The Girl Made of Clay

by Nicole Meier

  “If you say so, Grandpa.”

  “I say so.”

  “Grandpa?” The word enveloped him like a hug.

  “Yeah, kid?”

  Sam propped himself up on one elbow and looked up. “You’re not going away, are you?”

  TR frowned. “What makes you say that?”

  “You said you were glad to spend time with me. Sounded like you’re leaving or something.”

  TR swallowed hard. His heart swelled twice the size, gazing down on those big saucer eyes. “Nah. Just musing. That’s all. You get some sleep now. There’s a soccer game to be won tomorrow!”

  “Good night.”

  “Good night, kid.”

  “Love you.”

  A piercing arrow shot straight through TR’s heart. He paused, working his jaw around as he searched for the words. His lips seemed to be glued together, unable to form the right sentiment. Instead, he placed a palm over his heart and nodded somberly at his grandson. He hoped it would be enough. With a tender smile he flicked off the lights and shut the door.

  He found Sara still at her place in the kitchen. The poor girl looked like she needed sleep. He noticed a line through her makeup where a salty tear had trailed but decided not to pry. She’d tell him when she was good and ready.

  Hoping to lighten the mood, he went past her and hunted in the pantry before withdrawing a box of chocolate cookies he’d seen earlier. Handing her one, he smiled. “If you’re going to sit there moping into your milk, might as well dip a cookie in there.”

  Her eyes flickered as she pinched the cookie and snapped off a bite. “Thanks.”

  It felt safe to continue, so he plucked out a second cookie and bit down. “That son of yours is a remarkable young man. Top notch! You should be proud.”

  “Thanks.” Her voice cracked ever so slightly.

  TR wiped crumbs from his lower lip. He studied his daughter. “I’m not sure what’s going on between you and that husband of yours. And maybe it’s none of my business, but you deserve to be happy. So does Sam. I’d hate to see your family break up in the unpleasant manner that mine did. I don’t have to tell you what a disaster that was.”

  Sara cast him a blank expression.

  Christ. He was botching it, he knew. He was never good at apologies. He wanted so badly to give Sara some nugget of sage advice, to reassure her it would be all right and she’d be able to get through the rough spots. She was a Harlow, and Harlows were strong. But standing here now, witnessing her tear-stained face, there was no eloquent way to console his crumbling daughter. She just needed to hang in there. But he knew that was nonsense. Her marriage was likely breaking up and maybe without her consent.

  “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

  Sara finished her cookie and sagged. TR couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Selfishly, he hoped she wasn’t about to kick him out. But he’d go if that was what she really wanted.

  “Anything?”

  He nodded.

  “You can tell me why you left and never cared enough to come back for me.” There was a hitch in her voice, her green eyes pools of sadness.

  TR’s insides felt as if they’d been ripped clean in half. His daughter carried around so much pain. Fumbling for a stool, he collapsed. He regretted he’d never given her a decent answer, any truthful kind of excuse as to why he’d gone so long without her. It wrenched him to know this is what his little girl believed. “Is that what you thought this whole time? That I didn’t care?”

  “Yes.” The quivering chin returned.

  “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t you know I never stopped loving you, even from a distance?” His hand reached over. He meant it sincerely. He was through playing defense, trying to hide the things of which he was most ashamed. It wasn’t worth it.

  “No,” Sara murmured.

  This answer turned his soul inside out. His poor girl. What had he done?

  “Sara, I was young and impetuous and fed up with your mother. I walked away because I was too flawed to find a way to fix things. I was a fool. I’m still a fool! I’m truly sorry for the pain it caused you. But please, please believe me when I tell you it had nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with not loving you. I just didn’t know how to handle it all. I was immature and prideful. Still am, I guess. But you were with me in my heart, always. I am so sorry. For everything. So, so sorry.” The admission was like the crest of a large wave passing over the top of him, churning him over to forcefully wash him clean from all the miserable guilt he’d carried all those years. It hurt, and it took his breath away, but he didn’t care. He only prayed Sara believed him.

  His daughter appeared to be struck by something equally painful but faintly relieved at the same time. Her delicate lips trembled as her eyes and nose ran, but her grief was beautiful all the same. A stunning, beautiful sadness.

  “Sara?” He wanted to know what she was thinking.

  She remained pensive, quietly mulling over his words. TR prayed she wasn’t considering shutting him out. He was underserving of her love; he knew this. But he so badly hoped for it anyway. When she finally spoke, he held his breath.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “For what?”

  “Saying you’re sorry. It’s been hard.” Another tremor passed between her lips.

  TR swiped at his eyes. He didn’t care how foolish he looked. “I know, sweetheart. I bet it was.”

  “You just vanished. So I never knew. There wasn’t any closure, no explanation, just emptiness.”

  “Sara, I wrote letters and sent money. I don’t know why Joanne chose to keep that from you. Your mother must have been very angry, I suppose. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  TR dropped his head.

  “There’s something else,” Sara continued.

  “Yes?”

  “I like Bo. I’ve been to see him a couple of times now. Since he’s your son and my brother, I want to know him more. And I can’t understand why you don’t. I can’t understand why you don’t want to go back and try to have a relationship with him. It’s like you’re abandoning your family all over again.” She bit her lip and waited for a response.

  TR understood the rawness to her words, the direct correlation his daughter had drawn between herself and Bo. His two children. It wasn’t the same, but she didn’t know that. Or maybe it was. Either way, he’d made a mess of things.

  “I can see why you’d think that, but . . . Wait, that’s where you’ve been? You were in Sandpoint?”

  Her cheeks pinked. “Yes.”

  “Spending time with Bo?”

  “Pretty much. Marie has been out of town.”

  Ah. He was beginning to understand now. Sara was testing out what it meant to have a sibling. “I see. And you like this brother of yours, you say? Think he’s a good enough guy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then. Pull up a stool and tell me all about it. And I’ll tell you as much as I know, too, which isn’t a lot. I’m old and I’m scared and my memory isn’t what it used to be. But that doesn’t matter. Because Sara, my girl, there’s nothing more important than being with you right now. And I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”

  Sara leaned in and blinked, as if awakening for the first time that day. She planted herself on the seat next to him and ran the heel of her hands along the bottoms of her reddened eyes. “Okay,” she said. “I’m ready.”

  TR believed they both were.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  SARA

  After Sara had recapped her visits with Bo, her father nodded slowly and then said something that shocked her.

  “I’m afraid to go home.”

  Sara was confused. “Afraid? Why? Because the house is unsafe? Or are you afraid of a confrontation from Marie?” Visions of TR’s angry girlfriend with her wild hair and disapproving eyes came to mind. If her father did something to anger her, Sara had little doubt he’d be made to pay for it one way or another. Marie didn’t strike Sara as the forg
iving type.

  “Nah. Marie I can handle. She and I have had our fights, that’s for sure. And I’m fairly certain she’s none too pleased with me at the moment. But it’s more than that.”

  “What is it then?” She watched TR’s mouth go twitchy.

  “I’m afraid to go back and face what I’ve done. I’m ashamed, if you must know. The truth is I put my family’s life at risk. It was pure stupidity. The fire started because of me, and I’m too much of a coward to own it. So I chose to run.”

  The breath drained out of her. This was big. Her father was admitting guilt, and he was terrified to face the consequences. She watched him nervously rub at his right side, itching his newly emerging scars. Sara supposed those wounds would be a constant reminder of how he had narrowly escaped death. And how he’d thrust Marie and Bo into equal danger.

  But now a bigger question loomed. How did he start the fire? What did he mean, exactly? She recalled hearing TR on the first few nights he’d occupied the guest room. Her father had woken multiple times, yelping out from some sort of fierce nightmares. At the time she’d assumed this was due to the pain of his burns and nothing more. But now she understood. TR was frightened.

  “I don’t understand,” she probed. “You were inside when the fire began, weren’t you?” She imagined him trapped by thick smoke and growing blaze. She wondered how long he’d remained inside before fleeing, when the flames attached themselves to his right side and sent smoke into his lungs. Had he tried to stop and put them out or just run away instead? Had he looked for Marie or Bo? It must have been harrowing.

  “I wasn’t awake when it started,” TR said.

  “So you were in your bed? Alone?” This part piqued her interest, considering how much she didn’t know about Marie. She wouldn’t put it past that woman to act out in some kind of vengeful rage, an impulsive move in a lover’s quarrel. Just look at the way she’d come after Sara during that first visit.

  TR shifted his eyes to the floor.

  “TR?”

  “I was upstairs in my study.”

  “A study?” It dawned on Sara she’d never asked what was actually on the second level of the house. When Bo had taken her inside, she’d been too preoccupied with all the damage on the first floor.

  “Yeah, I work in a studio on the side of the house. But my study is actually where I keep my art books and papers and that sort of thing. Lately I’ve been doing a little oil painting up there when the mood strikes me. The natural light can’t be beat. It’s quiet, and I have a terrific view of the Pacific Ocean.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “It is,” he said, gazing off in the distance. Sara supposed he missed his private space: an area to act on whatever whim struck him on any given day. She even envied it a little. “There’s also a decent-size sofa. And sometimes when Marie and I have a particularly nasty row, well, I’ve taken to sleeping up there.”

  “Okay, so you and Marie got into it, so you decided to sleep in your study for the night? Was she being, um, violent?”

  TR chuckled and rubbed at his jaw. “Ha! That depends upon your definition of the term. She’s a hot-blooded woman. Got a mind of her own. It’s invigorating to be around her passion. But every once in a while, she lets her emotions get the best of her. And then, not so much. But no, she’s never tried to hurt me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Sara tried to picture their relationship. Stormy and tempestuous is what came to mind. But the way TR’s eyes glinted when describing his girlfriend made her think he still loved Marie. She just wondered whether the feelings were mutual. “So what did you two fight about that night?”

  “Humph! Same thing we always fight about: Bo. Marie’s got a soft spot when it comes to that kid. She insists she’s doing him a favor by coddling him, but she’s not. The kid’s got talent. He just doesn’t use it, that’s all.”

  Sara tried to imagine how Bo had reacted to TR’s gruff sentiments. There had been frustration edging Bo’s responses when they’d talked about their father. But she also sensed her brother hadn’t given up on their relationship altogether. Otherwise, surely he would have left.

  “So, anyway,” TR continued. Sara could tell he was anxious to get back to the story. “Bo and I had been butting heads. He’s just as damn stubborn as his mother. I got hot under the collar and rescinded the offer to let him stay there. It was rash and unfeeling, I know. But I was frustrated. As a result, Marie and I got into it pretty bad. I went to bed upstairs with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and eventually passed out. The next thing I knew, an inferno had practically surrounded me. I bolted and barely got out with my life.”

  “And Marie and Bo? How did they escape?”

  “Well, they were out in the guesthouse, away from the flames. Marie didn’t want to see me that night any more than I wanted to see her. I knew she’d wandered over to sleep in Bo’s extra bed. Thank God they were at a safe distance.”

  “And then the firefighters found you facedown on the cove below hours later?”

  “I’m afraid so. I looked around to make sure no one else had come back into the main house, but then like a selfish jerk I just fled for safety. After that, I passed out from the pain, I guess. Plus, I’d had copious amounts of whiskey. The rest is just a blur. So you can see now why I’m afraid to go home and face the music. I really messed up. Big time.” There was heartfelt regret in TR’s voice. Sara understood the tremendous level of culpability he must be carrying.

  She rested her chin in her hand and leaned against the counter. The lines around the truths she once held were now fuzzy.

  TR had also grown quiet, perhaps thinking the same thing as Sara. Where did they all go from here?

  The dark night sky had moved in, dimming the room and her father’s features. Acer snuffled softly, lying stretched along the tile floor, his furry belly rising up and down with unburdened sleep. Obscured by the lack of light, the tick of a wall clock sounded across the room. Sara’s mind drifted briefly. Where was Charlie? Was he already fast asleep somewhere, glad for the solitude? Or was he tossing and turning with uncertainty over leaving his family?

  She squeezed her eyes hard, producing little stars behind her lids. If only she could wish a different outcome.

  Surely her husband wasn’t really leaving, was he? Sara refused to dwell on the possibility. She’d left him a couple of messages earlier, but so far there’d been no response. She knew if she considered all the possibilities of why he wasn’t calling back, it might propel her into further darkness. So, for the present, she’d focus on what she could control. And solving TR’s problem seemed to be the best choice.

  “What about the investigators? Surely they’ve come up with some theories on the matter,” she said, breaking the silence. “They visited you here one day. What did they say?”

  TR grunted. “Not much.” He’d made it perfectly clear from the start that he held little regard for authority. Maybe that was why the police hadn’t been keen to share information with Sara. Maybe because they considered TR a suspect, they believed speaking to his daughter might hinder the case.

  “They must have said something. Did they say what even started the fire?” Surely they had to have given some small detail during their visit. It couldn’t have been all questions and no answers. She couldn’t imagine TR would let them get away with that.

  “They mentioned a few things.”

  “Like what?” She was beginning to get exasperated again.

  “Well, I smoke, for one thing. Not often, but I like a hand-rolled cigarette from time to time. And when I’m drinking, I often like it more than usual.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “And then there’re the supplies I keep upstairs. You know, for painting.”

  Sara rolled her hands over one another, gesturing for him to keep going. It was like playing the most maddening game of charades.

  “So they questioned me about that stuff. The paint thinner, the oily rags, all the materials that were flammable or could,
I don’t know, combust.”

  “Ah.” She was beginning to piece it together. TR’s study was primed for disaster. “So are they saying the fire was your fault?”

  “I don’t know!” Shadows flew across the walls as his arms shot up. “I’m not a fool! I know how to handle my own paint. I’ve been at this work for two-thirds of my life. You think I don’t know how to store my own supplies?”

  “I know, TR I know. But let me get all of this straight. You and Bo fought. Then you and Marie fought. Followed by the fact you went up to your studio, finished off a bottle of whiskey, followed by a cigarette or two, and fell asleep amid a pile of highly flammable materials. Is that right?” Good grief. Of course something terrible happened. How could it not? TR’s entire household of tense fighting and unchecked inebriation was just one powder keg away from explosion. The way he explained it, it had only been a matter of time until disaster struck.

  “Yeah, I guess that about sums it up.”

  “Shit.”

  “I know.”

  Inexplicably reenergized, Sara slid off her stool and went for the light switch. Digging in the back of the refrigerator, she produced two cans of soda. Popping the tops, she placed one in front of TR and inhaled a fizzy sip from the other.

  “Pop?” Puzzled, her father arched an eyebrow.

  Sara nodded and pushed the can farther in front of him. “Yes, I’m giving you a soda. I think we can conclude that hard alcohol is not your friend right now. I don’t think it’s mine lately either. Bad things tend to happen when we imbibe too much. Wouldn’t you say?” She shot him a look that told him not to test her. “So why haven’t the investigators been back or at least tried to call you?”

  “Oh, they have.”

  This was news to Sara. “What?”

  “They’ve called your home phone a couple of times. I answer it sometimes when you’re not home. The lead cop said they’re ruling it an accident. Closing the case. My insurance company is supposed to take it from here.”