The Girl Made of Clay

by Nicole Meier

  Charlie suddenly emerged with Acer trotting right behind. Sara noticed he’d run a wet comb through his hair and pulled on a pair of relaxed jeans. His face, however, was anything but.

  “Good morning,” she offered tentatively.

  “Hi.” He averted TR’s gaze and planted a brief kiss on Sara’s cheek.

  “Hello, there, Chuck!” TR saluted from the table. “No piloting today?”

  Charlie visibly stiffened and turned around. “Hi, TR. No, not today. I’m sticking around to take Sam here to school. But come this afternoon, I’m off again.”

  “So soon? The airlines must be pretty busy for not ever giving you a break,” TR said.

  Sara felt and twinge of gratitude toward her father for pointing this out. True, Charlie’s plans had already been set earlier, but he’d witnessed the meltdown she’d had the day before. Couldn’t he tell she needed support? That flying away wasn’t the compassionate thing to do to his fragile spouse? Watching him hustle around the kitchen, she supposed not. She felt a crack in her heart expand once again.

  Charlie clutched a stainless steel to-go mug and eased toward the back door. “Yup, pretty busy,” he responded to TR. Switching gears, he tipped his head in Sam’s direction. “You ready for school, pal?”

  It was clear Charlie had no intention of engaging.

  The only flicker of light in the situation was that Sara and TR were finally alone again. And while Sara’s head was swirling with mixed emotions over Charlie, she was also keen on continuing a conversation with her father.

  “So,” she began, coming up beside him and scooting out a chair. “It’s just us for now.”

  “Yep.”

  TR readjusted himself in his seat. Sara thought she caught a strained expression cross his face. Her eyes went to his burned side. His pain must have been flaring up again. It had been days since he’d touched his pills, or so he told her. Perhaps his recovery was going more slowly than she’d realized. She’d been so eager to sleuth out his faraway secrets that she’d neglected to inquire about the actual person sitting right in front of her.

  She contemplated what to say next.

  TR must have sensed her studying him because he changed the subject. “That kid of yours is something special. Clever little guy.”

  Sara warmed. “Yes, he is special. That’s nice of you to say.”

  “Well, I mean it. I enjoy spending time with him.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I’m pretty sure he likes spending time with you too. Charlie’s dad, Sam’s other grandpa, he can be well, kind of austere.”

  “Oh? And what do Charlie’s parents think of their son marrying the daughter of an artist?”

  “You mean do they approve of my wild upbringing? Uh, that’s doubtful. I didn’t come with a pedigree. But then again, Charlie didn’t become the doctor they’d hoped for either, so whatever. Their expectations have always been distorted. I try not to pay too much attention.”

  This wasn’t the direction she’d wanted their discussion to go. TR was the one who was supposed to be spilling his guts. Not her.

  But unexpectedly, it felt cathartic to share some of her life with TR She’d waited so long for a parent to come around and pay a little attention to something other than themselves. Sitting there, confiding her situation to her father filled her with a warmth she’d never anticipated.

  “Well,” TR said, breaking through her contemplation. “Charlie’s parents must be crazy. Because from what I can tell, you’re a terrific mother, and that’s the most important job of all, is it not?”

  This stunned her. Was her father actually offering praise? Was he congratulating her on a job well done where both he and Joanne had failed? Whatever his perspective, she was going to take it. She’d waited forty years for validation.

  But she refused to be deterred. “We need to talk.”

  “Right.” She noticed him bristle, his fingers going rigid around the cup.

  “We should discuss what’s going on at your house. You have a son. And I knew nothing about him.” Her voice caught. “When I first picked you up from Pacific Memorial, you said there was no one else who could take you in. That you couldn’t return home. And for whatever reason, I believed you. Obviously, or you wouldn’t be here right now, sitting in my kitchen and wearing my husband’s bathrobe.” Her volume was rising.

  TR lowered his eyes. An index finger dragged across a veinlike crack in the wooden table. Sara saw his Adam’s apple undulate as he swallowed several times, appearing to search for the right words.

  “TR, don’t you have anything to say?” Please, she thought.

  TR rumbled, clearing his throat. His chest rose, filling with a labored inhale. After a moment, he dropped his chin. “Believe me or not, I didn’t share certain details of my life because I wanted to spare you. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but I was protecting you from being hurt, to a certain degree.”

  Sara felt a surge of heat at his deflection. He was protecting her from his blatant abandonment, she assumed.

  “But I can see this is all bothering you quite a bit.”

  The idea that a newly discovered sibling was merely “bothering” her, like it was some trivial inconvenience, filled her with hot indignation. But Sara held her tongue, too afraid if she said this, it might stop her father from sharing more.

  TR continued. “I’ll tell you about Bo. You’re my kid. You have a right to know about your brother.”

  My brother. The words rang in her ears. I actually have a brother.

  As mad as she was over Bo’s existence, she couldn’t wait to learn more.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  TR

  “Yes, he’s my kid,” TR said. “And he’s Marie’s kid too. But that doesn’t mean he ‘belongs’ to me. Bo belongs to no one. He’s a nomad, just like his mother—spends most of his time wandering the earth, in search of better things.”

  “What does that mean?” Sara asked, her face contorting. She had suggested to TR that she wouldn’t judge, but they both knew this wasn’t true. TR could tell by the bewilderment that was splashed across her face that at the moment his daughter was far from objective.

  He reached for the sugar jar and tipped a generous amount into his mug. Stirring, he bided his time. It was important to proceed carefully. Dredging up the recollections of certain events was unsettling him. With a fidgety hand, he tapped a spoon against the tabletop.

  Sara squirmed with impatience. The dog got up from his spot by the door and came to rest supportively at her feet. TR marveled at how an animal could instinctively sense so much about his owner.

  If TR had his druthers, they wouldn’t be doing this at all. This sort of interrogation really went against the grain of what he believed. A man’s business was his and his alone, was it not? And yet, there was Sara, looking raw and exposed and desperate for more. He had to tell her something. He just worried doing so wouldn’t be as satisfying as she might’ve hoped.

  Such information might be too painful for his upset daughter to handle. It was one reason that he’d kept this portion of his life from her in the first place. That and his mounting shame over leaving her. The realities of TR’s world had understandably upset her.

  What could he do? She’d begged to know the truth, and so he was telling her. But they hadn’t even gotten to the heart of things, and already he detected a brimming of emotion threatening to spill forward.

  What’s more, Sara’s appearance at the property meant something else equally ruinous: Bo had met her. Marie too. But Marie had, at a very minimum, been aware all these years of his history with Sara and Joanne.

  Bo, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. Surely meeting Sara, who probably admitted she’d never known a son existed, was one more reason for Bo to hate his father. In his son’s eyes, TR did everything wrong. Especially parenting.

  “TR?” Sara balanced on the edge of her seat, searching his face. “What does that mean, exactly? Don’t Bo and his mother live with y
ou?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “I’m not following.”

  TR shook his head. “They do and they don’t. But you’re jumping ahead. I thought you wanted me to start at the beginning.”

  Her mouth shut. TR could tell it was taking everything his anxious daughter had to hold herself back.

  He scratched his head and continued.

  “I met Marie a long time ago. When you were probably a teenager. And that’s the truth. She and I didn’t know one other when I was with your mother.”

  “Okay.” A whisper of relief escaped.

  He knew what she must’ve been thinking: that he’d left her to go make another family. It wasn’t true, but his compassion toward her grew regardless.

  “Marie was a photographer—still is, actually. My manager at the time had set up a photo shoot of me and some of my work in a gallery out on the West Coast. I’d just flown in from Europe, and I wasn’t particularly thrilled about returning to the States just yet. But the work demanded it; there was a gallery tour and parties for the press and what have you. It was all arranged. All I had to do was show up.”

  Sara frowned. “Why bother if you weren’t interested?”

  “Never underestimate the power of the almighty dollar. I’d made a decent amount up until that point, but really, it was never enough.” He stopped and pointed at her. “Money does something to a person. It awakens a greed you never knew you had. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

  His daughter leaned back in her chair with a flat expression. TR couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but he meant what he’d said. Money had been like a drug to him back in those days, luring him deeper into the void, never quite enough to satisfy his newfound cravings for wealth and fame.

  “Marie arrived on the scene and distracted me from all of that material garbage. She was the real deal. Is the real deal, rather. You should see her photographs. She has the ability to see actualities in things that no one else ever notices. Little details that get amplified once they’re pointed out, you know what I mean?”

  Sara cocked her head.

  “Well, I’ll show you sometime. Some of her images could move a person to tears. Marie was the one who introduced me to the idea that it was the artist’s job to shine the light on the unseen.” He hooked two fingers into the air to make quotes. He remembered Marie saying this to him. So much of his artistic education was owed to her. Marie wasn’t a sculptor, but she’d given him a whole new set of metaphorical tools with which to work. In a sense, she’d been both a lover and a mentor. Meeting her had been everything.

  Thinking out loud, he continued. “Marie gave me a fresh perspective on my art. It elevated me, if you will.” He stopped and rubbed at the stubble of his beard. It had been a long time since he’d reflected on this part, the earlier version of Marie.

  Sara remained still, taking it all in. TR suddenly wished he could make his perplexed daughter understand what he saw in Marie. How she so wholeheartedly captivated him. But this would of course inflict pain. Marie wasn’t Sara’s mother. She was the new love in his life. TR had moved on with this woman.

  “Anyhow, she’s an artist of another genre who is so gorgeously committed. A real believer in the craft, you know? And what’s more,” he added with a sly smile, “if you hadn’t noticed, Marie’s a beautiful Italian goddess to boot. I was a goner from the moment I met her.”

  Sara blinked, and he immediately wished he could take this comment back. He’d stupidly gone too far once again. He was trying not to hurt his daughter but was doing a terrible job of it anyway.

  Sara seemed to read his thoughts and dropped her wounded look to jut out her chin. “More like beautiful and dangerous, if you ask me. The woman practically attacked me when I showed up. She has a bite to her, that one.”

  TR sighed. If only Sara knew the half of it. He twisted his mouth, trying to find the right words. “Yes, Marie is a passionate woman. She has reason, I suppose.” He thought about their fighting and Marie’s constant exasperation with him.

  “Meaning?” Sara asked.

  “Never mind.” He waved a hand. He wasn’t prepared to go into it. “We’re getting off track.”

  Sara didn’t look convinced. “So why all the secrecy if you were so enamored with her?”

  “Marie was married.”

  “Oh.” Sara flinched, clearly distraught by this development. He’d broken up two marriages for the sake of his own happiness. He tried to warn Sara this would be unpleasant, but she’d wanted him to tell her everything. So that’s what he was attempting to do. Regardless of how it made him look.

  He pressed his palms into the table and remembered having a similar reaction after he’d found out Marie had been committed to another man. When she’d so heartlessly tossed the bit of information across the bed after their first night together, TR’s heart had already begun to crack wide open for a woman who didn’t plan to stay. Marie’s soul had been like an impossible lock, and all TR desired was to find the key.

  “The affair carried on for some time, but she had a husband she wasn’t prepared to leave.”

  “So that’s why you were photographed with a different girl on your arm every other night.”

  TR colored. He was unexpectedly ashamed to see himself through the eyes of his daughter. Somewhere out there a child had been watching. What must Sara have thought? It was one thing to leave Joanne, to move on because his first marriage simply didn’t work. But it was another to publicly trot out a parade of pretty birds who were half his age and far too beautiful for someone like him. Sure, he’d had his fun. Oftentimes too much fun. His thirties and forties were one never-ending party. But he’d left carnage in his wake. Namely his poor daughter. All-encompassing remorse filled him.

  “I’m not going to lie. I was a fool. I tried to make myself forget Marie by climbing into bed with many other women,” he said.

  “Gross.”

  He frowned. He was oversharing again. He didn’t know how to do this.

  “I know. You’re not the first person to accuse me of being a scoundrel. It’s true. I was lonely and stupid and self-centered. Be glad you didn’t know me during that period of my life, Sara. Honestly. I was spinning out of control and consumed with my own mixed-up priorities. I suppose Marie took my mind off my losses and represented some kind of love I might still be able to attain. Does that make any sense at all?

  “Yes.” Sara’s response was barely audible.

  “In any case, I got fixated on what I might be able to control. I hoped the photos in the gossip rags would snag Marie’s attention. I believed making her jealous might be the answer.”

  “And what better way to do that than flaunt dopey supermodels in her face?”

  “Exactly.”

  Sara rested her elbows on the table, cradling her chin on the heel of a hand. “Wow, TR, you really are petty.”

  He threw her a self-conscious smile. “Thanks, kid.”

  “So then what? Marie keeps you around for her own amusement for a stretch and then returns home to her husband? You go off and drown your sorrows in women and booze? That can’t be the end of the story. I’ve met Marie and Bo at your house, so I know it’s not.”

  “Right.”

  She shook her head. “Here you had all this fame, this great art that the industry was falling all over itself to get their hands on, and you’re supposedly too caught up with making your ex-girlfriend—or whatever she was—jealous. It just sounds sort of, I don’t know, high school.”

  “I see.” He knew he should be offended, but he wasn’t. In truth, it was a surprising relief to share this hidden slice of himself with Sara. It actually was quite therapeutic to have his grown daughter sit across from him, face open and attentive regardless of what she may have thought, and still willing to listen. He appreciated that. There was still so much to explain. And while he wasn’t ready to delve into everything quite yet, the sole act of sharing some of his shame with Sara was beginning to dislodge the boulderl
ike weight that had resided on his heart for too long.

  “So,” Sara ventured. “Then what? When did Bo come into the picture?”

  “Ah yes. Bo. He’s a predicament I wasn’t expecting to have.”

  Sara pulled back. “You’re calling your son a ‘predicament’?”

  He ran a hand over his face, wiping back the weariness. This next confession would take some finessing. “It’s complicated.”

  “So you keep telling me.”

  He considered where to begin. “Bo hasn’t been in my life for very long.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “For starters, his name is short for Robert.”

  “Okay . . .” He could tell Sara was calling up her best reserves to be patient.

  “And I didn’t name him.”

  “Who did?”

  “Marie’s husband.”

  Her mouth dropped. “I’m starting to understand why it’s complicated.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Don’t tell me Robert is the name of Marie’s husband?” She winced as if to brace against bad news.

  “Bingo.”

  “Shit.” His daughter was markedly at a loss.

  A pregnant pause filled the space between them, pushing out any room for words. TR slumped back against the frame of the wood chair. He knew it was a lot for his daughter to absorb and piece together.

  TR recalled the bittersweet event of meeting his son, and he treated it as if it were a tender bruise. Having Marie walk back into his life, after years of him trying to snuff out the pain of her leaving, was a shock. But never in a million years had he expected she’d come calling with a boy at her side: a child she claimed belonged to TR but had raised with another man. A stranger. It was a cruel blow, and TR had regretfully not handled it well.

  It was this part he most feared sharing with Sara. And by the ashen look on his daughter’s face, she’d had about all she could handle for one day. Would this be the thing that shut her off from him for good? He wasn’t sure.