by Lisa Wingate
The steers raised their heads and bellowed as we drove through the field and continued on toward the riverbank, where two brown stone houses stood in a pastoral setting, surrounded by thick green lawns and faded white board fences. Massive willows and cottonwoods grew near the water’s edge, their dappled shade blanketing the yard and lapping against wraparound porches facing the river.
It was exactly the kind of place I’d imagined. In my dreams, my birth family was waiting in a peaceful, welcoming home like this one, just right for Sunday dinners and Fourth of July picnics with aunts, uncles, and cousins. After eating, the kids would skin off their Sunday clothes, slip into shorts or swimsuits, and go to the river to fish or swim. On holidays, the grass-and-gravel parking area along the fence would be filled with cars, the porches crowded with relatives talking, swapping stories, commenting on how much the children had grown, and theorizing about family resemblances.
“So this is Thomas’s daughter,” they would say, as we all sat together in the long evening shadows. “My word, but don’t you take after your father?”
The porches need rocking chairs, I thought as we neared the houses. There should be rocking chairs. Now that we were closer, everything about the place seemed slightly off. The lawns were mowed, but no one had bothered to weed beneath the fences. Where the cows couldn’t reach it, tall spires of grass and stray honeysuckle vines grew up, twining into the fence and making the farm seemed neglected. Around the houses, the flower beds had been allowed to go to seed and the stone planters sat bare. A crusty coating of dirt and last year’s leaves had settled into the corners of the porches, testifying to the fact that no one sat there anymore.
A flash of movement beneath one of the yard trees caught my eye, and both Jace and I turned as a lanky red hound bounded from the overhanging willow branches and ran at the fence, barking while wagging its tail like a propeller.
“Looks like the welcoming committee’s found us.” Jace motioned toward the dog, his eyes narrowing as it wheeled around and disappeared beneath the tree again. “I think someone’s sitting under there.”
I craned to look out the front window as Jace piloted the truck past the yard gate and continued on toward the willow tree. The curtain of leaves shivered apart, revealing an old man in a lawn chair. Despite the barking dog, the man’s gaze was fixed into the distance, and he seemed unaware of our presence. Beneath his chair, the ground was barren, as if he sat there often. The dog barked, then nuzzled his fingers, and he patted it absently as we pulled up to the fence.
The dog made another run at us, then returned to its master, who finally noticed our car. Quieting the hound with a commanding snap of his fingers, the old man slowly retrieved a straw cowboy hat from one knobby knee. His hand trembled as he smoothed his thick silver hair, dropped the hat into place, and tipped back the brim to observe us. His brows drew together over dark eyes and high cheekbones, and his full lips held a stoic, determined line as he braced his hands on the chair arms and pushed to his feet, his body quaking with the effort. Stooped over so that his weathered face was almost invisible beneath the hat, he made his way toward us. Jace opened the driver’s-side door, and I sat frozen with my hand on the door latch. A tangle of hope and fear twined around my throat, making speech seem almost impossible.
What if this man was my grandfather? What if he wasn’t?
“I don’t think I can…” My words were soft and pale.
Jace circled to the passenger side and opened my door. “Hang in there.” His fingers slid over mine, solid, determined, strong enough to hold me suspended on the edge of the cliff. “You’ll never know unless you ask.”
Yielding to the pressure of his fingers, I stepped down, watched my feet disappear into the thick grass. The ground beneath felt spongy and uncertain, quicksand covered with a thin carpet of color.
The old man waited at the fence, his arms propped on the top rail, his face tipped upward—a hardy, weathered Choctaw face, like those of the war veterans at the powwow ceremony.
I couldn’t speak. I could only look at him, search his face for something, anything familiar, any sign that after all these years of desperate want, I’d finally found someone with a blood connection to me.
Jace squeezed my fingers again. I felt it dimly as I followed him to the fence, one uncertain step and then the next.
“We’re looking for Thomas Clay,” I said as we stopped on our side of the fence, waiting while the old man struggled to form words, his head and shoulders quaking with the exertion.
“N-n-n-not here.” His voice trembled into the space between us, the words slurred, quivering like a willow leaf in a breeze. “T-T-TTom-my p-passed ulll-last year.” A swirl of darkness slipped between the old man and me, and a sparkle of stars made everything seem far away. My head spun, and I thought I might faint, just sink into the grass and disappear.
Tommy passed last year. My father was dead. He’d been alive until a year ago. How had he died?
“I’m sorry.” My reply was a reflex, an automatic condolence addressed to no one in particular.
The old man’s eyes, dark circles clouded white around the edges, met mine. “H-h-he had-had a t-t-t-tough go.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered again, sounding emotionless. I should have felt something, but I didn’t. I was hanging in thin air with nothing touching me, the way I’d learned to when Mama took off with her boyfriends and left me standing at Granny’s gate. If you practice it enough, you can learn to watch things happen and not feel at all. It had been a long time since I’d done that, since I’d felt the need to. Pulling my fingers from Jace’s, I crossed my arms over myself, tight like a barricade.
Jace glanced over, surprised by the sudden swing from emotional to emotionless, from dependent to distant. He hadn’t known I had that in me.
“Are you Audie?” I asked.
The man nodded, tipping his hat, his fingers bent, pale, trembling. “A-Audie Sen-ior. Audie Jun-jun-junior’s out of t-t-town.” His thick silver brows rose. “D-do I know-know you?” He wheeled a hand beside his head helplessly. “M-my mind th-these days…” The statement seemed to go unfinished, and he sighed wearily. “You ulll-look famil-ur to-to-to me.”
“My father was Thomas Clay.” A spark of emotion flared inside me, pressing moisture into my eyes. I wiped it impatiently. Now was no time to break down. I had to keep it together, to handle this the right way. “I never knew him, but it’s on my birth certificate.”
It was too much information all at once. Audie Senior blinked and focused on the fence, his hat brim hiding his face as he slowly shook his head, then squinted up at me again, clearly struggling to comprehend. I looked into his eyes, pleading, searching, wanting him to know me. I was hanging off the cliff again, and this frail old man was the only one who could catch me. If he turned me away, what would I do?
“You’re T-Tommy’s daugh-ter?”
A screen door slammed at the house and all of us jerked upright.
“Daddy, who’s out there?” A woman, perhaps in her forties, her dark hair cut in a stylish bob, shaded her eyes as she descended the porch steps. She was wearing brightly printed hospital scrubs, but no shoes. She traversed the grass as if she went barefoot often, inclining her head to one side as she came closer. “May I help y’all?” Her voice was pleasant, with a musical lilt that sounded almost like laughter. Stopping next to the old man, she rubbed his shoulder tenderly. “You all right, Daddy? You look a little washed out. It’s too hot for you to be sitting out today.”
“N-nah, I’m f-f-fine. I’m fine.” Audie Senior brushed off her concern, then motioned to me with a crumpled fist. “T-T-Tommy’s ulll-little girl come by.”
The woman’s gaze cut quickly toward me, then back to Audie Senior, her brows drawing together so that a network of wrinkles formed. Slipping her arm over the old man’s shoulders, she turned toward the house. “Mama’s got lunch ready. Why don’t you head on in? I’ll be there in a minute.”
“All urrr-right
,” he replied, allowing her to guide him away from the fence. For a moment, he seemed to forget we were there, then, pausing a few steps away, he glanced back over his shoulder. “N-nice to s-s-see…see you. Sorry my ummm-mind ain’t so good.”
Jace raised a hand in farewell. “Have a good lunch.”
The old man’s face lifted in a one-sided grin. “He d-d-does talk. I wond-wondered.” Waving stiffly, he shuffled off across the lawn.
His daughter waited until he was out of earshot before she spoke. “I’m sorry. About six months ago, he came down with a bout of what has finally been diagnosed as Lyme disease. Now that the doctors know what they’re treating, he’s getting better, but it’s really taken a toll. He gets confused about things.” She paused to check his progress toward the house, then turned back to Jace and me. “Did you say you were a friend of Tommy’s?”
I shook my head. “Thomas Clay was my father. His name is on my birth certificate.” Her reaction wasn’t what I’d expected. In fact, she barely reacted at all, just continued squinting at me, and chewing her lip. Words became a jumble in my head, a train rushing too fast. “I never knew him. I…I wanted to meet him…his family…mine, I mean. My family. My birth family.”
Her brows drew together in an expression of painful regret. “Tommy died last year.” Behind the words, there was confusion, an audible note of doubt. My stomach sank, acid gurgling up my throat. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. This wasn’t how I was supposed to be received by my…my aunt? My grandmother? Who was she?
We hung suspended in silence, the woman pinching her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger. The moment stretched endlessly, until it seemed that if I had to endure it any longer, I would explode. Every beat of my heart rattled my body.
Dimly, I heard Jace break the stalemate by saying, “This may be a bit much to absorb, out of the blue.”
The woman shook her head. “It’s not that…” Backing away from the fence, she smoothed the front of her scrubs uncomfortably. “It’s just…well…I think you’ve got the wrong Thomas Clay. My nephew Tommy had a hunting accident when he was fifteen. The bullet grazed his spine and caused a massive amount of internal bleeding. He suffered brain damage and permanent paralysis. It’s…it’s not possible that he could be anyone’s father.” The crashing of my hopes must have been obvious, because she reached across the fence, into the air between us, her eyes soft and sympathetic. “There are more Clays in this county than you can shake a stick at, though.”
“But at the courthouse, they said my father’s parents, the parents of my Thomas Clay, were Audie and Nora Clay.” I sounded desperate, and I was. I’d let my expectations soar when I’d seen this place, met Audie Senior. Staring at the ground, I struggled to get my bearings, to regain composure as the grass blurred behind a thickening veil of tears.
The woman came closer, leaned across the fence, and ran a hand up and down my arm. “I’m sure it’s just a mix-up in information at the courthouse. I’m sure you’ll find the people you’re looking for. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more. There’s no one else in our family by the name Thomas.”
I nodded because I couldn’t speak, then covered my face with my hands and ran to the truck. All I knew was that I had to get away. I was careening toward a low point I’d never even been close to before, and I didn’t want to be standing here, in front of strangers, when I hit bottom.
CHAPTER 21
I didn’t remember leaving the Clay Ranch, crossing under the gateway, or rattling down the barely visible lane to the county road. I was only vaguely aware of Jace driving, tires crunching on gravel, the sound growing louder as the truck sped away from my hastily spilled dreams. Now, like parts of a tightly packaged puzzle, the pieces wouldn’t fit back in the box. I had no idea how to pull myself together.
My hands shook, fingernails digging in around my hairline as I sobbed on and on. Why, with everything I knew about Mama, about the kind of people she hung around with, couldn’t I just let this go? Why couldn’t my heart embrace the present and release the past? Why couldn’t I banish that frightened, silent girl, who curled herself into a ball under Granny’s porch steps, hiding out, waiting for someone to come for her, while the TV blared, and Granny argued with Uncle Bobby?
His voice boomed inside my head. “Why not? You don’ wan’ her.” The words were a slur of sound, half finished, as his footfalls staggered toward the window. Three steps, four, five. “All she’s…she’s just someone to go pick up yer pills, and your grub, and refill yer oxygen tank. Sheriff said…he said if he seen her again on the highway with her bike, he’s callin’ in CPS.”
Granny’s voice was raspy and weak, so that I couldn’t quite make out her answer.
“…take ’er to Oklahoma with me.” Uncle Bobby’s reply came quickly, sounding matter-of-fact, as if the decision were already made. “Got me a job waitin’ there, place to live. Better’n this dump. She can have her own room, real bed, not some stinkin’ mattress on the floor, and…”
Granny answered before he was finished talking. A convulsion of coughs came on the heels of the words, then ragged breathing. Pretty soon she’d puff on her oxygen tank, take a couple Darvocet, and pass out.
I knew I needed to head for the river before Uncle Bobby came looking for me. He would never check down there. He was afraid to go to the river after dark, with the coyotes yipping and the hoot owls screeching in the trees.
“Like heck!” his voice roared. He stumbled backward and collided with the front door so hard I ducked, thinking he might fall through and land on top of me. “I ain’t never touched ’er. I ain’t interested in no jailbait, whinin’ little baby brat.” He sounded dangerously sober now, as if the anger had cleared his fog. “Heck, wasn’t for that sourpuss way ’a hers and that nigger-lookin’ skin, she’d probably already be makin’ the rounds ’a town, just like her mama did. You oughta be lucky I’d take her. Ain’t nobody ever gonna want some half-breed little butthead like her….” The door latch flipped upward, and I skittered out from under the porch, bolted around the corner, and crouched in the shadow of the house, my hands trembling as I unhooked Rowdy from his chain. Twenty feet to the cedar break, and we’d both be safe. I’d curl up out in the woods with Rowdy and stay until Uncle Bobby either passed out or got in his truck and went to town.
Rowdy whimpered, and I pressed a hand to his muzzle. “Ssshhh.”
Uncle Bobby staggered out the door, and I scooted to the back corner of the house. When the dog didn’t come barking on the chain, Uncle Bobby would know where I was.
His boots moved across the porch, and I bolted through the moonlight toward the trees. I didn’t know if he saw me or not.
“You hear that, you little butthead?” His voice echoed through the dark. “Yer lucky if anybody wants ya at all. Better think about that, whenever I come back. Ain’t nobody ever gonna want some ugly, stupid, little brown girl like you. Your own mama didn’t even like you enough to stick around….”
Your mama didn’t even like you enough to stick around…. The words echoed in my head, and I realized I was sitting in Jace’s truck, rocking back and forth with my hands over my ears, trying to rid myself of that voice. Why couldn’t I make it go away? After all these years, those memories still flared up like wildfires in tinder-dry grass.
Jace’s hand touched my shoulder, pushed my hair out of the way. “We’re back at the campground.”
“I’m sorry.” Air felt raw against my throat as I pulled the door latch, then mopped my eyes. “I’m sorry I fell apart.”
“It’s all right,” he said softly. Climbing from the truck, he came around and opened my door, sliding his hand under my elbow as if he didn’t trust me to stand on my own.
I rubbed my eyes until my vision cleared. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I would…I don’t know…come unhinged like that.” Emotions, for me, were usually a tight little ball, painstakingly compacted, and stuffed down where it wouldn’t disturb anyone.
Jace touc
hed the side of my face, tenderly, sympathetically, and I leaned into his strength. “You’ve just been through a big disappointment.”
Staring out at the lake, I struggled to get my bearings. “I thought I was prepared.”
“You had your hopes up pretty high.”
“I knew it was a long shot.”
His thumb caressed my cheek, whisked away the last of the tears. “It’s all right.”
“That woman must think I’m crazy.” I could only imagine what I’d looked like, dashing blindly to the truck with my hands over my face.
“It’s all right,” he whispered again, his voice so tender it drew me upward, until I was looking at him, my gaze captured by his.
“You must think I’m crazy.”
His lips parted, then he shook his head slightly. Whatever he’d been about to say was burned away by some deeper emotion. “I think you’re too beautiful a girl, inside and out, to carry all those scars.” His lips found mine, and I pressed myself into the embrace. The kiss was soft, salty, powerful enough to take away everything else. I abandoned myself to it. His arms slid around me, a warm, strong circle, pulling my body to his, pressing me near to him so that I felt his heartbeat against mine. I let my hands move up his arms, encompass his shoulders. Beneath my fingers, his skin was slightly damp, the muscles tightly corded. The fringes of his hair lifted in the breeze, brushed my fingers as I drew him closer until there was no distance between us, yet something inside me yearned to be closer still. This is right. This is the only thing that’s right. I wanted him in a way I’d never wanted anyone. I felt as if I could let him see things I’d never let anyone see. My body was heady and light, my thoughts in a euphoric swirl. I wanted him to hold me and never let go.
He pulled away, his lips parting from mine, taking away the electric sensation, allowing reality an entrance. His gaze was still passionate, compelling. He blinked, looked at me again, put his hands on my shoulders and stepped back, breaking the bond between us. “Dell, I…” Pausing, he arrested whatever he was about to say, took another step back, and finished with, “I’d better go. I have to help take down the art show at the museum, and I promised the kids we’d go to the carnival with Shasta and Benji.” He checked his watch, as if suddenly he had a million places to be rather than here alone with me. “They’d love to have you come along.” There was that hint of warmth again, that flicker of desire that told me he wanted me to go with them.