The Girl Made of Clay

by Nicole Meier

  Wasn’t he?

  TR mumbled something under his breath.

  “What is it?” Sara demanded. “Speak up.”

  Her father scowled from under the covers. His tone turned surly. “My situation has changed.”

  She cocked her head. “What does that mean? Your financial situation?”

  “That’s right. It’s complicated. The best option is that I go with you for the time being.”

  Oh, what a fool she’d been! TR had no intention of a heartfelt reunion, to try to make things right. Her father appeared to have no more money, no more friends, nothing but a burned-down house. He’d called because she was the only one who would come.

  She was his last resort.

  As Sara refused to acknowledge the fresh stinging behind her eyes, someone tugged on the hem of her sweater. She wheeled around to discover Sam pulling at her.

  Sweet Sam.

  In all the commotion she’d nearly forgotten her son was there, taking it all in. Sara scolded herself for being so preoccupied. What must her ten-year-old be thinking?

  Kneeling down to eye level, she met his gaze. “What is it, honey?”

  “Mom,” Sam whispered. “You’re just going to leave him here, all alone?”

  Yes, because that’s pretty much what your grandfather did to me when I was your age.

  Even so, Sara melted as she stared into the quizzical expression of her only child. What kind of a mother was she if she couldn’t demonstrate compassion in front of her son? What message would that give?

  She shook her head. No, she wouldn’t be the one to repeat history. TR might have sucked at being a parent, but she did not.

  “Oh for God’s sake,” Sara’s voice echoed off the sterile walls and into the hushed space. “Fine. TR can come home with me. But only for a brief stay. I mean it. A few days, and that’s it.”

  TR pumped his head as if he understood, but Sara had a terrible feeling he didn’t.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SARA

  Sara slipped from the bedroom just after sunrise on Saturday morning, leaving Charlie to sleep soundly. It had been two days since she’d agreed to take in TR, and her nerves were a tangle of knots. Clutching a pair of sneakers in one hand, she made for the front door. A happy jingle trailed behind her. She looked back to catch Acer’s sinewy shadow down the hall.

  So much for being alone.

  Not to be forgotten, her eager Labradoodle trotted to the front door and planted himself next to a hook with his hanging leash. His caramel tail thumped the floor expectantly. Sara tried shushing him, but he whined in response.

  “Yes, okay, we’re going on a walk,” she whispered low. Running a palm along his velvety ears, she treated him to a much-appreciated scratch. “You don’t miss a beat, do you, pal?” Acer cocked his head.

  She peered outside. Hazy morning light filtered through the front window. A twinkle of frost winked at her from the lawn. Reflexively, she pulled a barn jacket off the coat rack and shrugged it over her thin sweatshirt. Hints of winter were moving in quickly.

  Securing Acer with one hand, she stepped out into the still of the morning. She loved this part of the day, when everything appeared fresh and new. A chance to start over.

  A solitary male jogger dashed by. Pulsing bass thumped from his earbuds, breaking the stillness. Sara nodded in greeting and strode in the opposite direction. The dewy sidewalk rose up to meet her as she quickened her pace and willed her weary body to awaken.

  It was unusually early, but Sara had to get out of the house. It was important to escape before falling into a chance encounter with her husband.

  Otherwise, confessions would need to be made. She wasn’t quite ready for that.

  Charlie had returned home late the previous evening, announcing that he had the weekend off from work. Sara had hoped maybe they could talk, even though he appeared to be too worn out to hold a conversation. She’d pushed anyway but was only able to get out the bare facts regarding her father. After she’d revealed that TR had been hospitalized, Charlie had raised his eyebrows, asked after his condition, and then expressed a hint of concern for how this might affect Sara before falling asleep partially dressed on top of the bed.

  Sara had stared down at him, thwarted. The cloying odor of stale airplane ventilation filled the space between them. In all the years they’d been together, she still couldn’t get used to that smell. Sensitive to this, Charlie used make a beeline for the shower whenever he came back from long trips.

  Now Sara was lucky if they were even in the same room for very long, let alone doing thoughtful things for one another.

  So much had been neglected lately. They wouldn’t necessarily quarrel about anything, which she supposed was a positive. But they wouldn’t really discuss anything either. All of Charlie’s travel was installing an emotional distance between them. He seemed to be putting in more and more time at work over the past few months, and Sara couldn’t understand why. When she’d asked Charlie, he’d claimed it was the “peak” of his piloting career and he was in demand. He seemed to thrive off it, actually. But at the end of his trips he’d return home depleted. As a result, Sara grew resentful, and he mirrored her mood.

  Lately, communication between them had dwindled down to routine schedule updates and status reports regarding Sam via text. Every so often there’d be small bursts of face-to-face time in between Charlie’s trips. But even those were rare. It was no kind of way to have a healthy marriage, and Sara was pretty sure they both knew this. Yet nothing changed.

  Sooner or later a conversation needed to happen.

  Sara disliked the idea of having to face her unassuming husband and lamely admit she’d given the okay to host her wild and negligent father for an undetermined amount of time. Without consulting anyone. Even herself.

  The guilt of this constricted her. Sara had said yes to the doctor’s unyielding request well before she could fully process what it meant. There hadn’t been any time to fret over the implications. But now that it was happening soon, Sara worried TR’s presence might have a negative effect on her household. Namely, her rocky marriage.

  How was she going to tell Charlie?

  The last thing she needed right now was another problem between the two of them, straining the already fragile seams that held them together. If they didn’t have space or time to connect now, what would that look like once a practical stranger moved into the house?

  What have I done? Sara worried.

  A squirrel darted out from the base of an oak tree. Acer stood at full attention, his frame a taut ball of excitement. The squirrel sprang forward, and Acer followed suit. Sara skidded behind, her arm feeling as if it were being ripped from its socket. Acer may have been lean, but he was all muscle.

  “Stop it!” She yanked her elbow backward. “I’m not in the mood.”

  Acer yipped. Two chocolate eyes met hers, cast in a shade of dejection. His fuzzy head lowered, and he obediently slunk along the path.

  “Sorry, pal.” Great, now she was taking it out on the dog. She offered a pat. “Just not today.”

  Perking at the affection, Acer assumed a speedy gait.

  Get your thoughts together, Sara. She needed to be calm when she returned home to discuss things with Charlie. That was the whole point of the walk, to quiet her jittery nerves and make a plan. Walking faster, she rehearsed variations of her speech in her head.

  Somehow she’d convince her husband that TR’s visit wasn’t going to affect them too much. It would be a blip on the radar. A brief act of mercy. That was all. The old man would heal and then move out. Simple as that.

  But in her heart, she wasn’t so sure. When had anything regarding TR ever been simple?

  When she’d properly worn out herself and the dog, Sara returned home. The front entry was partially blocked as she stepped inside. She discovered a prone Sam rooting around in a shoe bin. The lower half of his camouflage-patterned pajama bottoms stuck out from under a bench. Farther inside the house, p
ots and pans clanged on the stove. Acer danced around and sniffed at a tantalizing bacon aroma.

  “What’s going on?” Sara unleashed the dog and kicked off her shoes. It was surprising to find everyone awake. Lately, Saturdays were for sleeping in.

  “Mom, I have a soccer game, and I can’t find my cleats!” Sam surfaced from under the bench, sporting a bad case of bedhead and a frantic expression. “Have you seen them?”

  “This early?”

  “Yeah, I have to be at warm-ups at eight.”

  Puffing out her cheeks, she checked her phone. Had she really been walking for over an hour?

  “Shoot, honey. Sorry. I must’ve forgotten. But don’t worry. I’ll help you. Did you try the garage?”

  Sam smacked his forehead and ran off.

  Sara went to investigate the activity in the kitchen. Charlie was up, dressed in a wrinkled concert T-shirt and fleece sweatpants. A pair of silver tongs dangled from his hand. In front of him was a sizzling fry pan. Sara noticed he was humming something, but she couldn’t quite catch the tune. Sunlight flooded in from the bay window behind him. It highlighted little flecks of gray in Charlie’s gradually thinning hair. It struck her that her husband was aging more rapidly lately. At forty-five, his looks were shifting. But she decided the change suited him. A silver fox. Seeing him unguarded like this gave her an unexpected pang of nostalgia. She used to love leaning on the counter beside him, sipping coffee and looking on as he cooked breakfast on lazy Saturday mornings.

  “Good morning.” Charlie glanced up and smiled.

  Sara’s heart caught. It had been so long since she’d witnessed this sight. Nowadays Charlie always seemed too busy to make breakfast. He usually opted for snatching a granola bar before heading out the door. Even when he was home for longer stints, he made a habit of taking off for a morning run, leaving Sara to sip coffee alone until Sam wandered in. Seeing him now, like this, gave her hope.

  “Good morning to you.” She glided in and helped herself to a stool. This is good, she thought.

  “Out early with the dog, I see.”

  “Yeah. I tried to let you sleep in.” She smiled, easing her way into the conversation. After all, it wasn’t such a big deal, was it?

  “Thanks,” he replied.

  She studied him a second longer before choosing her words. “Now that you’re up, I was thinking—”

  “Mom!” Sam shouted from the open garage door. “I think I left my cleats at Adam’s house. Can you call his mom?”

  Not wanting to give up her place in front of Charlie, she barked back. “Sam, really? Are you sure you left them there? Because it’s seven fifteen in the morning, and I don’t want to bother Mrs. Hogan so early on a weekend.”

  Charlie sniggered.

  “You’re not helping.”

  He shrugged and offered her a slice of greasy bacon. “You always tell me organization is your department. I’d help out, but I’m on bacon duty.”

  “Oh, brother.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Mommm!” Sam was beginning to melt down.

  Sara threw up her hands. “Fine. Fine. Fine.” Tromping into the other room, she retrieved her phone and began dialing. So much for a quiet discussion over breakfast.

  The other line picked up after five long rings. Sara bit her lip. She knew it was too early. “Hello, Maggie? It’s Sara. Sorry to call at this hour but—”

  “Oh, hi, Sara. That’s okay, we’re up over here.” Of course they were. With her organic green teas and glowing skin, Maggie was one of those perfectly relaxed moms who seemed to have things under control 100 percent of the time. Sara couldn’t remember when she’d ever witnessed her friend late or frazzled for anything.

  “Never mind!” Sam hollered from his bedroom, drowning out Maggie’s response. “Found ’em!”

  Sara shook a fist in the air. “Oh shoot. Sorry, Maggie. False alarm in the Young household. I’ll fill you in later. Have a nice Saturday!” She punched the “End” button before her friend had a chance to respond.

  “Samuel Alexander Young!” she scolded. “No more monkey business. Get your gear packed up. We’re leaving in ten.”

  The response was a loud scuffling followed by a banging of drawers. She sighed. It wasn’t even 8:00 a.m., and she was worn out.

  Returning to the kitchen, she checked on Charlie’s progress. A heap of bacon was displayed in the center of the table, along with frozen waffles and strawberries. But Charlie was already on the move. Gulping down a glass of juice, he ran past her.

  “I’ll take him,” he called over his shoulder. His bare feet sped down the hall.

  “You will?” Sara felt as if she were playing catch-up, but if Charlie wanted to take Sam to his umpteenth game of the season, then fine. She was relieved not to have to rush back out again. And today, of all days, she wasn’t in the mood to make small talk with the other parents who usually clustered around one another on the sidelines. But at this rate she and Charlie would never have a moment to talk.

  “I missed the last game, so now that I’m here, I want to see him play. Just have to change my clothes!”

  Perhaps Charlie was glad for the excuse to run out with Sam so he wouldn’t be stuck alone at home with her. Trying to convince herself she was merely being paranoid, she trailed her husband into the bedroom.

  Sara flopped down on the unmade bed while Charlie rushed around, getting dressed. Acer wandered in, and Sara shooed him back out.

  “Besides,” Charlie’s muffled voice now echoed from inside the walk-in closet. “I wanted to catch up with Sam. You know, see what he’s been up to lately. I only have this weekend to do that, because remember, I leave again on Monday.”

  Sara nodded and then froze. Charlie still knew nothing about her little excursion to the coast. After their not-so-pleasant phone conversation earlier that week, she’d decided to keep all updates at a minimum until he finally returned home.

  She sprang up. She hadn’t considered Sam would blow her news to Charlie before she had the chance to explain.

  “I think I’ll come too!” she announced, arriving at the mouth of the closet.

  Sam yanked on a tube sock and glanced up with surprise. “Really? I just assumed you’d want the morning off.”

  Yes, she wanted to say. I’d very much like the morning off, but not at the expense of Sam spilling the beans before I do.

  Scooting past him, she pulled a baseball hat from a high shelf and covered her windblown hair.

  “Sure,” she said. “I’d love to come.”

  The race to the soccer fields was the typical Saturday mad dash of parents and kids all squeezing into a tiny parking lot and then hustling in the direction of the waiting coaches. A sea of color-coded kids in matching jerseys and knee-high socks poured over the grass and ran around like ants at a picnic. Then a whistle blew. It was fun and team building and, for the most part, good for Sam. But soccer also put Sara’s nerves on edge because this type of aerobic activity inevitably trigged her son’s never-ending asthma. It served as a seesaw of continual excitement and dread.

  This was the part of Sam’s life that Sara tried and usually failed at—not being what other parents referred to as a helicopter parent. But she couldn’t help it. They didn’t know what it was like to watch their child fall into a fit of wheezing coughs while he searched for air. The other parents had no clue how vigilant Sara had to really be.

  Oh, that’s just his exercise-induced asthma, no worries, she’d reply glibly to onlookers as she’d scurry onto the field, waving at the referee to call time-out while producing an extra inhaler from her pocket so Sam could catch some relief. This had been the story of her son’s entire life.

  Sara blamed the labor and delivery team who insisted on taking Sam prematurely. If only her beautiful baby hadn’t been yanked from her womb at thirty-seven weeks. If only the procedure that was meant to help him hadn’t caused Sam to swallow large amounts of amniotic fluid in the process. But the doctor had convince
d Sara a C-section was the responsible route, claiming Sam had stopped thriving and would have a better chance outside the womb.

  To this day Sara regretted that decision, even though she and Charlie had both agreed to it at the time. The sound of Sam’s desperate pulls for his first breath still haunted her. Just after surgery, she was groggy and confused. Despite this, her instincts told her something was wrong. Before she could understand what was happening, she saw Sam being whisked away with a great sense of urgency to be plugged into machines and monitors in the neonatal nursery. Sara never forgot the feeling of emptiness in her arms when he left. It was a void she never wanted to know again.

  If she thought about it long enough, she could still touch the raw grief that lay just behind her heart. The agony of not being able to swaddle her new baby, to nurse him and to doze by his side for five excruciatingly long days was virtually unbearable for both her and Charlie, who’d taken on the stress by mostly pacing around in the background. The day they handed her pink-cheeked cherub back to her, Sara swore she’d never let go.

  “Mom?” Sam stood next to her now, a soccer ball rolling around under his neon-colored cleat. “I have to go.”

  Sara snapped out of it long enough to give him a hug and slide an inhaler into his free hand. She breathed in the scent of his hair. He squirmed but let her hold on for a second longer. “Go get ’em.”

  “See ya!”

  Charlie, who had been chatting with the coach, wandered back over to the sidelines. “Should be a good game. They’re apparently playing a team that came over from the coast.”

  Sara swallowed. The coast.

  “Charlie?”

  “Yeah?” He dragged his focus from the field. This was her window.

  “Speaking of the coast, I uh, I have something to tell you.”

  “What’s that?” He turned his head, only partially listening.

  “I took Sam to the coast the other day. While you were out of town.”

  “That’s nice.” His eyes tracked the cluster of boys on the field.