They moved together, rhythm and velocity increasing the closer they got to the edge. Until there was nowhere left to go, no air to breathe, only the weight of desire kept Clay from floating away entirely. She collapsed on top of River, heart racing, spent. There was no world aside from this bed and the heavenly body beneath hers.
Chapter Twenty-two
It was early afternoon by the time River left Clay. She was afraid if she didn’t force herself to leave she might very well stay in bed with Clay all day, possibly forever. She dropped her keys on the table at her aunt’s house, feeling sleep-deprived. She needed a hot shower and a nap. Or maybe a cold shower and a nap.
Warm water streamed over her sensitive skin. She leaned with outstretched arms against the cool tile and tilted her neck from one side to the other stretching and relaxing the muscles in her neck. She slid her hands over her wet hair and reached for shampoo.
She stood with the bottle in her hand, water streaming over her shoulders, frozen. Sadness passed over like a cloud across the sun, and she had to fight the urge not to cry.
She knew she needed to return to New York, but she’d realized just now that she didn’t want to leave. Damn. Now what was she going to do?
Staying wasn’t really an option, so, decision made.
She’d make the most of her time left with Clay. Surely Clay knew she had to leave. River had a life in the city she needed to get back to. Sooner rather than later. It wasn’t as if they couldn’t still see each other. But her thoughts circled back to the revelation again. She needed to go back, but she didn’t want to.
She rinsed the shampoo out of her hair and turned off the water. Sleep was what she needed. She was simply tired and not thinking clearly. A few hours of sleep and everything would start making sense again. Her brain’s circuits were frayed by too much exquisite sex.
If she’d just had the best sex ever, why was she feeling so sad?
River pulled a clean T-shirt over her head and sank to the edge of the bed.
Was it possible that she’d been sad all along and not known it? There was so much about her life in the North Country that she loved, and missed. She’d closed the door on that part of her life, partly out of anger over her father’s conservatism, the community as a whole. She’d never really allowed herself to mourn the loss of what had been good about her past there. And she’d always assumed that there was no way to recapture that life and be who she was at the same time. Thus, New York City had become her life. But now, well, she was starting to see another possibility. Maybe seeing another path, that there were other options, maybe this allowed her to miss the life she’d left behind. A charming small-town existence where neighbors cared about neighbors. A place where people truly knew you, your history, your dreams, you. The barista who scribbled her name on a paper cup each morning at the trendy café in Chelsea didn’t really know her, not like that anyway.
She wasn’t dismissing her life in New York, there were a lot of things to love about it, but it was possible that she’d let the glamour and excitement of it all block the panorama in the rearview mirror of where she’d come from. All the things that made River who she was. Being in Pine Cone, being with Clay, parts of it were coming back. What did that mean? And what was she going to do about it?
As she lay back on the cool sheets, her body was overwhelmed by the sensation of Clay’s hands moving over her skin. Like a phantom limb that could still be felt once removed, the imprint of Clay on her flesh engulfed her senses. She pressed her palms to her eyes to hold in the tears. Vanquished, she let the sobs come.
* * *
River finally roused around five o’clock, famished, only to find cheese, crackers, and a sad looking apple left over from her last grocery run. Well, that would have to do because in her current mood and state of undress she wasn’t venturing to the Piggly Wiggly. She was standing in the kitchen in only her T-shirt and underwear as she dialed Amelia’s number.
“River, you never texted me back.” Amelia sounded a little hurt.
“Sorry, I was indisposed…”
“With?”
“I’ll give you two guesses and the first one doesn’t count.”
“Clay.”
“Yeah.” River sighed and leaned against the cool edge of the counter. “I spent the night with her.”
“Okay, well, I forgive you for not texting me back.” Amelia paused; there was a shuffling sound on the other end. “I’m getting comfortable…so…tell me everything.”
The giddiness in Amelia’s voice made River smile.
* * *
Clay popped the top on the last pale ale in her fridge and walked to where the unfinished canvas lay on the floor. She paced the edges of the work, slowly downing the icy beer. Thinking, feeling, aware of the elements around her. The cool concrete under her bare feet, the shafts of late afternoon light, particles illuminated in the air, the smell of honeysuckle, a bird call, and the brush of her loose-fitting jeans against tender skin. She’d put on a clean T-shirt and jeans after a shower, the rough denim a reminder of her glorious night with River. She’d been unable to shake the feel of River all day. Working seemed the only option, somewhere to put all she was feeling so she could return to it later, when River was gone.
She’d tried not to think about it, but it was impossible not to think about how River’s presence here was brief, temporary. She’d likely be heading back to her life in the city in a few days. Would Clay have the courage to visit River in New York? She’d considered it, and she honestly didn’t have an answer to that question. A week ago, she’d have said absolutely not. But after last night, maybe.
Clay finished the beer, cued up Sigur Ros in her playlist, and touched the album, Valtari. She slid the volume as high as it would go and closed her eyes as the haunting music reverberated off the hard surfaces around her. She stared at the array of liquid acrylic paints along the shelves for a few minutes, then returned to the canvas carrying yellow ochre, a deep gold, and a second jar of burnt sienna. She hovered above the canvas holding paint in each hand and then, as if conducting a symphony, drizzled the rich colors over the kinetic background from the night before.
To paint, in this moment, was to breathe.
Chapter Twenty-three
“Glitter Girl to Fast Break and Paintball, do you copy?” Grace’s voice squawked over the radio in the tow truck.
“Paintball here, go ahead.” Clay clicked off.
“Where are you?” Grace sounded stressed.
“On a pickup near the county line, about thirty minutes outside town. Are you okay?” She’d gotten a call late from AAA.
“This is Fast Break, I copy. What’s up?” Trip cut in.
“Any chance you guys could meet me at Mosquito Alley for a powwow?”
Something must be up if Grace was calling a meeting on a Sunday night. Clay was itching to see River, but maybe a little break would help her gain some perspective, clear her head a little. And anyway, if Grace needed her, there was nothing more important.
“Paintball ETA about five thirty. I need to drop the truck off at the shop first.” There’d be no room to park such a big vehicle roadside, plus she needed to offload the car she’d picked up. She’d ride the bike out to the river.
“Fast Break five thirty for me too. See you there.”
“Thanks, guys. I’ll bring food, and you bring drinks. Glitter Girl out.”
“I’ll be on the bike. Trip, can you throw in a beer or two for me? Over.”
Thank goodness Grace was bringing food. A cooler didn’t work so well on the Moto Guzzi.
“No problem. Fast Break out.”
When she got to their special spot along the river, Trip’s truck and Grace’s battered Corolla were nowhere in sight. Clay followed the sandy path down to the water’s edge and took her boots off.
It was quiet, except for the cicadas. It almost seemed as if they’d crescendo when the temperature climbed. That sound would always remind Clay of childhood summers. She took
a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying hard to match her body’s rhythms to the water’s slow, swirling passage. A dragonfly skittered across the surface, touching down in spots, causing rippled patterns on the surface.
Trip carried her flip-flops and towel in one hand and Playmate cooler in the other as she padded barefoot down the sandy path toward Clay. Nostalgic flashes of the three of them splashing in the river, drinking their first alcohol, and sharing secrets instantly peeled away adulthood. Trip must have sensed it too. She grinned broadly, dropped the cooler, and barreled down the path. Trip yelled a battle cry and flung her towel and shoes at Clay as she shot past. A thick, knotted rope dangled from a huge oak limb that stretched out over the water, and Trip launched from the small patch of sand to grab the rope and swung out as far as possible before dropping into the water.
Clay quickly stripped down to her boxers and undershirt and took a running leap. Trip came up sputtering just as Clay cannonballed into the water next to her. They laughed and splashed each other.
“So, what’s up?”
“Not sure. Grace called this meeting.” Clay paddled beside Trip until they were able to stand in chest deep water.
“Hey, where are you guys?”
“Speaking of Grace.” Trip cupped her hands to yell back. “Cooling off. You’re late.”
“I could use a hand with the food,” Grace called back.
“Did somebody mention food?” Clay hustled out of the water. Her shorts and tank top dripping, she grabbed Grace in a big wet hug. “Where’s your swimsuit?”
Before Grace could answer, Trip hugged her from the back, soaking her from both sides.
“Who needs to swim when I have you guys?”
Clay helped Grace spread the picnic blanket, then sat at the corner of it, finger combing her hair back away from her face.
“Are you guys hungry? I brought all your favorites. Chicken wings, ribs, cracklings, and potato salad.”
Trip cocked her head at Grace. “Now you’re stalling. We know where the food is. What’s up?”
Grace took a deep breath. “Dani Wingate.”
“My Dani?” Trip sounded surprised at the news that Grace might be interested in her newest veterinarian.
“Well, she is Grace’s type.” Clay took a long swig of beer. She was happy that they were here to solve Grace’s romantic problems. Clay wasn’t quite ready to share the news that she and River had slept together. Her mind drifted and she made a point to refocus on Grace.
“And what exactly is my type?”
Clay exchanged glances with Trip.
“You know, like…us.” Clay motioned with her thumb between herself and Trip.
“Handsome, butch, sporty…did I mention handsome?” Trip grinned.
“There’s a significant difference between you guys and Dani.” Grace sipped her wine, the food on her paper plate untouched.
“Should we be offended?” Clay looked at Trip teasingly, trying to lighten the mood.
“That’s not what I mean.” Grace scowled at Clay. “She doesn’t even want to be around me.”
“What makes you think that?” Trip asked.
“She barely speaks to me unless she has to, shies away if I get too close, tenses if I try to touch her, and goes to Savannah at least twice a week, probably to hook up.”
Trip frowned. “You mean when I send her to the airport there to ship or pick up semen?”
“There goes my appetite.” Clay dropped a half-eaten chicken wing to her napkin.
“This is breeding season and frozen semen is big business in the horse world.”
“Too much information.” Clay’s weak stomach was on the brink of revolt.
Grace was lost in thought for a moment, staring out at the river. She flinched and shifted her focus when she realized they were both watching her. “What?”
“Are you—”
“No, no, no. I’m not falling for her. Really.” Grace cut Clay off.
“Then why can’t you look at us?” Trip asked.
“And why is your left eyebrow doing that little quirky arch it does when you’re holding something back?” Clay leaned forward, with her elbows on her knees. “Did something happen after I saw you at the party?”
“No.” Grace’s response was a little too quick.
“Wait…What happened?” Trip was clearly annoyed that she’d missed out on this bit of news.
“Yesterday, at the cookout, Dani was dragging Grace down the hallway.”
“It was nothing,” Grace said.
“I’m not so sure.” Clay gave Grace a sideways glance and reached for another chicken wing.
The color flushing Grace’s cheeks gave her away.
“I’m not falling for her, and I probably won’t. She doesn’t seem interested. It’s like she’s afraid of connecting, I mean really connecting.”
Clay wondered if Grace believed that, or was simply trying to convince herself. Grace had a tendency to sell herself short. She sometimes failed to realize how terrific she was. Now was the time to remind her.
“You know you’re amazing, right?” Grace looked at Clay and smiled shyly.
“What do you want, Gracie?” Trip waited for a response as Grace searched the river for an answer.
“I don’t know…I can’t stop thinking about her.” Grace turned toward them; her eyes glistened.
“I know what you mean.” Clay wanted to take the words back the minute she’d uttered them.
“Wait, what?” Trip looked at her.
“Nothing.”
“Come to think of it, why did you leave the cookout in such a hurry? You didn’t even say good-bye. And you left River poolside looking kind of upset.” Trip’s attention was fully focused on Clay now.
“I don’t want to talk about me. We’re here for Grace, remember?”
“Too late,” Grace chimed in.
“So? What happened?” Trip pressed her.
“We had a misunderstanding.”
“And?” Her answer clearly hadn’t satisfied Trip.
“We spent last night sorting it out.” Clay’s cheeks warmed under the scrutiny.
“All night?” The pitch of Grace’s voice notched up.
“And this morning.” Clay couldn’t stop the smile, and she was sure she was blushing.
“I knew it.” Grace was smiling now too, for a moment, the worry gone from her face. “I knew she was into you. That very first day under the maple tree, sitting on that stupid fake plastic deer.”
“Yeah, well, it just took me a little longer to figure it out.”
“Maybe you’ll finally cheer up. I miss my pal, Clay.” Trip reached over and playfully punched her shoulder.
“Okay, okay…enough about me. We’re here to help Grace, remember?”
“Talking with you two always helps.” Grace smiled. “More chicken? And don’t forget the potato salad.”
Clay and Trip reached for second helpings of both. Clay settled back, listening to Trip and Grace talk. They’d all been there for each other, in good times and bad. This was one of the things Clay missed in New York. Friends who loved you for who you truly were. Friends who knew your history well enough to push you when you needed to be pushed and were there to catch you when you faltered. Friendships such as this were to be cherished, never to be taken for granted.
Chapter Twenty-four
Clay was up early. She couldn’t sleep. She stopped by to chat with Preston over an early coffee before heading to the shop. No one else was there when she arrived so she unlocked the door, opened the blinds, and started a pot of coffee for Eddie and her grandpa. She’d texted River to say good morning but hadn’t gotten a reply yet. She’d thought of texting or calling River late last night, but that felt needy after keeping River in bed half the day Sunday. She dropped into a chair, newspaper in hand, skimming headlines while the coffee pot soothingly hummed nearby. She felt…happy. Yeah, that was it, happy. Almost too happy, and that made her nervous. When she was feeling elated some shi
t was no doubt about to go down.
She laughed to herself. She was the pessimistic ballast for River’s optimism.
“What’s funny?” her grandpa asked. He reached through the door for the broom.
“Certainly not the news.” She smiled up at him. “Coffee’s on. I’ll bring you a cup when it’s ready.”
“Good. Some raccoon got into the trash can out back. I’m gonna go sweep that up.” She nodded and he let the door slowly close behind him.
The day dragged on. River responded to Clay’s text around ten o’clock. She was teasingly vague in the message. Obviously, she was going to make Clay work a little harder for that second date.
Around twelve thirty, Clay decided to make a quick run to her place to change. She’d worn the wrong shirt for the temperature. It’d been hard to tell how warm it was going to get when she’d left the house earlier, but she should have known better than to wear a long-sleeved shirt. The River fog was keeping her from thinking clearly.
She pushed through the door of her place, unfastened the first few buttons, and then pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it on the bed. There was a freestanding wardrobe in the far corner near the partial bathroom wall. Rummaging around for a minute or two finally produced a clean T-shirt. A trip to do laundry at her grandpa’s house was becoming imperative.
Clay tugged the dark cotton shirt down. As her head popped through the neck of the shirt, she focused on what she’d missed when she first walked in.
The four remaining finished canvases, the ones she’d brought back with her from New York. They were gone. A glaring, vacant space along the wall stared back at her. Clay’s stomach bottomed out. The first thought she had was that River had taken them.
This was the uneasy feeling she’d had earlier. That everything was too good to be true. She already knew there were people in the world you couldn’t trust. That’s why she’d come back to Pine Cone, leaving the cutthroat New York art scene behind.
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