The Girl Made of Clay

by Nicole Meier

  “That’s not all.”

  “What’d you guys do, go to the aquarium or something?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Charlie threw her a puzzled look.

  She glanced around, making sure none of the other soccer families were hovering too closely. She didn’t feel like having to share her news with twenty other parents.

  “Well, you’re not going to believe this, but we went to see my dad.”

  Charlie turned, his face scrunched into a question. “Really? You and Sam went out there? That seems unlike you. You never want to talk about your dad. You called him a ‘selfish boozer’ who you’d never give the time of day.”

  “Yep. That’s the one.” Charlie knew most of her childhood story and had backed her decision not to locate her father when they were announcing their wedding, and again when Sam was born. Sara had explained that reaching out to her father would likely be a big disappointment, so Charlie never pushed. She’d appreciated that about her husband. He couldn’t really relate, seeing how his parents were overly involved in his own life, but he’d supported her anyway. “Well, I wasn’t sure how critical his condition was. I felt like I needed to go. You know, in case it was dire?”

  “Okay . . . but last night you said he was going to be fine. You said he was hurt in a house fire, but he was recovering. Didn’t you?”

  “Yes. He is. I mean he’s pretty badly burned. He needs someone to look after him when he gets out in a couple of days. And, well, I don’t know how this happened, but I kind of agreed to take him in for a while until he can get back on his feet.”

  Charlie flinched ever so slightly.

  “Ha! I know, crazy right? So anyway, for better or for worse, he’s coming. Soon. Actually, he’ll be here Monday. Just thought you should know.”

  The whistle blew and the game started, leaving Charlie’s mouth hanging open and Sara holding her breath.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SARA

  After being considerably stunned, Charlie lobbed some pointed questions her way regarding the decision to bring TR into their home. Namely how it would affect Sam and whether or not they needed to lock up their liquor cabinet. Sara couldn’t blame him. She’d painted a pretty wild picture of her father over the years, so Charlie was right to worry.

  “Well, he’s injured and he’s older now,” she’d told Charlie. “I get the feeling he’s moving a lot slower these days.”

  He’d only scratched his head.

  “I can’t explain it really, but it was just something I felt I had to do. Don’t get me wrong; I’m still angry with him. I don’t know. Maybe there’s a small chance he’s changed.” She’d felt stupid saying this out loud. It made her sound gullible. And Charlie knew Sara suffered no fools. “Besides, it’s just for a few days. How much could possibly happen?”

  They’d talked more over the course of the next twenty-four hours, until work called and Charlie was back to packing his travel bag. Sara got the feeling he wasn’t totally sold on her big idea to care for TR, but he agreed nonetheless.

  “Thankfully, Sam will be in school most of the time your dad’s here,” he’d pointed out.

  Sara had agreed but quietly wondered what she’d do with Sam during the hours he wasn’t in school. She’d have to figure the logistics out as she went, she supposed.

  After Sara watched Charlie drive away, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of desertion that moved in with his departure. While the two of them had carved out time to talk over the weekend, none of the discussion had been about them; ironically, it had all been about her father. Sara shook her head. Even when he wasn’t around, TR’s larger-than-life presence overshadowed her own.

  And now here she was, winding her way up the coastal highway to pick him up, wondering if she’d made a big mistake.

  Collecting TR and transporting him to the car proved to be a production. For someone who fled a house fire with nothing but the clothes on his back, the man sure had accumulated a lot of stuff. Aside from the plastic bag bursting with medical supplies—bandages, anti-bacterial ointment, anti-inflammatory cream, painkillers, gauze, and other various sanitary odds and ends—he’d also obtained a ridiculously large cluster of Mylar balloons along with an obscene floral arrangement.

  “Where did all of this come from?” Sara asked, attempting to lug a lead-heavy vase in one arm and balance a slippery bag in the other.

  TR offered a sideways grin. Something like a secret hung just at the edges of his upturned mouth. She didn’t know why, but seeing him possess such a display of gifts instantly drove a shard of anger through her. She had no idea who’d sent her father the well wishes, but it had to have been from someone close to him. Perhaps a friend or a lover. Someone who’d had access to her father’s life where she had not.

  She observed her sixty-nine-year-old father clutch his balloons like a triumphant toddler, while an amused staffer wheeled him toward the exit.

  “All you’re missing is a sucker,” she grumbled under her breath.

  “I have friends, you know,” TR said, prickling.

  “Really?”

  TR pointed his chin staunchly forward as Sara hustled to keep up with the pace.

  “Well, if you must know, they’re from my manager, Edward. He found out I was in the hospital and wanted to express his condolences.”

  “You’re not dying, TR.”

  “Felt like it.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Sara was stumped. Did TR even still have a manager? Hadn’t the work all but dried up lately? She studied her father distrustfully. If not, that meant he might have money, or at least options.

  Rounding a corner, she was jolted from contemplation as she nearly collided with a harried nurse. “Uff!” Sara came to an abrupt halt as the vase slipped precariously low. Her load jostled. Sara’s feet tangled as she struggled to save the display from crashing to the floor.

  Gratefully, at the last minute, she righted the vase. She blew a huff of hot air up, removing hair from her dampened forehead. “Can we slow down a minute here?”

  “Sorry.” The orderly eased up on the wheelchair.

  “Thanks.” She wondered if the hospital staff was all too eager to boot TR and his cranky ways to the curb. This was only her second time visiting with her father, but it was enough to tell her he was going to be a handful.

  Once he was delivered into the passenger seat, Sara shut the door and thanked the orderly. She clumsily pushed a folded five-dollar bill into his hand.

  “Oh, you don’t have to tip me, ma’am.” The kid blushed. “It’s part of the job.”

  “Take it. I’m sure you guys earned more than your paycheck taking care of this one.” She angled her head in TR’s direction and offered an awkward smile. Something in her suddenly had the urge to cling to this employee and beg him to admit her father back upstairs. Back to where trained professionals who knew what they were doing could take over. Because Sara was the exact opposite. An ill-equipped, estranged daughter with no idea what she was getting into. Thankfully, it was only going to be a few days.

  TR coughed on the other side of the glass.

  “I’m coming.” Sara signaled. Scrambling to open the driver side, she asked if he required water. The smoke damage had dissipated, but TR’s voice still sounded like sandpaper against a washboard. She wasn’t going to lie. It unnerved her.

  TR waved her off, assuring her everything was fine. Sara hesitated. There wasn’t anything left to do except start the engine and embark on the long drive home.

  By an hour into the drive, neither one of them had uttered more than two sentences. Silence settled over the car like an oppressive blanket, the weight of nothingness stifling them both.

  With every bump in the road, every balk of discomfort from a wounded TR, Sara pursed her lips and tried to determine whether it was yet the time to ask questions. Being completely alone with this man, after twenty years of distance, was surreal. From time to time she’d steal a glimpse at his mottled, sun-
spotted hands, his heavy brow, and his time-altered stoop. The years had clearly morphed his features, and she wondered just how much it had changed the person on the inside.

  Part of her wondered whether she was dreaming. Here he was, her absentee father. Finally. But the close proximity of this now practical stranger was also decidedly uncomfortable. Which one of them was going to speak first? she wondered. Undoubtedly, there were subjects lingering on both of their tongues, but Sara and her father were either too stubborn or too nervous to begin.

  Building up her courage, she glanced over once more. To her dismay, TR had nodded off. His head slumped to the side of the car, one cheek pressed against the glass. Sara couldn’t tell if he was truly asleep or just resting his eyes. She cleared her throat once. Nothing. Deflating, she opted to let him nap.

  TR jolted with a start when they finally arrived home and the engine cut. Sara raised an eyebrow. He was either a light sleeper or had been playing opossum the whole time to avoid conversation. She suspected the latter.

  “Here we are,” she announced to him cautiously. His expression was slightly dazed.

  “This is it, huh?” A cough sputtered out, followed by a phlegmy clearing of the throat. He let out an exaggerated groan as the door swung wide. Sara hesitated. She had a grim feeling this was a snapshot of her life for the immediate future.

  After shuffling and complaining his way to the entry, TR managed to get himself inside. Sara followed behind, carting his belongings and doing her best to bite down on her judgment. He was the one who’d asked to come, wasn’t he? She wanted to point out that this was what a person got when he lacked any kind of insurance and was forced from the hospital. But she thought better of it. Best not to start off on the wrong foot.

  Using a free limb to shut the door, Sara set down his things. “Here we are.”

  “So you said.”

  “It should be quiet today. No one else is home except for us. And everything is on one level. There aren’t any stairs for you to navigate.” It was a strain to keep her tone upbeat. “You’ll also have your own room. So you can enjoy a bit of privacy.”

  Sara watched his eyes skip over the space. He glimpsed the walls. “There isn’t any art hanging anywhere.” It came out in a disdainful grunt.

  Sara’s cheeks grew hot.

  Without waiting for a response, her father continued to survey the area. He took in the overstuffed twill sectional that had seen its share of use, the muted gray chenille pillows tucked into the corners, glass table lamps, and an array of framed family photos. The wood floors had been mopped, save for a half-chewed pinecone snuck in by Acer. A pair of Sam’s shoes lay haphazardly near the rug. The morning mess in the adjoining kitchen wasn’t tidied; she’d run out of time, and breakfast dishes still needed to be done. Sara gazed on all of it with new eyes.

  What must her life look like from the outside?

  TR’s expression remained flat. Did he approve? It didn’t matter. She didn’t care.

  Acer noticed them and barked from the other side of the glass slider.

  “You’ve got animals?” TR asked nervously. His feet inched backward.

  “Just one. A dog.” She nodded and gestured toward the backyard.

  “Humph.”

  Had her father been afraid of dogs when she was little? She couldn’t recall. They’d never been a family with pets. It wasn’t an option. Her mother claimed she was allergic to fur. Sara hadn’t considered the lack of any pet odd until she married Charlie and he claimed otherwise.

  Ignoring Acer’s barking, Sara moved past her motionless father. “Well, let’s get you settled into your room.”

  He grunted in reply.

  As she gathered up his things, Sara’s mouth went dry. Now what? She was officially in foreign territory. She was faced with a man she barely knew, a person who was more a stranger than a father, and things felt acutely awkward. Aside from the stubborn pride that lingered between them, the pair really didn’t have all that much in common. Mutely, she led him down the hall.

  She tried reminding herself she was the one with the advantage. After all, it was she who had the luxury of returning to her own house. If anyone should be uncomfortable, it should be her homeless father.

  She peeked over her shoulder to make sure he was following.

  TR’s face was arranged into an uncertain expression. Sara wondered if he’d hoped for some kind of celebrity fanfare or rolling out of the red carpet upon his arrival. But a welcome home party was definitely not going to happen. Her family was busy elsewhere, and she’d purposely kept the news of her houseguest a secret from the neighbors. She hadn’t even confided in Birdie yet. TR’s existence was best kept quiet for now. At least until she could gauge his behavior.

  Arriving at the threshold of the pint-size guest room, Sara forced a polite smile. She refused to let him know this whole event had the ability to unnerve her.

  “Well, this is it.” She ushered him inside. “It isn’t much, but you’ll have your own bathroom. That’s one thing I loved when we bought the place, an abundance of bathrooms!” Okay, now she was just filling dead air with random statements.

  TR shot her a funny look and hobbled inside. “I’m just glad to get away from that damned hospital bed.”

  Was that his idea of a compliment?

  Brushing past his crankiness, Sara ran a hand over the quilted bedspread. “Well, my in-laws tell me this mattress is quite comfortable.”

  TR held tight to his sour-lemon expression.

  She pointed toward the small closet. “I picked up a couple of things for you and hung them in there. It’s not much, but hopefully it’s enough to get you by for now.”

  The day before, she’d stopped by a big-box store and chosen a package of boxer shorts, several pairs of warm socks, sweatpants, and a few flannel shirts on sale. She knew her father would require loose clothing because of his burns, and she assumed he didn’t have anything beyond his pajamas with him at the hospital. It had been strange to shop for a man she hardly knew. She’d scrutinized the clothing racks, wanting to please him but also confused about why she cared. Purchasing the undergarments felt necessary but bizarre, not to mention an awfully intimate thing to do. But she’d been hopeful as she handed over her credit card to the cashier. Maybe TR would appreciate the gesture.

  Watching him now, she wasn’t so sure.

  “Well, perhaps you want to put your feet up for a while.” She hustled out of the room, hoping he’d take the cue and stay put. He was already starting to irritate her. “I’ll be out there, cleaning up my kitchen. Holler if you need anything.”

  Clicking the door, she exhaled. This was going to be a lot harder than she anticipated.

  Hours later, after Sara had just returned from dropping Sam at his evening soccer practice, TR emerged from his room at dusk resembling a deranged vampire stepping from his den. In the half-light, with his wild hair and bloodshot eyes, he startled Sara with his sudden presence. Who was this untamed creature wandering her living room?

  The dryness in Sara’s throat returned. The pullover gray sweatshirt she’d purchased for him was rumpled, a heavy line of slumber creased his left cheek, and his eyes drooped at half-mast. He coughed a few times and then straightened.

  It struck Sara that even in her father’s absolute worst state, he had an uncanny way of filling a room. When she was a child, he’d often made her feel special by casting his glow directly onto her. But inevitably that glow waned, and she was forgotten when the attention from an adoring crowd increased with his newfound notoriety.

  At times, this made for a confusing childhood. TR could make an entrance, and people, mainly women, would stop and stare. Likely this was in part because he was a known artist. Everyone loved a celebrity. But with TR there was something more. His presence always had a kind of magnetic pull. It wasn’t because he was particularly tall or arresting. And Lord knew he had the propensity to be brash. Despite this, something effortlessly alluring radiated from his person. TR c
arried his own brand of confidence mixed with mischievous charm.

  This charisma used to serve as a type of relief for Sara. Depending upon which way the wind blew, Joanne’s mood could turn on a dime, enveloping their small household in a cloud of gloom. Recognizing this, TR would swoop Sara into his comforting arms and shelter her away behind the walls of his art studio—back then, a humble outer building in the form of a glorified shack served as his workspace. There he housed precious blocks of clay, firing equipment, and a special stool with a workbench saved for Sara. TR would plant Sara on that stool and spin fantastical stories about how her miniature clay creatures could come to life if she constructed them with the right dose of magic. Sara loved those moments with her father.

  But every once in a while, his charm would also be accompanied by a hint of danger. Something would set him off, a failed effort with a sculpture or an argument with Joanne, and this made him erratic. Sara knew something unpredictable, like an outburst, might come at any given moment. It wasn’t that he was verbally abusive per se; he just ran his mouth with brash opinions, often at the expense of others. It kept the people who knew TR on their toes, wondering what he might do or say next.

  Today, it turned out, was no different.

  At first glance, she could tell he was disoriented. His arms and his mouth hung slack. TR went from one corner of the rug to another, looking dazed and dragging a palm over the backs of furniture.

  He must have taken some of those pain pills, Sara thought. Worry coiled itself around her middle. How unstable was he?

  Spying her at the kitchen sink, TR perked somewhat. “I find myself in need of a little refreshment.” His chapped lips smacked together.

  Sara lurched forward, hoping to head him off at the pass. “You must be thirsty after your long nap.” She was aware of how desperately false her graciousness sounded. It wasn’t how she wanted to come across; she wanted to remain in charge.

  TR slid languidly into an armchair. “Indeed.”

  “How about some water or juice?”