His answer was a grunt.
“Will you think about it?”
This time his answer was a shrug. She realized the gesture was his way of telling her she had won. She would never get a clearer message, but she suspected that the vendetta against Clay Tyson was over. Bob would probably lecture Amy, ground her for not telling him about the tutoring sessions, but in the end, he would allow the two teenagers to see each other, and he would not persecute Clay.
Elise realized that she would never know if it had been her threats or her logic that had been the deciding factor. But she would always have her suspicions.
“Will you tell Amy I’m still planning on our trip to Ocala on Saturday?”
Bob left without an answer.
On Thanksgiving morning Sloane stretched his arms high, and then folded them under his head. He listened for the sounds of Clay stirring, but the house was quiet. More and more his son’s life was beginning to take on the rhythms and patterns of a normal teenage boy’s.
Sloane remembered their first months together. Clay had risen at dawn to prowl Sloane’s Cambridge apartment. He slept little, always alert and curiously tense as if he were waiting for some signal his life was going to change yet again. The city itself had simultaneously fascinated and frightened him. Sloane, who was so used to urban living that he scarcely gave its problems a thought, had begun to realize that Boston and Cambridge were a sensory overload for the impressionable young man.
Miracle Springs had been a much better choice for Clay’s first year away from Destiny Ranch. Yet even here it had taken a long time for Clay to feel secure. Now Sloane could see he was beginning to make friends at school, beginning to fit in. He mentioned names, told an occasional story. Sometimes the neighbor boys dropped by to get homework assignments or to play video games on the home computer.
Clay slept better now. He allowed himself to get tired. He didn’t seem to worry that something would happen to change his life if he gave in to sleep. The prowling restlessness had been tempered and with it some of the boy’s watchful intensity. Clay had even cut off his ponytail. And to Sloane, there was no clearer symbol of his son’s adjustment.
Clay was not yet an all-American boy, nor did Sloane care if he ever became one. But slowly, slowly, Clay was adjusting to life outside Destiny Community. His own intelligence and strength of character would carry him through this difficult time and into adulthood.
Sloane wished he could be more help. He wanted to reach out to his son, but he didn’t know how. Other than providing the proper environment, the proper equipment, he was at a loss. They never discussed anything personal. When they did talk, Sloane spoke and Clay listened. The boy rarely volunteered anything and when he did, some internal mechanism seemed to stop him after a sentence or two. He seemed convinced that Sloane didn’t really want to hear what he had to say, and no probing could change that.
Sloane knew he had to be patient. He’d been cheated out of fifteen years of Clay’s life; he would not ruin his chances of getting to know his son by pushing too hard. He would take it slow and easy, and eventually they would become closer.
He wished there was somebody to talk to, somebody who could understand and sympathize with what he was going through. He’d never needed a sounding board before. Even during his divorce he’d felt no need to bend anyone’s ear. The marriage had been wrong from the beginning; ending it had been right. But now he needed somebody to confide in.
Elise. He hated it, but he needed Elise. She was the only person who would understand, the only person with both common sense and sensitivity. She was drawn to Clay and seemed to understand his struggles. In many ways, he could see that Elise and his son were very much alike. She would be able to help him understand Clay.
But even as a confidante, he couldn’t have her. Elise kept a part of herself walled off and she didn’t want him to break through that wall because then she might have to confront the problems in her own life. And she didn’t have the courage to do that.
As he lay in bed, hands still folded behind his head, Sloane heard noise downstairs. It was Thanksgiving Day. He and Clay would be going to Aunt Lillian’s house along with other Tysons from around the county. This would be Clay’s very first family holiday and Sloane’s first in a long time.
He must be getting old; the idea of a family reunion was actually appealing. He liked the thought of people he was connected to all sitting down together for a turkey feast. The bird itself would have been shot by one of his cousins, the pumpkins grown in a family pumpkin patch. It was a shame that the family was short on teenagers now; Clay was the only one in the whole group. But there would be younger cousins and married cousins. The gathering would give Clay a sense of belonging and continuity. And in some strange way, Sloane realized it would give him the same thing, even though he’s spent most of his thirty-five years refusing to believe he needed it.
He showered and dressed to go downstairs and eat breakfast with Clay. He found his son in front of the television set watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade. Sloane settled beside him with a bowl of the granola Clay faithfully made once a week. “This is good,” Sloane complimented him. “It tastes different than usual.”
“I used cashews instead of peanuts. It costs more, but I like to vary it.”
“What do you think about the parade?” Sloane asked between crunches.
“I’d like to see it in person.”
“Maybe we could someday. I never have.”
“Yeah.”
Sloane tried again. “Are you looking forward to Thanksgiving dinner?”
“I always liked Thanksgiving best of all the holidays at Destiny. We’d have a huge feast with every kind of food you can imagine, except meat, of course. Then afterwards someone would light a bonfire and there’d be dancing until everyone was too tired to dance anymore.” Clay’s nostalgia for the familiar celebration was evident.
For once, Sloane could listen to the memory of Destiny Ranch and not be mute with anger. The boy had a right to his memories; they were sacred to him. Sloane put aside his own grief at all the holidays he had missed with his son. “I was at the Destiny farm in Vermont one year for Thanksgiving,” he recalled. “We did pretty much the same thing except that there was no bonfire. Only a fire in the fireplace. But we danced.”
Clay seemed to perk up. “I forget sometimes that you used to be part of Destiny.”
“I never was, not really,” Sloane said gently. “I was an observer. I always knew I’d move on.”
“Did Willow know you were going to move on?”
Sloane was surprised by the question. He and Clay had never discussed Clay’s mother except in the most cursory of ways. “Yes,” he said honestly. “I think that’s why she chose me to father you.”
“And you didn’t know.”
“Not until I got the phone call six months ago.”
“Once I asked Jeff who my father was. He said my father was Destiny.”
Sloane swallowed more than his granola. He could barely speak for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. “In some ways he was right, but only because I was never given the chance to be your father, Clay. I never would have left you there if I’d known.”
Clay inclined his head and shrugged. “I was happy.”
“Were you?” Sloane set his bowl on the coffee table in front of him. “I have dreams sometimes about a little boy who needed a daddy and a daddy who needed a son but didn’t know it. In my dreams the little boy isn’t happy.”
Clay looked away. “I was happy at Destiny.”
Sloane knew better than to push. Clay was not ready to repudiate the only home he had known for fifteen years. “Are you happy here, Clay?” he asked instead.
Clay focused his eyes on a spot across the room. “Yeah.”
“Really?”
Clay realized he could be more honest than he had originally thought. Sloane was surprisingly mellow this morning. “I’m getting happier,” he amended. “Some things are working o
ut real well.”
Sloane settled back against the sofa cushions. “Like what?”
“School. I’ve made some friends.”
“I understand from your aunt that Amy Cargil has become a good friend.”
Clay smiled a little and turned back to his father. “Don’t they call this the third degree or something?”
“You’re catching on.”
“Yeah, Amy’s a friend, especially now that her dad is…”
“Her dad is what?”
Clay considered whether to tell Sloane but surprisingly, Sloane seemed genuinely interested. He filed that away to consider more deeply at another time. “Well, her dad was picking on me. Amy says it’s because I look like you and Mr. Cargil doesn’t like you because of Elise.”
Sloane frowned. “What does Elise have to do with anything?”
“I don’t know. That’s just what Amy said. But it doesn’t matter because Mr. Cargil isn’t bothering me anymore.”
“What changed his mind?”
“Amy says Elise talked to him. He’s been leaving me alone in class ever since. Amy’s allowed to see me after school, too. Things are a lot better than they were.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Sloane asked.
“What could you have done?”
“Talked to Cargil myself. I won’t have anyone picking on my son.” Sloane stood and picked up his bowl to take it into the kitchen.
“Would you really have talked to him?” Clay sounded surprised, and the tone of his voice made Sloane turn to look at him.
“Of course I would have. That’s one of the things fathers do. I think I could have managed that much. Don’t you?”
“I never thought about it before.”
“Think about it, son.” Sloane disappeared into the kitchen.
Clay turned back to the television set and watched a giant helium balloon of Garfield the cat float down a New York avenue. He wondered if there was more to this father-son business than met the eye.
CHAPTER TEN
Elise stripped off her gloves and unzipped her short coat. Anyone who thought Florida was sunny and warm all year around should be in Miracle Springs on this particular Thanksgiving Day. The sun was shining. That part was correct. But it was anything except warm outside. Fall had only just arrived, but already it felt like winter. Elise had just completed an errand in record time, anxious to stay indoors for the rest of the day.
With her winter garb carefully stowed in the closet, she walked through the hallway into the kitchen. The room looked exactly the way a kitchen was supposed to look on Thanksgiving. There were pots and pans that needed washing, dinner ingredients that needed to be put away, leftovers that needed to be wrapped. It was funny, really. Here were the remnants of a Thanksgiving feast, and she hadn’t eaten a bite all day.
At this moment two elderly widows who lived out on Mercy Road were enjoying her cooking, as they had every year for as long as Elise had known how to cook. It was one of those acts of conscience that Elise truly enjoyed performing. Mrs. Waid and Mrs. Furman counted on her to make the holiday special, and she never disappointed them. In return, they served her peach brandy and regaled her with tales of Miracle Springs sixty years ago. It was an hour of folklore that Elise wouldn’t miss for anything.
Usually she came home to put the finishing touches on the rest of the meal so that when Amy and Bob came for dinner late in the afternoon she could just sit and enjoy being with them. This Thanksgiving, for the first time in ten years, Amy and Bob were eating at home, alone. Elise was eating alone, too.
She supposed it was for the best. She had invited Bob as usual, and he had stiffly declined. There was no question why. He was still angry with her for interfering in his handling of Clay and Amy. She didn’t regret her interference, not one little bit. But today, faced with the remnants of a Thanksgiving feast that she would have to eat by herself, she did regret the change it had made in all their lives.
What was lonelier than a banquet for one? She knew she was responsible for her own loneliness. Whatever she was, it was because of choices she’d made. Whatever she became would be because of the choices that were left to her. Her life probably wasn’t even half over. She could turn it around, fling her arms open wide and embrace opportunity. She deserved happiness—and could make it happen.
So why was she staring at the holiday dinner like a lost waif? She smiled at her own vulnerability. She had great intentions, but today even a little thing like a kitchen filled with uneaten turkey and dressing could bring her down quickly. She was going to have to learn how to be courageous. It was going to take time.
Halfway through repackaging the turkey into freezer bag-sized portions, she heard the knock on her front door. “I hope it’s somebody who’ll take some of these leftovers,” she said out loud, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she went to the door.
Sloane stood at the front door, dressed in a wool jacket the color of his eyes. He was the last person she had expected to see. “May I come in?”
She stepped back, and he brushed against her, bringing the smell of autumn air and wood smoke with him as he stepped into the hallway.
The fragrance of turkey and Thanksgiving greeted him. Sloane sniffed appreciatively. “Obviously I’m interrupting dinner.”
“Not really.”
“You’ve eaten already?”
She shook her head.
“Then I have interrupted.”
“Actually, I was just putting it away.”
“Without eating?”
“It’s a long story.” She turned back to the kitchen. “Do you mind if we talk while I finish up?”
As she moved away Sloane watched the gentle sway of her hips. Elise had a natural grace to her movements that sometimes haunted him. He wouldn’t be thinking of her; she would be the furthest thing from his mind, and then suddenly, he’d be struck by a memory of her body in gentle motion. It seemed his unconscious mind was always waiting for exactly the right moment to surprise him, the moment when he least expected it and his defenses were down.
He followed her, hopelessly entranced. He had not come to renew a relationship that could never be renewed; he had not come for intimacy. He had tried that once, and it had only led to a new distance between them. No, today he had only come to say thank-you.
So why hadn’t he said it and left?
In the kitchen he was surprised at the signs of a big meal. “There’s enough food here to feed the world’s hungry.”
“I know. I guess I got carried away.”
“Who’s coming to dinner?”
“Nobody. I cooked for a couple of ladies from my church and this was left over.” Elise waited for Sloane’s lecture. He would put her down for her unselfishness, ask her what she got from performing these endless acts of charity, and condemn her with a look that neatly said it all.
“Well, they were lucky ladies,” he said instead. “This looks fabulous. If I hadn’t just eaten at Aunt Lillian’s, I’d tackle some of this myself.”
Like a dog who’s expecting a kick and gets a pat on the head, she didn’t know how to react. He had missed a chance to give her a hard time. “Yes, well …”
“Lise, you ought to eat some of this before it gets cold. I’ll sit with you while you do.”
Too surprised to respond, she watched as Sloane opened the cabinet, got a plate and began to dish up the food. He piled the plate with turkey, then stuck a finger in the dressing and shook his head. “It’s cold. Will this dinnerware go in your oven?” He turned the oven dial as he asked the question.
He had taken over so quickly that she hadn’t made a move to stop him. She wanted to tell him to forget about her dinner, but suddenly she realized just how hungry she was. She nodded and was treated to the full power of one of Sloane’s disarming grins. For a moment she wondered exactly what she was hungry for.
He finished dishing up and then held out the plate for her approval. “Good enough?”
“Fine
.” Elise watched as he slipped it inside her oven and adjusted the temperature. Then he straightened. “Now, how about a drink while we wait?”
“You really don’t have to stay to make sure I eat.”
“I want to stay. May I?”
She could have worked up the courage to send him away if he’d been belligerent or arrogant. But this concerned man was someone she couldn’t be rude to. “What would you like to drink?”
“Something light.”
“White wine?”
“Perfect.” Sloane watched as Elise poured two glasses, and he reached for his when she was finished. Then he followed her out of the kitchen and into the living room. “I could help you finish putting everything away.”
“I’ll do it later, after I’ve eaten.” She lowered herself to the sofa and took a sip of her wine. It hit her empty stomach like a blast of autumn air.
Sloane sat beside her. “How have you been?”
She set her glass on the coffee table and folded her hands in her lap. “You didn’t come here to ask me how I’ve been,” she said, more sharply than she had intended.
“No, I didn’t. But I’d still like to know.”
“I’ve been fine.”
“If you’ve been fine then why are you having Thanksgiving dinner alone?” he countered gently. “Where are Cargil and his daughter?”
“At home.” She lifted her eyes to glare at him. “If it’s any of your business.”
“Evidently it is my business. Clay told me today that you stood up for him with Cargil.”
She shrugged.
“Obviously it’s had an effect on your relationship with him.”
She shrugged once more.
“Cargil’s a fool.”
“Now you’re talking like the Sloane I know.” She reached for her wine again and swirled it in the glass for something to do.
“I mean he’s a fool for letting this come between you. You’re the best thing in his life.” Sloane put his hand on Elise’s shoulder. “But I didn’t come to insult him. I came to thank you for what you did for Clay. I had no idea what was going on until he told me this morning.”
Season of Miracles Page 16
