Season of Miracles

by Emilie Richards

  That smile. She could forgive him anything for that smile. Why had it taken her so long to notice Clay? Really notice him, that is. Sure, she’d noticed—in passing—that Clay was cute the first time she’d seen him. But lots of guys were cute. Only a few guys were worth paying serious attention to. Clay was one of them, and it still bothered her that it had taken her so long to realize it.

  “Amy!” Clay lifted his hand in greeting, then turned back to his friends. “Catch you later.” In a moment he was at her side.

  The November sun spilled over everything, refusing perversely to warm the earth. It glinted merrily off the golden highlights in his hair, and she reached up to smooth a short strand that had fallen over his forehead.

  Clay made an approving noise low in his throat. “If I’d known how often you were going to do that, I’d have cut my hair weeks ago.”

  She giggled, dropping her hand immediately. “If anyone had suggested you cut your hair weeks ago you would have looked at them like this.” She stared at him without expression for a long moment, then giggled again.

  The corners of Clay’s mouth lifted in a smile. “Well, weeks ago, you probably weren’t available to cut it.”

  “When I was finished with you last Friday, you wished I hadn’t been.” She started down the sidewalk.

  “As a barber, you’re a great history tutor.” He walked beside her.

  “What did you expect? You were my first customer.”

  “And your last. The real barber told me if I ever came in with such a mutilated mess again, he’d toss me out on my ear.”

  “I thought you looked like a rock star.”

  “Wouldn’t your father have loved that?”

  That had the effect of sobering them both. In the two months of their friendship, they had covered almost every possible subject. The one subject that was still difficult for both of them was Amy’s father.

  “You never did tell me what your father said about your hair,” she said, trying to change the subject.

  “Nothing much.”

  “Does he ever say much?”

  “No. He stares at me a lot when he thinks I’m not paying attention. I think he wishes I’d tell him it’s all a mistake, and I’m really someone else’s son.”

  Amy was beginning to distinguish the fine gradations in Clay’s tone. He would never admit it, but the distant relationship he had with his father made him unhappy.

  She tried to lighten the mood. “Maybe he just doesn’t know what to say. Besides, you might be lucky. Most of the time I wish my father wouldn’t say anything. What if Sloane starts talking to you, and you find out he’s a nerd?”

  Clay rested his arm on her shoulders and moved closer so that their hips brushed as they walked. “The world needs people like you, Amy.”

  “It needs people like you and me,” she amended. “But I’m not sure it needs people like our fathers.”

  As if to punctuate the end of her sentence, a horn blasted on the road beside them. Amy turned to see her father beckoning to her from the front seat of his car. “I thought he had a faculty meeting,” she said forlornly, “or I’d have met you at your aunt’s.” She waved back. “I’d better get this over with.”

  Clay stood on the sidewalk and watched her walk to the car as if her feet were protesting the inevitable.

  “Hi, Daddy.” Amy opened the door but didn’t move to sit down on the seat.

  “Get in.”

  “Daddy, I’m going over to Clay’s aunt’s house to help him with his history homework. Mrs. Tyson will be there the whole time, and she’ll drive me home when we’re finished.”

  “Get in. You’re not doing any such thing.”

  She could feel her jaw clench and her eyes narrow until she was glaring at her father. “Why not?”

  “Don’t question me, young lady. Get in!”

  She took a deep breath. “No.”

  “What!”

  “I said no. I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m helping a friend with his homework. When I’m finished, I’ll be home. In plenty of time, I might add, to do the cooking and all the chores I do every day of my life. Without fuss,” she added for good measure.

  “How dare you talk to me like that!”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy, but I’m right this time, and you’ve always told me to do what I know is right.”

  “Who do you think you are?” Bob slid toward her, as if to haul her down to the seat beside him.

  She backed away. “Your daughter. A very good daughter who never gives you trouble. But I am going to Mrs. Tyson’s house. I’ve been going three times a week for months now and I’ll keep on going!” Amy turned to walk back to Clay.

  “Three times a week for months?” Bob’s voice was apoplectic. “Whose idea was this?”

  “Elise’s.” Immediately, she wished she hadn’t revealed the truth. There was little question what her father would do next. Elise was in for it.

  “I should have known!”

  With her back still turned, she heard the revving of the car engine and the squeal of tires. She had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she wasn’t sure exactly why. Was it because she’d stood up to her father at long last? Because she had just condemned Elise to suffer her father’s wrath? Or was it knowing that she and Clay might never be allowed to be together again after this afternoon?

  Clay seemed to understand immediately what she was going through. He put down the books that hadn’t fit in his backpack and reached for her when she joined him again. “It’s going to be all right,” he reassured her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  She leaned against him, and she knew immediately what bothered her most. She didn’t want to be separated from him. More than anything, she didn’t want that. “He’s going to make sure you never see me again,” she whispered against Clay’s navy-blue jacket.

  “We won’t let him do that,” he said evenly. Hesitantly he smoothed his fingers under her chin and lifted it slowly so that she was staring at him. Then he lowered his mouth to hers and took it with firm, steady pressure. For a first kiss, it was wonderfully effortless.

  Amy blinked back tears, and her eyes shone with something else when Clay finally drew away. “If that’s the way you say goodbye,” she said breathlessly, “I could get to like going away.”

  “That’s the way I say hello,” he said with a shy smile. He kissed her again, an exuberant, quick kiss. “Hello, Amy.”

  “Hello, Clay.” She raised her hand and let her fingers trail lightly through his hair. Then she stepped away from him, turned and began to run. “I’ll beat you to your aunt’s.”

  Clay watched her sprint down the sidewalk, and he suspected she was right. She was going to beat him. She might be able to run, but his feet felt strangely unattached to his legs. He would just float to his aunt’s house. With a grin he followed her path.

  Elise rarely drove her car to school. Unless she had an errand to do she walked the mile or so each way. Other women might take up aerobic dancing or tennis to keep their weight down, but Elise walked everywhere she could with the same results.

  This day was one of those rare occasions when she had reluctantly been forced to drive. She was so low on groceries that she had been compelled to eat freezer-burned waffles for dinner the night before. Malnutrition had less appeal than eating—although neither appealed to her much. She had sat over her tasteless meal making a grocery list.

  Now, one canceled faculty meeting behind her, Elise packed her little car with three bags of healthier food and turned toward home. She had brought enough groceries to feed a family of four. Maybe her shopping spree reflected a secret desire to do just that. She liked cooking; she hated cooking for one person. On the occasions that she had a guest for a meal, she lavished attention on her menu and cooked difficult dishes with only the freshest ingredients. When she cooked for herself she could hardly be bothered to warm up chicken nuggets.

  That said something basic about her life. As long as there was som
ebody to give to, she was happy. On the occasions in her life when she had been given credit for what she did, she had been filled with happiness.

  As if her mind had to leap to the next obvious conclusion, she thought of Sloane. He had always appreciated what she did for him. As arrogant, as impatient as he could be, Sloane had always been grateful for whatever she chose to give him, whether it was the gift of her body or something more trivial.

  He had always been the one to point out how little she asked for herself, and he had been right. That was his biggest failing. He was almost always right. He had been right about her lack of courage. He had been right about her attempts to get approval from the wrong people. He had been right about her inability to make demands on others. Only about her reasons for rejecting him had he been wrong.

  She was beyond caring what anyone in town thought of her virtue. Miracle Springs could be damned. If Sloane truly wanted her and claimed her for his own in front of the whole town, she wouldn’t give anyone else’s opinion a second thought. She would give him her hand and go with him gladly.

  What she hadn’t wanted was to suffer humiliation. It would be bad enough that he didn’t want her, but having the whole town knew the same thing? She had been suitable for a one-night stand, but there had been no indication he wanted anything more, not until he had blasted her with ice-cold anger that made the weather outside today look like blazing summer. He had not understood her fear of seeing him day in and day out and longing for him.

  And now he would not understand her other fears. Sloane moved through life without looking anywhere except straight ahead. Not for Sloane the long reminiscences and emotional replays of the past. Once before he had left her without so much as a glance backward. Then he had probably put her out of his mind like a little boy’s teddy bear, traded in for baseballs and roller skates. He would do the same thing the day he left Miracle Springs again. And what would she be left with? Memories?

  She already had enough of those to last a lifetime. What joy would there be in remembering a year of love when she had to live the rest of her life without it?

  Immediately, another part of her mind chimed in. Caution mixed with a sense of duty had kept her in Miracle Springs in the first place. Other women could abandon themselves to the future and take what came their way. Not Elise Ramsey. She opted for the secure, the known.

  And with them had come a life of servitude.

  She stopped unloading her groceries from the trunk of her car and realized where her thoughts were leading. Being careful, taking no chances, had led her right to her present situation. She was unloading three bags of groceries she would never finish eating, spending every spare ounce of energy trying to convince herself she’d made the right decisions.

  If her decisions had been good, she would know it. She’d feel it inside her and neither Sloane nor any other human being would be able to shake her faith in her own judgment. But she didn’t feel that way. She felt bereft and angry.

  “Elise!”

  She had been so caught up in her self-discovery that she hadn’t heard Bob’s car pull in behind her.

  She turned and wearily waited for him. She put her emotions on hold—with a touch of self-pity she realized she’d been doing just that for years.

  “Elise, 1 want to talk to you.”

  She sensed his anger immediately. His words were clipped, and he was standing straighter than usual as if his anger had literally carried him to new heights. Irreverently Elise decided that whatever had enraged him had erased the affected stoop.

  “Go ahead, Bob,” she said calmly. “Here, make yourself useful.” She balanced a bag of groceries in front of him and waited for him to grab it. When he did, she handed him another one. Since she never asked him to do anything for her, the gesture momentarily disconcerted him. Elise saw him blink. She wondered if it would be enough to make him forget whatever was bothering him.

  Inside, she got her answer. He moved through the hallway and into the kitchen with a purposeful stride she hadn’t seen him use for a long time. Anger agreed with him somehow. Maybe Bob’s life had been too settled to be good for him. Like hers.

  “Just what do you mean by setting Amy up with Clay Tyson?”

  “You must be talking about their tutoring sessions.” She took the bags of groceries from his arms and began unpacking.

  “Tutoring sessions. Is that what you’re calling it?”

  “Yes.” She stopped and studied him, her eyebrows lifted. “What are you calling it?”

  “I just found out about it, so I—unlike you— haven’t had time to give it a name.”

  “Try calling it tutoring sessions, then. It fits beautifully. Amy helps Clay with his history, Clay pays her for her time, and they both benefit. It’s the American way.”

  “This is serious. You don’t have to be flippant!”

  “And you don’t have to be angry. There’s nothing wrong with what’s going on. In fact, if you hadn’t taken out your prejudices on poor Clay in the first place, the sessions wouldn’t have been necessary.” Elise shoved a bag of sugar in Bob’s direction. “Here, fill that canister behind you.”

  “How dare you blame this on me!”

  “Who should I blame it on? Frankly, I didn’t even know you were still in the dark about the sessions. What did you think Amy was doing all this time?”

  “She said she was studying.”

  “So she was. I bet her history grades will reflect the work they’ve been doing.”

  Bob continued to clutch the bag of sugar. “You knew I didn’t want her associating with that Tyson kid. You saw what happened at the dance.”

  Elise could feel her temper rise. It didn’t take much these days to make her angry. Just one request too many, one criticism she didn’t deserve, one blow to the underdog. Midlife crisis. Premature premenopausal syndrome, if there was such a thing.

  “The only thing I saw at the dance,” she said, enunciating every word distinctly, “was a man so selfish and self-absorbed that he couldn’t even let the daughter he purports to love dance with a perfectly harmless boy she was attracted to.”

  “Harmless!”

  She faced him, clasping her hands to steady their trembling. “The only reason you don’t like Clay Tyson is that he looks exactly like Sloane. And you don’t like Sloane because he had me first. Not that you want me! Not really! But what I felt for Sloane might affect your plans for my life. God forbid, I might stop taking care of you!” Elise knew she was shouting, but she couldn’t make herself lower her voice.

  “Calm down. You’re screaming like a crazy woman!”

  “I am a crazy woman. I’ve been crazy for years. Crazier than anyone I know to put up with you and your demands and your hypochondria. No more! And it has nothing to do with Sloane Tyson, so leave Clay out of it!”

  “He’s a troublemaker. I’m going to make sure he never goes near my daughter again if I have to call in every favor anyone’s ever owed me!” Now Bob was shouting. “I’ll have him put back in ninth grade. I can do it, too! And I’ll make life so miserable for him that he’ll leave Amy alone just to get me off his back!”

  “You couldn’t make his life that miserable because Clay’s not a self-serving sniveling bastard like you are!” Elise drew a deep breath and clamped her lips shut. She couldn’t believe the words that had just come out of her mouth. Worse, she had meant every one of them.

  They both stood in shock, staring at each other. They were two people who had never known any kind of passion together. Neither had any idea how to handle the storm that had just passed over.

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” Elise said finally. It was the best apology she could manage.

  “Why not? You meant what you said.”

  “I did when I said it. And if you carry out your threats, Bob, I’ll mean those words again. You have no right to interfere in Clay’s life.”

  “Amy is my daughter. I have a right to do what’s best for her.”

  “Then do wha
t’s best. Leave her alone.”

  “We disagree.” Bob turned to go, dropping the sugar on the counter as he did. He was almost at the door before her words stopped him.

  “If you make trouble for them, Bob, you should know two things.”

  “And that would be?”

  Elise sounded regretful. It wasn’t difficult. If her words failed to move Bob, she would regret them always. “I’ll step out of your life and Amy’s life totally. I won’t be a party to this injustice, and I won’t pretend to her that I think you’re doing the best thing. You can raise your daughter alone. You can pick out her clothes, answer questions about her body, help her try new hairstyles, give her advice about how to act on dates. You can do it all. If you shut me out of this decision, she’s yours to raise. All by yourself, Bob.”

  “You love her too much to do that to her.”

  “I love her, but I’m not going to help you anymore unless I have some say in her life. I won’t be the person who carries your load with none of the responsibility for what’s really important.” Finally, she played her trump card. “And Bob, if you do one thing to Clay, one little thing—and I’ll be watching—I’ll go to Lincoln and tell him you’re harassing a student because you’re jealous of his father.”

  “You might as well run your dirty linen right up the school flagpole!”

  “That wouldn’t bother me at all.” Elise realized she was telling the truth. She really didn’t care what people knew about her and Sloane. There would be a few raised eyebrows and more than a few yawns. People would watch the two of them carefully to see what was going on now. They would give the sleepy little town something to talk about. She would be doing Miracle Springs a favor.

  Bob was silent, but Elise could almost hear his brain whirring. She knew she had to let him save face before he would agree to leave Clay and Amy alone. By now he probably wanted to, considering the consequences. But even Bob had his pride. She swallowed her own.

  “You know I don’t want to hurt you. We’re both upset, and we’ve both said things we regret. I care about Amy and you. That’s why I don’t want to see you make a mistake. I know you’ll change your mind.”