Love in Bloom (17 page)

The truth jabbed Clay's conscience and he couldn't get angry with Paige for seeing it.  "I want to help him."

"Then share your recuperation process with him.  Get involved in his life."

"You don't know what you're asking."

Her voice was gentle.  "Tell me."

"I can't."

He heard her sigh.  "Money isn't enough, Clay.  I suppose you could talk to Ben about it, but don't be surprised if it doesn't make a difference.  I think he's just using it as an excuse.  With his intelligence and grades, he might be able to win a grant or scholarship from one of the private colleges."

"I see."

"Do you, Clay?  The other night I poured out my fears to you.  I trusted you.  Can't you trust me?"

He knew she was hurt that he wouldn't confide in her.  But if he did confide in her, they could both get hurt even more.  "I told you I'll listen whenever you want to talk.  But don't expect me to bare my soul just because you did."

"I never thought you'd be insensitive, Clay, but that statement of yours just proved me wrong."  And with that, she hung up the phone with a decisive click.

Clay stared at the dead line.  He wished he could tell her her kisses set him on fire, made him burn to possess her--not just her body, but all of her.  And he wished he could confide in her.  But he was afraid that would be an end, not a beginning.  He'd handled enough endings for a lifetime.  He wasn't about to add one more to the list.

****

Paige stabbed at the packed earth as if it were the enemy.

Suddenly a shadow blocked the sun from shining over her shoulder.  "Are you weeding or working off frustration?"

Paige sat back on her heels and looked up at Doc. "A little of both."  She sighed and then admitted, "A lot of both.  I just talked to Clay.  Sometimes he makes me so angry."

"And other times?"

She couldn't fool Doc.  She never could.  "And other times I like him so much, I wonder what it would be like to--"  She stopped abruptly.

"Love him?"

She took off her gloves and set them on the ground beside her.  "Bad timing, isn't it?  Clay won't open up to me.  Apparently he doesn't feel nearly as much as I do."

Doc shook his head.  "That might not be a valid conclusion."

She closed her eyes for a moment.  "If he cared about me, he could talk to me."

"The one might not have anything to do with the other."

She opened her eyes and protested, "Well, it should."

Doc chuckled at her indignation.  "Because you think it should?"

Her shoulders slumped.  "Oh, Doc.  I told him why I came here.  About the children.  And he was so supportive, comforting.  But then other times he's as distant as the farthest star.  I just wish I could understand.  Can't you tell me what happened to him to make him this way?"

"You know I can't tell you what Clay's told me in confidence.  But I can tell you one thing--he's been hurt badly, physically and emotionally.  As I said before, I don't think even I know the whole story.  But I do know he's faced rejection, lots of it."

"Involving women?"

With his sneaker, Doc shoved a clump of dirt back into the flower bed.  "I think that's only part of it.  It's no secret he dated a woman in Langley a couple of years ago.  It seemed serious.  They went everywhere together.  But then overnight...  I don't know what happened."

"She's still in Langley?"

"No.  I heard she took a job in Baltimore.  She had no family here, so she never came back."

Paige picked up the gloves and gardening fork she'd been using.  "Clay was right."

"About what?"

She stood.  "Everyone knows everything about everybody."

Doc nodded.  "I suppose so.  Several people have commented about you and Clay seeing each other."

She took a step back.  "We aren't!  We haven't even been on a real date." 

Doc smiled broadly.  "And what's a real date?"

She stooped and grabbed the sheaf of newspaper she'd used to cushion her knees.  "You're not so old you can't remember.  Dinner, a movie maybe, no one else around."

"You'd like that?"

She met Doc's gaze.  "Very much.  Maybe too much.  Maybe it's not a good idea at all."

"Paige, I'm just going to say one thing and then you can make up your own mind.  Clay's been hurt and it's hard for him to trust.  If you want his trust, you might have to give him your heart.  Are you ready to do that?  Because if you're not, you'd better leave him alone."

                                                           ****

On Wednesday, Paige was still mulling over Doc's words as she treated her patients and escorted the last one out to the receptionist's desk that evening.  Tomorrow she and Clay were supposed to shop for supplies for the Fourth of July.  Would he remember?

Paige said good-bye to her patient.  Her receptionist nodded to the waiting room.  Ben sat there, staring out the window.  Paige knew he didn't have an appointment.  As she walked toward him, he turned and saw her.  His smile was uncertain.

"Is something wrong?"

He shrugged.  "No.  Not exactly.  I wondered if you'd take me to Mr. Reynolds' place.  I'd like to talk to him."

Paige glanced at her watch.  "Now?"

"If you can.  I walked into town and went to the store, but they said he left early."

"You walked from home?"

"It's only two miles.  But my leg's kinda weak now and I knew I'd have trouble getting back.  If you can't take me, I'll call my dad to come get me."

"It's not that I can't..."  She just wasn't sure she wanted to see Clay.  She didn't even know if he was at home.  Yet this seemed important to Ben, and she sensed he didn't want to see Clay alone.  After all, he could've had his father drive him out in the first place.

She took her stethoscope from around her neck.  "Give me a few minutes to straighten up my desk and we'll go.  Do your parents know where you are?"

He looked sheepish.  "No.  Mom went shopping and Dad wasn't home yet."

"Call them and tell them I'll bring you home."

Ben grinned and nodded.

****

Clay nailed the final crossbeam onto the upright post.  He'd finally gotten around to mending the fence.  At least now he didn't have to worry about Shep running into the barbed wire.

Clay's thumb hurt and he realized he'd caught a splinter.  He'd take care of that later.  He hated wearing gloves because they interfered too much.  He remembered the first time he'd gotten grease all over his hands, how strangely good it had felt.  How honest and natural.

He'd finished an afternoon of social studies, science, and a second session of math.  His brain had been fuzzy with all the information he was absorbing like a thirsty sponge.  The doctors had told him he'd learn quickly.  And he had in the two years after the accident.  But there were days when the books seemed to take control of his life.

His mother was a wonderful teacher.  Patient.  Understanding.  And too many times to count, he'd wished he could remember the years when she'd nurtured and cared for him in other ways.  After he came home from the hospital, he'd given her some bad times with episodes of swearing and mood swings, both common in head injury patients.  Somehow she'd taken it in stride, as had Trish, and helped him work through it.

That particular day, he'd felt claustrophobic in the house so he'd taken a walk, then wandered into the garage.  The riding mower had caught his attention.  The weekend before, his dad had cursed at it because it had stalled in the middle of the backyard.

Clay turned the key in the ignition and nothing happened.  Seeing the manual for the machine lying on a ladder, he'd paged through it.  The mower couldn't be that complicated. 

First, he charged the battery.  When he tried the ignition again, the mower still wouldn't turn over.  Rummaging in a box on a shelf, he found new spark plugs.  He changed those.  He turned the key in the ignition and it still wouldn't start.

It seemed only logical that he check the wiring next.  When he did, he found the problem.  Following the wire to the starter under the seat, he realized the weight of the rider was supposed to bring the seat into contact with the switch.  It wasn't making that contact because a bolt was missing and the starter had slipped.

Searching in his father's nails and bolts, he found one to fit.  With the starter properly attached, the mower started when he turned the key.

That had been the beginning.  His mother hadn't simply taught him material he'd forgotten.  She'd taught him problem solving techniques through basic geometry, the scientific method, and simple stick-to-it-iveness.  That evening Clay had gone to the library and taken out every book he could find on basic mechanics.  Then he'd started overhauling neighbors' mowers.  After two years of rehabilitating his mind and body, he'd found a job at a farm center, repairing and reconditioning garden equipment.  He'd listened, learned, and finally decided it was time to move on, time to move up, time to take control of his life and make it what he wanted.

And seven years later, what had he accomplished?  He had a life of his own, he had friends, he felt he belonged.  But did he really, when no one knew the honest-to-God's truth about him?

What would Paige do if he told her?  Would she run?  Would she back off?  Would she think he was a freak like the tabloid reporter who'd somehow managed to get into his home after his accident?

Shep barked from inside the house.  Clay had thought it would be safer to fix the fence with the dog inside.  But when Shep barked, there was a good reason.

Clay picked up the hammer and nails and strode toward the house.  Half way across the yard, he saw Paige and Ben.  His stomach tightened and his heart beat more rapidly.

Paige looked beautiful as always.  Her pale blue blouse and navy linen skirt might have looked ordinary on anyone else.  On her, the severity added to her sleek lines, her graceful walk.

Ben looked tentative, but Paige hung back to let the teenager approach first.  He stuffed one hand in his pocket and gripped his cane tightly with the other.  "Mr. Reynolds, can we talk?"

Clay tried to prepare himself for whatever was coming.  "Come into the house."

They walked toward the back door.  Ben went inside first.  When Clay held the door for Paige, she shook her head.  "I'm going for a walk and give you some privacy."

Ben looked worried.  "Dr. Conrad, you don't have to go."

She smiled.  "Clay knows how to listen, Ben.  You didn't come here to talk to me."

Clay said, "Go on into the living room.  I'll be there in a minute."  When Ben was out of earshot, he asked, "What's up?"

"I'm not sure.  He just said he wanted to see you."  Paige touched Clay's arm.  "Go easy, okay?"