Tin Men (The Clay Lion Series Book 2)

by Amalie Jahn

  Alone in my cell, with nothing but time to dwell upon my past, I realized the moment my mom confirmed my adoption was the moment I acknowledged the vastness of that void. I knew immediately that my parents’ secrets were responsible for creating the hole inside me. When faced with the reality of no biological connections and more importantly, no knowledge of who my parents were or where I came from, it was no wonder I struggled to define my sense of self.

  At the time, I thought I knew how emptiness felt.

  As I considered my 15 year sentence, which destroyed life as I knew it, it seemed laughable that I had ever felt called to fill a void in my life. If I had realized how full of love it had actually been, I would have never considered risking it all by taking my trip. Feelings of self-loathing filled my days as I dwelled upon how the emptiness of the past paled in comparison to the depth of loss I now faced. In my effort to find myself, I shattered the hope of having normal relationships with everyone who helped shape my identity. Without them, I was irreparably damaged.

  Lost beyond all hope.

  The only joy in my life came in the form of Sunday visitation. Friends appeared initially to offer their support and understanding, but after several months passed, they stopped coming altogether. I didn’t blame them. Regardless of their efforts, by the time I was released, I had no doubt we would be strangers. There was no sense in trying to pretend our friendships would sustain the hardship of prison. When the time came for me to reenter the world, I would begin again with a new set of friends.

  My family, on the other hand, came to visit every Sunday. Mom and Melody arrived promptly at ten, the minute the doors opened, with news of the outside world and the occasional baked good. I never slept the night before, in anticipation of their arrival. My excitement was far too great. Unspoken rules were established early on regarding topics that were acceptable and those that were off limits. I loved hearing about the monotony of their daily lives; which new stores opened up in town, what books Mom was reading, how Melody was doing in algebra. There were only two topics they knew I never wanted to discuss: my father’s campaign and Brooke.

  Melody tried initially to work her into conversation, mentioning she saw her at the park or that Brooke took her to a movie. It broke my heart to know they were both still living the charade that their lives would remain entwined without me tying them together. I knew, however, Brooke would eventually move on, finding someone new to love. In time, she would spend her time with his family and in the end, Melody would be left behind. Another casualty caused by my string of poor decisions.

  My father only came to see me four times. On each occasion, a film crew accompanied him to document our traumatic separation. During the final visit, when I refused to speak, he left without a word and did not return. It had been many weeks since I’d seen him. It was the only positive outcome of the new timeline.

  Snow fell in the exercise courtyard on the date marking month four of my incarceration. The hollowness was now something which fully defined me. It was with me the moment I opened my eyes in the morning, and it stayed with me every second of the day. It was with me, gnawing at my insides as I sat looking into the sky, snowflakes sticking to my eyelashes and hair. Shivering in my threadbare coat, I conceded defeat to the destructive nature of the hunger for truth which destroyed me. And although that truth allowed me to briefly experience the love of the mother I never knew, its promise quickly faded to reveal what was ultimately most important in my life.

  The people who loved me all along.

  Mom. And Melody.

  And Brooke.

  I allowed myself to think of her for a moment. Her kindness. Her dedication. Her ability to magnify the beauty in the world by simply being alive. I prayed silently, that wherever she was, whatever she was doing, she was happy.

  Then I folded my knees beneath my chin and covered my head with my arms.

  And I cried.

  P ART FOUR

  C HAPTER TWENTY NINE

  The sun was shining through the window. It was unnaturally bright in the room. It snowed several inches the day before, and I attributed the brilliance of the day to the sun’s reflection off the blanket of snow on the ground.

  I switched off the television and perused the bookshelf for something new to read. I was between Patterson and Koontz when the doorbell rang.

  “I got it,” Melody yelled from the kitchen.

  I listened as she skidded across the floor in the foyer. She’d been seeing Justin Taylor since before Thanksgiving, and I knew she was hoping he was stopping by to visit. It was amazing to see her transforming into such an incredible young woman, and I wasn’t looking forward to leaving her behind when I returned to campus in less than a week to begin the second semester of my senior year.

  “Charlie,” she called, “it’s someone for you!”

  Brooke and I were meeting later in the day, and I knew winter break was already over for most of my other friends, so I couldn’t imagine who was at the door. The book temporarily forgotten, I made my way into the foyer where I greeted an older gentleman wearing a weathered grey uniform.

  “Can I help you?” I asked curiously.

  “I’m looking for a Charlie Johnson. Is that you?”

  “Yes. Can I ask what this is about?”

  “Of course.” He dug through his messenger bag and handed me a manila envelope. It was addressed to me but included no return address.

  “I gotta tell you, this is the strangest delivery I’ve made in my life,” he said as I began peeling back the adhesive on the flap. “I get a lot of requests for special deliveries… you know, anniversaries, birthdays, that kind of thing. But nothing quite like this. A woman showed up a few months ago with this envelope. She was just as nice as she could be. Pays the postage and then asks me not to deliver it. Says she wants me to wait until today. This date specifically. Then I was supposed to wait until noon for a phone call. If no one called me about it, then I was supposed to deliver the envelope this afternoon. Never got a phone call, so here I am. And there’s your letter. Sure would like to know what all this is about. Guess it’s none of my business though. I’m just the delivery guy.”

  I didn’t know what to make of the envelope. Or the delivery man. I dug through my wallet for a tip, thanked him for his time, and closed the door.

  “What do you think’s inside?” Melody asked from around the corner where she’d been listening.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Should I get Mom?”

  “No. Come on,” I said, leading her to the family room. “We can open it together.”

  Melody plopped beside me on the sectional, and I carefully slid out a piece of paper, torn from the pages of a spiral notebook.

  It was a letter. Melody read with me over my shoulder.

  Dearest Charlie,

  After you came to find me, you changed my life. Knowing you forgave me for the decision I made, allowing your father and his wife to raise you was the most amazing gift you could have ever given me. In that moment, I knew I wanted to change my life so I could be something more for you. Something better. I got clean and sober. I started working. I moved into a halfway house and began attending NA and AA meetings every day. However, I was unaware that while I was cleaning up my life, I was changing the path of my timeline. A timeline I didn’t realize you had already lived before.

  I didn’t die after you came to see me as you were expecting I would. Neither did your father. And because we didn’t die as we had in the previous timeline, you were indicted, found guilty, and sentenced to 15 years in prison for saving my life during your trip. I was a witness at your trial but was unable to help keep you out of jail. I never got to say goodbye.

  That’s when I got the idea of using my trip.

  I often thought about going back in time to make sure I never met your father. Without him around, I know my life would have taken a much different path. That path however, would not have included you. I could never bring myself to do it because
I knew I would be taking you from the world. Then, while you were standing trial, you said that all you wanted during your trip was to discover if you were loved.

  You saved my life, Charlie, but I couldn’t let you ruin your life for me. After your trial, I enrolled in time travel classes. I passed the tests and went back in time to undo what you had done. I never stopped using drugs. I never attended meetings. If you’re reading this letter it’s because I’ve passed away, as I did the first time. I pray that what I’ve done will be enough to rewrite the future once again and keep you out of jail. I know your father may still be alive, but since there was no testimony against you related to him at your trial, I am hopeful they will let you off. I pray my death will come as it did before and that you will see at last that yes, you are loved. You always were. You always will be.

  Love,

  Mom

  The letter trembled in my hands.

  I read it a second time. And then a third.

  “So after you used your trip, she didn’t die. And dad didn’t die either. And you were put in jail for saving them. Then she used her trip to try and put things back the way they were by dying again?”

  My head was spinning. “Yeah.”

  “And since dad died again too that’s why you never got in trouble?”

  “I guess so.”

  She exhaled loudly through her teeth. “Jeez, Charlie.”

  I set the letter on the coffee table. “She died for me, Mel.”

  “She was supposed to die anyway.”

  “But then she didn’t. She could have lived. And she purposely went back so that she would die and I would have a chance.”

  “She loved you.”

  “I barely knew her.”

  “It didn’t matter. You were her kid.”

  I rubbed my eyes to keep from crying. Melody wrapped her arms around my neck.

  “I should have spent more time with her. I should have tried to see her again.”

  “No, Charlie. You obviously did see her again. In the other timeline. And this is what she chose to do for you. This was her choice. Her decision. She did it because she loved you. And she knows you loved her back.”

  I stood up and began pacing the room. Melody was right. My mother was my savior.

  “Fifteen years,” I said.

  “That’s a long time.”

  “My life would have been over. I would have lost all of you.”

  “That’s why she did what she did.”

  I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have been given a second chance. And then I remembered Brooke. With her I was given a third. I cringed at the thought of what she’d been through in the previous timeline. It had been over four months since I’d returned from my trip which meant we were separated for that amount of time in the augmented timeline. I was grateful neither of us had any memory of the pain we obviously suffered.

  Suddenly, Melody spoke up. “So your mother kept doing drugs to ensure she would die. But that didn’t have anything to do with Dad. Why didn’t he survive?”

  I stopped pacing, considering her observation.

  “I have no idea. They both died in the original timeline. Then apparently, they both survived in the second. When she died again this third time, he died again too. That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

  “It’s weird for sure.”

  I checked my watch. Brooke and I were meeting later in the afternoon to volunteer at a cat adoption event at the pet store in town. I knew I couldn’t wait that long to share the contents of the letter and its implications.

  “I’m gonna head over to Brooke’s. You wanna come?”

  “Nah,” she said. “I’m going to the ice rink with Justin and the others.” She stood up to give me a hug. “I’m glad you’re here, Charlie. I’m glad your mom saved you. Isn’t it amazing when people surprise you with what they’re capable of?”

  I chuckled to myself. It certainly was amazing. Amazing didn’t even begin to describe what it was. In my hour of need, she sacrificed everything for me. My heart swelled with equal amounts of joy and sorrow. It surprised me how closely tied the two emotions seemed to be.

  I found Brooke making cookies with her mom. The unmistakable aroma of butter and sugar baking in the oven overpowered me as I let myself through the back door.

  “You’re here early!” Brooke exclaimed as I took off my coat and scarf, throwing them across the back of a kitchen chair.

  “My cookie sensors went off, alerting me to nonnutritive homemade deliciousness. I’m kind of like Spiderman mixed with Betty Crocker,” I replied, popping one of the snickerdoodles off the cooling rack into my mouth.

  “You know where the milk is,” her mom said, motioning toward the refrigerator. “Help yourself.”

  After pouring myself a glass of milk, I polished off half-a-dozen cookies while listening to Brooke and her mom arguing over which contestant would be kicked off their favorite reality TV show that night. When the last of the cookies came out of the oven, I helped her wash the bowls, spoons and measuring cups, and her mom headed to the grocery store. As soon as we were alone, I wasted no time telling her about the letter from my mother.

  “Did you bring it with you?” she asked.

  “Of course. It’s in my coat pocket,” I replied, returning the clean cookie sheet to the cabinet above the refrigerator. “You can read it.”

  She laid her dish towel on the table and fished through my jacket until she found the letter. I watched her face as she read its contents. I was unsure about how she would react to its many repercussions.

  “Oh, Charlie,” she said at last, looking at me with an expression of utter disbelief.

  I sat down at the table beside her. I didn’t say anything. I knew it would be better if I just let her think it through. She reread the letter a second time and didn’t speak for several minutes.

  “So I guess things didn’t go as well as we thought they did.”

  “No,” I replied. “I must have screwed something up with Victoria. I guess I gave her hope. Something to live for. I can’t say I’m entirely sorry for that. At least if she died, she died knowing she was loved. That’s better than the first time, right?”

  “That’s one way of looking at it.” She began reading a section of the letter for a third time. “You were imprisoned, Charlie. Sentenced to fifteen years. That’s crazy.”

  “Yeah. Really crazy. I figure, based on the timing, I probably spent about four months locked up.”

  She rested her head in her arms on the table and I could tell she was reflecting on the implications of the letter. “I wonder what I did?” she mused.

  “I don’t know. I’d like to think I would have let you go.” I slid her off her chair and onto my lap.

  “What makes you think I would have let you?” she said, resting her head in the crook of my neck.

  “I would have made you. Fifteen years is a long time.” I held her tightly. “We don’t have to worry about it now though. Everything is as it should be.”

  As we sat together, I became aware that my breathing slowed to match the steady rise and fall of her chest. In that moment, the magnitude of Victoria’s gift revealed itself to me in the simple joy of being able to wrap my arms around the woman I loved. Although I had no memory of losing her, it struck me as poignantly beautiful that she was still fully present in my life.

  I didn’t move or speak, relishing the moment. I knew she was digesting the news of my mother’s sacrifice, and waited patiently to see if she would pick up on the strange coincidence of my parents’ deaths. I knew she would eventually, and after several minutes of silent contemplation, she turned to face me.

  “Victoria died and your dad died. Victoria didn’t die and your dad didn’t die. Victoria died and your dad died.”

  I grinned at her.

  “That’s not something to smile about,” she said.

  “I’m not smiling about that. I’m just smiling about how well I know you.”

  “How well do you
know me?”

  “Well enough that I was just wondering how long it was going to take for you to put the pieces together.”

  She cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. “You may think you know me, but I am full of mystery and intrigue.”

  “You’re like an open book,” I replied, poking her in the ribs.

  She squealed and jumped off my lap. “Stop, Charlie! Just be serious for two seconds! This is a big deal! Why would their deaths be connected?”

  “I have no idea,” I said, standing up to grab another cookie off the counter. “But the letter said there was no specific evidence linking me to my father’s life in the second timeline. Only that they were able to directly trace my mother’s life to changes I made.”

  “But come on… there has to be a connection.”

  “I think so too.”

  “Because the only change in the third timeline was caused by Victoria. You didn’t know what was going on so you couldn’t have changed anything that would have resulted in your father’s death.

  “Exactly. But he’s dead, just the same.”

  “So when she dies, he dies?”

  “But he died in a freak climbing accident, the same as he did the first time. How does that have anything to do with my mother?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we need to find out.”

  C HAPTER THIRTY

  I bolted upright in bed. Moments before, I’d been having a vivid nightmare about climbing a mountain with friends. I caught my foot in a crevice and was dangling off the side of a cliff, struggling desperately to free myself before finally waking up. Amazingly, within the context of the dream, my subconscious pieced together the connection between my parent’s deaths.