet to decide if Arty was an
improvement over the last general manager. Jane was a shrewish
woman in her fifties, in cahoots with the receptionist, Bev. She
disappeared for weeks at a time while she had something else
tucked, lifted, or sucked and Bev had an unlimited supply of
excuses for Jane’s absences. Fortunately, the two women managed to
tangle their stories one day with some of the board members and
that was the end of Jane and Bev.

The new receptionist was a big improvement
over Bev. Although she was young, Rachel worked hard, was
professional, punctual and sweet. They had a good management team
and a strong staff.

Except for Arty.

Callan knew, though, that given enough time
and rope, Arty would hang himself. However, in her current state of
fatigue and stress, she didn’t know if she could wait that long.
Arty constantly pushed her closer and closer to the edge of a
complete breakdown.

She entered the conference center and pasted
on a smile, offering a friendly greeting to Rachel. Briefly, she
popped her head into the sales manager’s office for a sincere
hello. Jill Taylor, a fiery redhead who didn’t take flack from
anyone, had become a good friend.

As she strolled toward her office, she took
a moment to admire how beautiful the convention center looked,
decked out for the holidays.

Callan just needed to make it through the
next week. After that, Christmas would be over, her schedule would
calm down, and she could try to make some sense out of the mess her
life had become. In addition to her full schedule at the convention
center and her own clients’ events, she and Clay were hosting all
their family Christmas Day. Out of a sense of duty or guilt, she
wasn’t sure which, she had agreed for both her family and Clay’s to
converge at their house for Christmas dinner again this year.

Callan walked into her office, set down her
purse then took off her coat and hung it up. Quickly perusing the
stack of messages waiting for her return call, she turned on the
computer and sat down in her chair. She removed a to-do list from
her purse and gave it a glance.

Christmas dinner invitations were issued.
Most of the baking was completed and in the freezer waiting to pull
out and defrost. She’d purchased the last gifts from the shopping
list last week. She still had several gifts to wrap and a few last
minute treats to make, but other than one major haul from the
grocery store, she felt confident the to-do list was manageable. If
a Christmas miracle took place, Clay would muster some spirit of
the season and help her finish the final details.