“That we do.” He smiled. “We’ve gotta learn to do this for ourselves.”
Faye walked away, muttering under her breath that some help was more trouble than it was worth. But Lily pretended not to hear.
Cassie Edmunds came in and sat three stools away from Lily. When Benny asked her what he could get for her, she told him she was waiting for someone. Then she added, “A Coke would be nice.”
No beer? Maybe the results of that pregnancy test were positive.
Lily told her dad goodbye and headed back out into the rain. As she was turning out of the parking lot, Clay’s truck turned in. Through the rain-streaked windshield, she thought he looked a little guilty as he waved.
Once they got home and Riley headed up to take a shower, Lily called the bar.
“Dad! Sounds even busier…. I just wanted to offer my help again.” She hoped she didn’t sound as transparent as she felt.
“It’s not fair to have you waste a Saturday night here. We’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’ll call you if we get into trouble, how’s that?”
“Okay. Good luck.”
“Thanks, honey.”
“Wait, Dad!”
“Still here.”
“Um, is Bud there, by any chance?”
She heard glasses clink and longnecks spritz open. “Yeah, sittin’ right here next to Cassie. Want to talk to him?”
“No!” She calmed her voice. “No. I just thought I saw him as I was leaving. I’ll let you go.” Lily hung up before her dad could ask any more questions.
Cassie and a pregnancy test. Cassie and a Coke. Cassie and Clay. It didn’t take a nuclear physicist to solve that equation.
Oh, boy.
Lily dropped Riley off at the arcade. He hunched against the rain and ran to the door, then disappeared inside. Lily was a little disappointed; she’d hoped to get a look at these new friends of his. Maybe she’d have more luck when she picked him up.
As she headed home, she drove past the Crossing House, even though it wasn’t actually on her way. Clay’s truck was still in the parking lot. She glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard: six twenty-five. She hoped he had things all settled with Cassie (in her mind the name rang out in a jealous and juvenile singsong tone) by seven. She mentally admonished herself for such a catty thought. This situation was beyond belief. How could she have allowed herself to be so foolish?
Once back home, she resisted the urge to freshen her makeup and brush her hair. She left her wet tennis shoes on the rug beside the door and didn’t bother to go find another pair. She didn’t want it to look like she’d given a single thought to her appearance when Clay arrived.
It was dark in the house, but she didn’t turn on any lights, not yet. There was something soothing about the gray gloom that surrounded her. She sat on the leather sofa for ten minutes, her bare feet curled underneath her, rehearsing in her mind what she was going to say to Clay.
At six fifty-five, she got up and switched on the lamps and the front porch light.
At seven-ten, she was still sitting by herself.
At seven-twenty, she switched off the porch light. It just seemed too needy, shining all alone out there for somebody who didn’t even have the decency to call and say he wasn’t coming.
At seven-thirty there was a knock at the door.
Lily considered ignoring it.
Then she decided that was just too petty and got up and opened the door.
Clay stood there, wet hair plastered to his head, jacket and jeans soaked through. “Sorry I’m late. Cassie had trouble with her car and I had to give her a jump.”
Lily bit back the nasty comment that threatened to pop out about his already having jumped Cassie, and opened the door wide enough for him to come inside.
“So how is Cassie?” Her tone sounded petulant even to her own ears.
He looked at her with wary confusion on his face. “Fine—I guess.”
“She have any news?” She drew the last word out.
Clay’s brow furrowed. “Not really. I didn’t talk to her much.”
“Hmmm.” Lily couldn’t help but pinch her mouth tightly when she made the noise.
“What’s going on with you?” Clay asked in a way that almost made Lily believe he didn’t have a clue.
“Nothing. I’ll just get right to the point, so you can get back to Cassie.”
“I don’t know where you’re getting all of this me and Cassie idea, but you’re way off the mark.”
She lifted a brow. “Really?” Then she waved a hand in the air before he could reply. “It’s none of my business.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “You’re right. But just to settle that question in your mind, I don’t have anything to do with Cassie. I stopped for a beer. When I was leaving the Crossing House, she was in the lot with the hood up on her car.”
Lily put both palms up and shook her head. “You don’t owe me any explanation.” Inside, her thoughts tumbled. Could she be that far off the mark about his relationship with Cassie? She finally said, “Come on in.”
They were still standing on the big rug in front of the door. “Maybe we should talk here. I’ll ruin your floor.”
“That’s fine. I don’t think you’re going to be too comfortable with what I have to say anyway. No need to get cozy.”
He shifted his weight and swiped the wet hair away from his face. “I’m all ears.”
His casual tone set her teeth on edge. “After all of that talk about Friday nights and draft beer, you didn’t show up at the Crossing House last night. Apparently you found a better way to pass your time.”
“And that would have been?”
“Come on, Clay. I know you were here. What I want to know is, why?”
“I thought we’d already covered that subject.”
“Not to my satisfaction.”
He turned slightly and examined the latch on the door. “It doesn’t look to me like this door’s been tampered with. Someone come in through the back?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You know you didn’t.”
“Maybe you should just tell me what happened. No one broke in the front door. No one broke in the back door. What makes you think someone was in here at all?”
“Footprints. You weren’t careful enough about that coal room.”
His gaze sharpened. He stopped looking vaguely amused—an expression Lily had been keeping her hands tucked under her arms to keep herself from smacking off his face—and started looking genuinely concerned. “You did call the sheriff?”
“Not necessary. I can think of only three people who know about that coal chute: the caretaker, Peter and you.”
“I imagine Peter’s parents know it’s there.”
She flipped her hand in the air. “They also have a key to the front door. Can you see Samantha Holt crawling in through a dirty coal chute if her life depended on it?”
Clay loved Samantha Holt, a woman who’d mothered him after his own mother was gone. The only warm family memories Clay had after his mother died were centered around Peter’s mother. But there was no way he could see her in anything but designer sportswear and spotless shoes. “No. No, I can’t.” He couldn’t help but smile.
“So? You still want me to call the sheriff and sic him on you?”
“Lily, believe me, if I had been in your house, you’d never have a clue.” He leveled a look at her that made the hair prickle on her neck. “There wouldn’t be a trace that a forensics team could find.”
Lily fought to conceal the chill that swept over her. She knew there was something cunning and sharp lingering just behind Clay’s eyes. But she had no better idea what put it there than she had weeks ago. She shook her head to rid herself of thoughts that were outside her current problem. “Why are you playing this game with me?”
A flinty look hardened his gaze. “I don’t play games. That seems to be your forte.”
She threw up h
er hands. “All right, goddammit, that’s enough! I’m sick to death of your snide little comments. You were the one who deserted me.”
He took a step closer to her. “Christ! That’s a good one. That’s not at all how I remember it.”
She leaned in, not wanting him to think he was intimidating her. “Just how do you remember it? All of that talk about loving me, wanting it to be forever. It was a load of bullshit. And I was so blind with love, I bought it.”
“Blind with love? Or with the desire to put this town behind you? That love transferred pretty quickly to the next available candidate.”
“You left. Why should you care who I loved or when I moved on?”
“You knew I was coming back.”
A bark of bitter laughter escaped Lily’s throat. “It only took you fourteen years—I guess I should have waited.”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her so close they were nearly nose to nose. “Things happened. It just took longer than I’d planned to get back. When I did, you were in Chicago, married to Peter.” The gold in his eyes sparked with his anger.
Lily jerked her arm free; it was painful enough that she knew he’d left a bruise. “You disappear without a word—and blame me for not sitting around and waiting—”
“I sent Peter with the message—one you couldn’t possibly have misinterpreted.”
“Come on! Peter? Peter, who didn’t know where you’d gone?” Lily couldn’t keep herself from yelling. She pretended not to see the shocking change that came over Clay’s face. His color faded; the tense way he held his mouth slackened. “Really, Clay, you can come up with something better than that. At least a letter lost in the mail has the ring of plausibility to it. And besides, if you had a message for me, why didn’t you just pick up the goddamn phone?”
He backed up and slumped against the doorframe. His eyes lost the sharp focus of anger and fogged with pain and memory. His hand shook as he rubbed his face. “Oh, God.” He swallowed. “He didn’t tell you.”
The room suddenly took a spin. Darkness edged her vision; all she could see was the bleak truth in Clay’s face. There had been a message.
Once Lily found the strength to move again, she went to get Clay a towel, then started a pot of coffee while he dried off. As the coffee finished dripping, they sat on opposite ends of the big couch, like strangers in an oncologist’s waiting room; the obvious subject too weighty to undertake, yet too large to dance around with small talk. By unspoken agreement, they remained silent until the coffee was in hand.
Lily returned to the kitchen and brought back steaming mugs.
The rain beat against the roof, the darkness pressed against the windowpanes and a black ache strained the confines of Lily’s heart. She handed Clay his coffee, but avoided looking him in the eye. When she sat down, she wrapped her cold hands around the mug for warmth.
After a few minutes with nothing but the rhythmic drip of the rain in the downspouts, Clay set down his mug and spoke. He kept his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the rain-streaked window.
“When I went back to Chicago, I did what I’d intended. I told my dad. I’d known it was going to be bad, but, Jesus, Lily, I didn’t know a person could be so vile to his own flesh and blood.”
Lily closed her eyes so she didn’t have to see the pain on Clay’s face.
He went on, “I knew he would cut me off. I was prepared to leave school—get a job. But he exploded.” He hit his fist against his palm to emphasize the word.
Lily opened her eyes and saw Clay was now looking at her.
“I mean, he really lost it. He even took a swing at me with a fireplace poker.”
“Oh, my God,” Lily whispered. “Did he hurt you?” Douglas Winters was a big man with a bad temper. Lily couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to stand before him alone and face his wrath. She also knew, no matter what the man did, the Clay of fourteen years ago wouldn’t have raised a hand against him, even in self-defense.
Clay shook his head; his eyes remained glazed with memory. “Once the initial violence passed, he started with the threats and manipulation that I had expected. It went on and on, threats against me, you, your family. And I had no doubt he could carry out each and every one.
“In the end, I threw my car keys at his feet and told him he could take the car, take the money, take his powerful name. I didn’t need any of it. I wasn’t leaving for you, I was leaving for me.
“As I left I heard him yelling, ‘Don’t come back. You’re as dead to me as your mother.’ ” Clay gulped in a drink of air. As if the words had starved his body of oxygen. “It didn’t take long for me to find out he meant it.”
Lily’s own breath came in shallow puffs. “What happened?”
“I left Dad’s on foot. It was late and I planned to call Peter to come and pick me up sooner or later, but I needed to walk—I needed to run, I needed to fight the wind.” His hands clenched into fists. “My God, Lily, I’d never been so angry and so exhilarated at the same time.”
The emotion of fourteen years ago was etched so clearly on Clay’s face that Lily ached. She hadn’t been there for him. He’d taken the biggest and most painful step of his life alone. From the perspective of adulthood, it was so easy to see and understand each of their mistakes. What they say about hindsight was absolutely true. Lily had had no idea of the true depth of his conviction, or his misery under the yoke of his father.
“I was pissed as hell with him,” he said. “But I’d finally done it. I was finally free.” He rubbed his face with both hands and he paused.
“That freedom lasted all of two hours.”
Chapter 14
As Clay explained the events of that night to Lily, he was quickly transported back in time. He experienced the buzz of emotion in his nerves, could feel the damp night air on his skin, smell the smoky barroom, hear the quick sharp scream that had drawn him into something he wished with all of his being that he’d never begun.
Clay’s jacket was wet from the mist. Walking down Rush Street, he passed bar after bar. Finally the moment came when he stopped and walked in one. He only wanted a single scotch. One. No more. But as he finished the first one, the edge began to fade from his agitated rage. He figured a second would even him out enough that he could get to sleep.
He held up his glass and nodded to the bartender.
After he finished the second, he would call Peter.
He sat at the bar in hunched solitude. The trendy nightspot was crowded even on a weeknight. Too crowded for Clay’s mood, but he was tired of walking. He was tired of everything. Tomorrow he would call Lily and they could get things straightened out.
He’d have to stay away from her for a while, just to make sure his dad didn’t have an excuse to make trouble for her family. But after that… they’d be free to start a life together.
His unsettled mood set his body at odds with the scotch he’d consumed. He felt like he had live wires buzzing just under the surface of his skin. Instead of that second scotch further blunting the anger, it seemed to have pumped fresh agitation into his veins.
Better head home before he got any worse.
The pay phone was off to the side of the front door, in a narrow hallway that led to the restrooms. When he started down the hall, he saw a strung-out-looking middle-aged woman leaning against the wall, shouting at someone through the telephone. She didn’t miss a beat in her tirade when she shot him a look that would have stopped a linebacker.
He waved an apology and stepped back to the doorway that opened onto the sidewalk. As he dug around in his pocket for change, a sound between a yip and a scream jerked his attention to the street. He stepped out just in time to see a huge hulk of a guy backhand a woman half his size. She slammed against the brick front of the bar, staggering, twisting an ankle and breaking the high heel off her shoe.
Clay shouted, “Hey! Stop!” He walked closer.
The man took a step toward the woman, who covered her head with her arms in anticipation of the next bl
ow.
“Hey!” Clay grabbed the man’s shoulder and felt rock-hard muscle under the silk shirt. He ignored the good sense that said he was biting off more than he could chew.
“Get lost, asshole,” the man said, but kept his back to Clay.
Clay jerked on the shoulder.
The man spun around with an animallike growl. Clay saw the flash of a knife blade reflect the blue neon glow of the bar’s sign.
“Just leave the lady alone,” Clay said, with his palms raised to indicate he didn’t want a fight.
“Lady?” The man laughed as he took another step toward Clay. “You better get your eyes checked, sonny. This bitch ain’t no lady. You wanna know what else she ain’t?”
Clay stood his ground, but didn’t answer. He wondered briefly why the woman wasn’t taking the opportunity to run for real help.
“This bitch ain’t no concern of yours.” The knife slashed through the air, close enough that Clay felt the rush of air on his face. “Now you run along and let me take care of my business.”
“Can’t do it, man.” Clay didn’t know what made him say it, but it came out. “Just let her go and you and I can go have a drink.”
The man’s face twisted into a wicked smile. “Why, you’re just about the funniest white boy I ever laid eyes on.”
The bastard’s cocky arrogance, coupled with the whimpers from the woman, pushed Clay’s hot button. “And you’re just about the stupidest I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
The man lunged so quickly, Clay had no chance to dodge. In the blink of an eye, he was locked in a struggle to keep the knife from making deadly contact. Somewhere on the fringes of his awareness he heard the woman screaming again. With that, he simply tried to stay alive until help arrived.
Seconds passed and no one rushed in to help. Clay’s desperation grew. His muscles burned. The guy was strong.
Off balance, they fell to the concrete walk. The jarring impact loosened the man’s hold on the knife. Clay managed to wrench it from his grasp, but the man kept fighting, trying to turn Clay’s hand on himself.
When the siren came to an abrupt halt, Clay barely registered it.
The Road Home Page 21