Dr. Stuart chuckled. “Well, of course, Amber. What could be unhappy about everyone getting along?”
Amber took her book and stood. “Well, thank you. Truly. Clay has never met a bullet point he didn’t like, so I’m sure one of us will be fantastically intrigued by this process.” She shook the counselor’s hand way more fiercely than she intended. “Also, congratulations on being such a vital part of our first date.”
Dr. Stuart’s eyes shifted to Clay’s. “First date?”
“It seemed safe,” Clay replied.
And just like that, the rage that was building slid right out of Amber’s heart. He wasn’t a jerk. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was . . . scared.
“Yes, well,” the counselor said, a bit flustered as he eyed Clay. “Maybe end it with a stroll in the park? Hm?”
Nearby was Tuscora Park. They walked together a little while. It seemed absurd, counseling plus a walk. But soon enough, to Amber’s surprise, an easiness set in between them. The wind was getting cooler as each autumn day passed, but the leaves were still vibrant and gorgeous. She’d always been intrigued by the seasons, what they meant, all the symbolism they carried and the hope of each one arriving year after year. But autumn . . . There was nothing like the burst of color the leaves displayed, right before they died on the cold ground below them. It was such a true look at life. Bright colors. Then death. Over and over again.
“Come on,” Clay said gently. “Let’s go sit on the swings.”
She’d almost forgotten he was there, he was so quiet. They each sat on a thick leather strap. His swing kept perfectly still. Hers rocked back and forth.
“So,” he said, “let’s get started.” He opened his book to page 1. She did too, mostly out of politeness and curiosity. But she kept getting distracted by the delighted squeals of children on the playground, running and playing, laughing at the simple fun of being chased.
The simple fun of being chased. She glanced at Clay, busy studying the book, his finger tracing the words as he read. It didn’t seem like she was being chased. It seemed like she was being . . . test-driven.
Amber sighed, turning to the second page. What had she expected to happen today? It was stress boy, after all. How could she have had any fantasies that this was going to go at all normally? She’d had her hopes set on spicy marinara. He was stewed tomatoes. She wanted artichokes. He was canned peas. Was she really that surprised?
Amber watched him concentrate and her heart melted a little. This was important to him.
So she should give it a try anyway. She wasn’t a fan of canned peas, but maybe she was missing something she didn’t know about.
She flipped to page 14. “Do you regularly use or abuse drugs or alcohol?”
Clay looked up. “Not since college. But I think we’re supposed to go in order.”
“Just so you know, this is what some might call rushing it.”
He was back to reading again. “Do you have any pet peeves?”
But Amber was back to looking at the leaves. The wind had kicked up, and burgundy, orange, and yellow leaves rose into the air. The sky looked large and deep today, and she watched the leaves drift against the wind, floating slowly down like they were being cradled by invisible hands.
“Do you have any pet peeves?”
“Just one.” A particularly beautiful leaf landed at her feet and she bent over to pick it up, twirling it between her fingers. “Leaves are cool. They start out as little buds. And then, like literally overnight, there they are.” She rubbed the leaf against her cheek. “You know, I think that’s like us. We come out of the womb, green as all get-out. Clinging to the branch that holds us. Perched in a high and safe place. We watch the world, and then we become useful in some way, like providing shade. But that’s not good enough. We want to kind of get down there, you know? Be with all that’s there, below us. But it’s scary. I mean, we’ve clung high and safe for a long time. But we know . . . we know if we just let go, we’re going to get to see the most amazing things. Then our time comes. And we can feel ourselves changing. At the moment we let go, we’re at our most drop-dead gorgeous. We’re bursts of color that make people stop and stare. So we take a magical flight down, caught by the wind—at its mercy, really. We don’t know where we’ll land. And sometimes we don’t get to land where we want. But sometimes, if we’re lucky,” she said, looking at the leaf in her hand, “we get to be cherished.”
“Would you pay over four dollars for a cup of coffee?” Clay had a pencil out now, checking off boxes.
“Once you hit the ground, you dry up and die, but that’s not the most interesting part of the story.”
Clay glanced at her as though he’d just noticed she was talking. “Four bucks for a cup of coffee?”
“No way.”
He smiled in relief, not noticing that she wasn’t in any way smiling back.
Her eyes narrowed and she folded her arms. “But I’d pay eight dollars for anything with chocolate in it.”
Well, that remark landed them at the financial planner’s office the next day. Same tidy desk. Different fellow. This guy was more uptight than Clay, which was saying a lot. His name was Fred. His personality was as heavily starched as his shirt.
Fred was looking over a binder that Clay brought in and Clay was leaning forward, hanging on his every word. Amber was desperately needing a four-dollar cup of coffee.
“Hmm,” Fred said, finally closing the binder. “You’ll need more than that. Much more.”
Clay nodded thoughtfully.
Fred continued. “That’s why the current loophole in the tax liability law makes our new multigenerational mutual fund package so attractive. In twenty years, the cost of a college education is expected to be as much as eight times its existing rate. If you care about . . .”
She didn’t, and somewhere between 401(k)s and life insurance adjustments, she slipped into a coma. An hour later, loaded down with pamphlets and flowcharts, they took a walk downtown. It was a good thing. She needed the air.
Clay had his free hand stuffed in his pocket. Quiet settled between them once again, but it didn’t seem uncomfortable. And that was the mystery of Clay Walsh.
“What’s wrong with planning ahead?” he asked her finally.
It deserved a snarky reply, but it was a genuine question and he had a genuine heart and all this absurdity somehow made sense to him. So instead she said, “Next question.”
“Um, okay.” He took his workbook and opened it to where he’d bookmarked it. “How many children would you like to have?”
She could’ve answered, but a beautiful green dress—the color of pine trees in the Northwest—caught her attention in the window of a quaint dress shop. It looked silky and had gorgeous detail. A thick band crossed over one shoulder. She didn’t know where she’d wear such a dress, but it would be fun to have it in her closet. Just in case things transpired from financial planning to the grand ball at the palace. Of course, if not, she wasn’t opposed to wearing it to dance around her apartment. Mr. Joe would appreciate it.
“What’s wrong?” Clay asked, looking up.
“Isn’t that gorgeous?”
Clay’s gaze shifted to the dress, his eyes bloodshot from reading. He regarded it for a moment, then shrugged. “Overpriced. Okay, what experience do you have raising children?”
“What are children?”
Well, that landed her at David and Lisa’s house, where she was watched meticulously by the three of them as she diced steamed carrots into squares tiny enough to feed a snail.
Lisa asked the obvious question. “Is this necessary?”
“Smaller pieces,” David said. “Her molars aren’t all the way in yet.”
“No coaching,” Clay said.
Lisa shook her head and came to sit by Amber. “I am so sorry.”
“It’s fine. This is good practice for when I’m old and decrepit and can’t put my dentures in anymore.”
Lisa laughed and hugged her.
; “He’s trying to scare me off,” Amber whispered.
“He’s so good at that,” Lisa said.
“So,” Clay said, “do the two of you think Amber and I are a good match?”
Amber kept feeding Cosie.
Lisa groaned. “Clay. Please. You understand that this is the kind of conversation you have in the corner of a room when the said individual is not listening.”
“We have nothing to hide from each other.”
“We’ve got the workbooks to prove it,” Amber said.
“Laugh it up. But the fact is, we’re learning things about each other. Important things.”
“He now knows,” Amber said, “that I’m allergic to wool. So he’d never buy me a wool coat. Just for an example.”
Lisa sighed. “Yes, because nothing decimates a marriage like wool.”
Clay frowned. “I’m being serious. Do you think we’re a good match?”
Suddenly Cosie’s hands shot up in the air and she clapped excitedly. Everyone laughed. Amber could only smile at Clay’s shocked look, but as his gaze drifted to her, he smiled back.
David grabbed his arm. “I’m taking Clay outside.”
“Here,” David said, handing him an iced tea. “I’m afraid to give you anything stronger at this point. You’re already talking too much.”
Clay shrugged and took the glass, looking out at the small yard they had set up, everything revolving around Cosie. Playhouse. Play garden tools. Balls. Scooters. It seemed like Happy Land. “I know. You think I’m crazy.”
David stepped up next to him, looking out at the yard too. “Clay, there’s nothing wrong with getting to know one another. But there’s kind of a flow to it, you know? You find out what she likes to eat. Then you find out she’s a night owl. Then you find out she has a weird addiction to Stevie Nicks music. It progresses from there. I mean, this book and these questions . . . what is that?”
Clay didn’t look at him. “What’s your question?”
“Why are you pushing her like that?”
Clay stared at his drink. The truth was, maybe he had no idea how to get to know a woman in a safe way. He had a wretched history to prove that point. These talks always came way later. Usually too late.
David softened his tone. “You really do like her, man. I’ve seen a lot of women around you. We’ve been friends for a long time. There’s pre- and there’s post-, and we won’t go into pre-, but you’ve never had trouble getting a woman’s attention in any era of your life.” He held up his hands as Clay started to protest. “I know, I know. Some have claimed you’ve strung them along, when all you were trying to do was preserve your theory. They never really got you, anyway.”
“I never meant to hurt anybody.”
“I get it, man. And over the last nine years, I haven’t really seen anyone who was good for you anyway.”
“I’m better off on my own.”
“But you like her.”
“She’s . . .”
“Tempting?”
“Yeah.”
David laughed. “Glad to hear it.”
Laughter spilled out from inside the house. Through the glass door, they watched Lisa and Amber in the living room, playing with Cosie.
“What’s holding you back, bro?”
Clay didn’t have an answer really. At least not one that anybody wanted to hear. David turned toward the yard, but Clay couldn’t keep from watching Amber.
“We set a date,” David said, taking a sip of his tea.
Clay smiled, toasted him.
“Next month.”
“That was fast.”
“Nothing fancy. Lisa wants to keep it small. Have it here in the backyard. Just a few friends coming in . . .”
“Nice.”
“. . . like Kelly.”
The air caught in Clay’s throat as if it’d grown a hook and pierced his tonsil. “Like Kelly? Or Kelly?”
David studied the ice in his glass. “Flying in from Phoenix. By herself. She just got separated from her husband.” He gestured as he tried to explain. “He had a thing. Some girl from his office. They’re trying to work it out.”
Clay let out a steady breath. He’d thought she was happy. Maybe that was just hopefulness.
“I’m sorry, man. Lisa had to invite her. You know that.” He clinked his tea glass against Clay’s. “Still my best man?”
Clay smiled and nodded even as a sickening chill ran down his body.
“You’re a natural,” Lisa said as Amber held Cosie in her lap. She flipped another flash card. “She always gets hung up on one times two.”
“So I passed?” Amber grinned.
Lisa set the flash cards aside, then put her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand. “Are you honestly this desperate?”
“How long have you known him?”
“Since college. He dated one of my friends for a while, the two of them set me and David up, and here we are.”
“What was Clay like . . . back then?”
“A lot more fun.” She leaned over and brushed the hair out of Cosie’s eyes. “Everybody loved him. He had this wild kind of energy, out of control but not over the top. I know—you wouldn’t know it now.”
Amber glanced out the window. Clay and David were still talking.
“He used to cohost this stupid—and I do mean stupid—campus cable show with another friend of ours. It really started out as a joke our sophomore year, but it got bigger and bigger. It was crazy. They actually traveled with that thing. Then hosting spring break parties, producing DVDs . . . He didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“Well, they raked it in. Built this . . . What would you call it? It was like a machine. Everything was about to take off and explode. Clay had all kinds of offers. New York. Chicago. Advertising dollars were almost beyond comprehension. And then . . .”
Amber waited. Lisa was lost in a memory, her eyes distant.
“Then what?” Amber asked finally.
Lisa blew out a hard breath. “He said no. To it all. To everything. Shut down the whole business. Made a bunch of bizarre apologies. Gave away what was left of his money.” She looked out the window at the two men. “And he’s not been the same since.”
They both looked down and saw that Cosie had fallen asleep, breathing the deep breaths of a child who had nothing to worry about. Amber kissed her forehead and handed her to Lisa, who whispered, “I’ll be right back.”
Amber leaned into the couch, wondering who Clay had been. Wondering who he had become. And wondering what happened in between. Even when he smiled, there was a certain sadness in his eyes. It never seemed to leave. No matter how blue they glowed against the daylight, there was a hovering darkness right behind them, dimming the sparkle that surely would’ve been there otherwise.
An hour later, he walked her up to the stoop of her apartment.
At the top of the stairs, she tapped her workbook. “You got awful quiet. Aren’t you going to ask me any more questions?”
“Nothing good happens after eleven.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Most people at least give it till midnight.”
He stepped back, didn’t say anything.
“Okay. Well, thanks for the . . . adventure.” She unlocked the door and started to step inside.
“Hey, Amber?”
She turned, startled to find him so close. They were almost touching. She held her breath, hoping they might.
“What?” She looked up at him, into his eyes. He blinked slowly like he was taking every part of her in.
“Would you please do us both a favor and decide what we do next time?”
She smiled. “Next time?”
And then he stepped away, that beautiful, lost, soulful gaze finding his shoes again.
“Good night, stress boy.”
“Good night, pretty girl.”
Clay sat alone in the diner, reading his book, making notes. It was the only twenty-four-hour diner in town. Tonight, at almost 1 a.m., it was
mostly empty. A couple of truckers hovered over their chicken-fried steaks at the counter and a small table of college kids huddled in the corner. He’d been here a time or ten, in his younger days.
Through the front door came a guy, his arms laced around a girl’s midriff. Clay sighed, wishing he could erase the memories that seemed to be triggered by the smallest of things. But they were always right on his doorstep.
“Clay Walsh? Is that you?”
Clay looked up. “Betty?”
She grinned widely, revealing that she’d gotten her teeth fixed. Last time he saw her, she’d been missing two. It was hard to believe she still worked here. When this was his old haunt, she’d seemed like she was a hundred years old, always with a bend in her back and a stain on her shirt.
She wiped her hands on the white apron that hung off her like a surrender flag. Her hair was sprayed and combed back, as stable as concrete if a strong wind hit.
“My, my! Look at you! What’s missing here?” She gave him a wink. “I know. A table full of girls smothering you like a glob of gravy.”
Betty always had a way of saying things. He smiled at her. “Funny.”
“How long has it been?”
“At least nine years.”
“Whatcha doing here sitting all by yourself at this time of night?”
“Thinking.”
“More people should try that out.”
“Betty, can I ask you something?”
“Sure. Let me just . . .” She slid into the booth, grabbing the table with two unsteady hands. “Oh, wow. It feels good to get off my feet. How’s your aunt Zella doing?”
“Still kicking my butt.”
“Nice to hear. Heard you were holding down the fort at the antique shop. Just a rumor?”
“No, it’s true.”
“Maybe it’s just me, but the Clay I knew didn’t seem like the antique-shop kind of guy.” She shrugged. “I need to bring some things by. I got a lot of clutter that sits around, not being useful for anything except a place for dust to settle. I probably shoulda downsized years ago.” Her eyes held a wistful peace, as if selling her belongings was the beginning of untethering herself from the earth. “So what’d you wanna ask me? Whether or not the Buckeyes are going to embarrass themselves again this year?”
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