Season of Miracles

by Emilie Richards

  They walked into the water together, passing Amy and Clay who were on their way out. “Go ahead and start on the picnic,” Elise encouraged them. “Just save us some.”

  Clay watched Elise and Sloane swimming toward the middle of the river. “They had a fight,” he said.

  “How can you tell?” Amy handed Clay a piece of fried chicken. “Do you want a Coke?”

  He nodded. “Watch the way they swim. They’re three feet apart, and they aren’t talking.”

  “It’s hard to talk and swim at the same time.”

  “Not when you’re in love.”

  “Do people their age fall in love? I always thought they got together because they were lonely or something.”

  “I think they’ve always been in love. At least Elise loves Sloane. I’m not sure he can love anybody.” Clay punctuated his sentence by turning the Coke can bottom up and drinking most of it in one long swallow.

  “He loves you.”

  Clay set down his can and began on the chicken. “Are you going to date other people while I’m away? I want you to.”

  Amy respected the abrupt change of subject. “Yeah. Did you think I was going to sit around and mope for two years? And you. Are you going to find yourself another girlfriend at that fancy school you’re going to?”

  “Probably three or four, now that I know how.”

  “I like the three or four bit. Just don’t get too serious about one.”

  “I’m already serious about one.”

  “Do you think? …” Amy finished her chicken as she contemplated how to ask her question. “Do you think we’ll still love each other when we’re old enough to?”

  “We’re old enough now.”

  “That’s not what I meant exactly. I don’t feel old enough, not for… well, you know.”

  Clay smiled. “It’s funny. The moment I turned sixteen I felt old enough for that.”

  “Well if that happens on my birthday, it could be a problem. I’ll turn sixteen while you’re away.”

  “There was a guy at Destiny who always used to lecture everybody about the beauties of self-denial. He was kind of a nut. Everybody listened to him and then went right on doing what they pleased. Maybe he had a point, though.”

  “Will you wait for me?” Amy wiped her hands on a napkin, taking great care with each finger, not looking at Clay. “I want to be your first. I want you to be my first.”

  Clay swallowed hard. “When?”

  “When we’re ready. We’ll know, won’t we?”

  “I guess we’ll know. I just hope we don’t both get ready when we’re living in different places.” He covered Amy’s hand.

  She met his eyes. “Just make sure you get Sloane to let you come back to visit as often as you can.”

  “I will.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard. He and Elise are going to want to see each other.”

  “I don’t know. They went seventeen years without seeing each other. Who knows, maybe it’ll be another seventeen.”

  “What is it that keeps them from getting married?”

  “They’re both afraid.”

  “That’s dumb. They’re so happy together.”

  Clay and Amy turned to watch the two adults who were treading water in the middle of the river. “I sure hope when we’re that age we’ll have more sense,” she said, as Sloane kissed Elise and they disappeared under the water’s surface for a moment. “I don’t ever want to be that messed up.”

  Elise came around to the driver’s seat of Sloane’s car and leaned through the window to give Clay a goodbye kiss. “I’ll miss you,” she said, her eyes bright with tears. “Write me.”

  “I will.” Clay’s voice was husky.

  She stepped back and watched as he drove away. Sloane stood on the sidewalk. When Elise joined him he picked up the empty picnic basket and the quilt and started up the walkway to her house. He paused on the front porch. “Do you want to say goodbye here?” he asked without turning to look at her.

  “We’ve been saying goodbye for weeks now. One more real goodbye won’t hurt either of us.”

  He turned and held out his hand for her key. In a moment they were inside. “I wanted to make love to you at the river tonight. I’ve never wanted anything that badly before.”

  “And how do you feel now?”

  “The same.”

  The corners of her mouth curled up in a tiny smile. “Will my bed do?”

  “The hard floor would do.”

  Elise started toward the stairs. “Let’s be comfortable.”

  Upstairs they undressed each other slowly. Their agreement was unspoken, and they set out to make their lovemaking last as long as it possibly could. They traced each inch of skin and covered each other with kisses. They teased and played and brought each other to the brink of pleasure time and time again only to withdraw. Finally, even knowing that it was their last time, they couldn’t hold off any longer.

  It was over too soon. With her release came tears. Elise pillowed her head on Sloane’s shoulder and allowed them to fall.

  “Don’t cry, Lise.” He held her tight.

  “It’s all right. It was just so beautiful.” She almost choked on the words. “It’s been so beautiful.”

  “It doesn’t have to end. Come with me.”

  The room was silent.

  He had said the words she most wanted to hear. She had taunted him at the river with his inability to ask her, and yet, he had no idea what her coming would entail. Even with the hope destroying common sense, Elise knew that this was not the time to tell him about their child. Not when they were entwined, body and soul, and unable to think rationally. If she did and he still said he wanted her, she would never know if it was duty, passion or love that had made the decision for him.

  “Not now.” She turned on her side so that she could trace his jaw line with her fingers. “I love you, Sloane. I’ve loved our time together. But we both need a chance to see this more clearly.”

  “You’re afraid.”

  She was. “Yes.”

  “Again.” His voice was bitter.

  “Yes.” She kissed his cheek.

  “God, it’s a repeat of last time.”

  “No, it’s not. Please trust me. It’s not the same, Sloane.”

  “Then what are you afraid of?”

  “Of making a mistake.”

  Sloane sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He rose and began to look for his clothes, slipping on his shorts, obviously angry. “Then it is the same. You won’t take the risk. You’re opting for the comfortable, the familiar.”

  “I’m just asking for some time.”

  “Funny, I’ve heard you ask for that before.”

  Elise couldn’t say more without telling him the whole truth. She got out of bed and came around behind him, pressing her body against his. Their unborn child was right between them. “This time you need the time. Think about us, Sloane. If you still want me, I’ll be waiting.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.” He turned and placed his hands on her shoulders, shaking her. “Do you know how damned hard it was to ask you to come with me? I knew you’d say no again.”

  “I said not now.”

  “The first two letters of both words are N-O.”

  “Is this where you throw something at me and tell me it’s all I’ll ever have of you if I don’t come?” Elise lifted her chin and stared into his eyes.

  The tension left his body. He dropped his hands. “No, this is just where I tell you I’ll miss you.”

  “Then maybe we have grown up.”

  “I still feel the same inside.”

  “I’ll miss you, too.” She bent and picked up his shirt, fingering the soft cotton. She resisted the desire to smooth it against her face. She held it out, and he slipped it on. “Will you do me a favor?”

  He shrugged.

  “Will you kiss me once and then get out of here before I say something stupid?”

  His arms locked around
her and the kiss was fierce. When Elise finally opened her eyes. Sloane was gone.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  December 15th: I miss Florida. I miss the storms that blew in suddenly, leaving just as suddenly with the air cleansed and fresh behind them. I miss the passion of those furious clouds, the golden split of lightning, the smell of the rain just before it drenches the earth. Most of all I miss the peace that comes afterward.

  Here in Cambridge there are no thunderstorms—not this time of year anyway. There is snow and the cold snap of air as it bites at your skin. In the New England countryside there must be peace after the blizzards. Here there are only the sounds of the snow plows and salt trucks and then the rhythms of a city once again.

  At home, with Sloane, there is no storm; there is no peace. There is only waiting. I think I lost my patience for waiting the day I turned sixteen.

  Clay looked at the words he’d just written and shook his head. Keeping a journal was a habit he’d acquired in Elise’s English class. Now, even though he was usually loaded with homework, he still found time each day to write a few paragraphs. It had become as necessary as breathing. It was the one chance he had to express his feelings now that he and Amy were so far apart.

  Closing the journal he stood, in no hurry for what was ahead. He pulled on his jacket and gloves and slung his backpack over his shoulder. The walk from the Harvard library to Sloane’s condominium wasn’t short, but he preferred it to taking a bus. These days he preferred anything that got him home late.

  Forty-five minutes later, he stripped off his gloves and blew on his fingers to restore circulation. No matter what he wore, no matter what precautions he took, he couldn’t avoid the bone-chilling New England cold. He suspected the weather was going to get worse before it got better. He unlocked the front door of the gray stone four-plex and in a moment he was standing inside at the foot of the stairs that led up to Sloane’s apartment.

  Someone had set up a Christmas tree at the side of the bottom steps. It was small, not up to the job of making the empty hallway festive, but Clay appreciated the gesture. The tree was a reminder that the holiday season was here and that soon he would be flying back to Miracle Springs.

  Sloane wouldn’t be going with him.

  Clay trudged up the steps, his backpack less heavy than his spirits. He hoped that Sloane had worked late; he hoped that the apartment would be empty when he unlocked the door. He hoped he would not have to face his father at all that night.

  He wasn’t to have his wish. He was greeted by the sound of soft classical music and the sight of Sloane, a drink was in his hand, staring into sputtering flames in the fireplace. “You’re late.”

  Clay closed the door behind him. “I stopped at the library. I’ve got a research paper due, and I needed some more information.”

  Sloane nodded, still staring vacantly at the flames.

  Clay went to his room and unpacked his book sack. He had the report to finish, and he was tempted to begin it immediately. But he was also growing, and his stomach was rumbling. He changed out of his school uniform and into comfortable jeans. He liked his school. He was constantly challenged, and he had been accepted by the other kids immediately. But he also liked the end of the day when he could just be himself again. Of course he would like coming home even better if Sloane didn’t make him feel so unwelcome.

  Back in the living room he took stock of the situation. Sloane hadn’t moved. The same drink was in his hand, his eyes were still trained on the flames. It was the portrait of an unhappy man. Clay wondered if Sloane was this way all day or only when he was forced to come home and face the son he didn’t want. Something clenched convulsively inside him, but he ignored it and resolutely faced his father. “What are we doing about dinner?”

  “I stopped and got Chinese. It’s in the kitchen. You can heat it up in the microwave.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  Clay went into the kitchen and took down plates for both of them, dishing up food from various cartons and shoving it into the microwave, one plate at a time. When it was ready, he took it to the dining-room table, pulling silverware out of a drawer in the buffet on the way. “It’s ready.”

  Sloane looked up as if he were surprised he was not alone. “You go ahead.”

  Clay shrugged and began to eat. He would never think of this time in his life without tasting the tang of soy sauce and M.S.G. He figured that in the last six months, he and Sloane had averaged four nights a week of shrimp-fried rice, moo shu pork and egg rolls.

  “How is it?”

  Clay was surprised by Sloane’s question. Whenever Sloane spoke to him nowadays it was a surprise. “It’s okay.”

  Sloane wandered over to the table, picking up his egg roll. He looked at it as if it were a radioactive isotope and dropped it back to the plate. “I was nineteen before I had my first Chinese food.”

  “You’ve made up for it.”

  Sloane’s eyes narrowed, and he regarded his son. “Is that a complaint?”

  “Would it do any good?”

  Sloane was surprised at Clay’s flippant answer. He sat down and leaned over the table. “I asked you a question.”

  “So you did.” Clay leaned back, his eyes never flickering. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’m out of practice answering.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Clay sighed. “It means whatever you want it to, Sloane. Look, I’ve got to get busy on my report. It’s due before I leave for the holidays.” He stood, then looked in surprise at his arm. Sloane’s fingers were wrapped tightly around it “Sit!”

  Clay sat, and Sloane released him.

  “What did you mean about being out of practice answering?”

  Clay leaned back in his chair. “What did you think I meant?”

  “Obviously there’s some truth to what you say. I’ll have to give you a refresher course on how to respond. You don’t ask another question. You give an answer, a sentence with a period at the end. Now, what did you mean?”

  Anger twisted inside him. “I meant that you never ask me anything.”

  “I ask you how school is going.”

  “That’s true. Sometimes you do ask me that. You did last month in fact.”

  Sloane had the grace to look sheepish. “Has it been that bad?”

  Clay shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

  “I don’t mean to be so distant.”

  “Don’t you?” Clay picked up a fork and began to toss it from hand to hand.

  “No, I don’t. I’ve been… preoccupied. I haven’t meant to ignore you.”

  “It seems to me that people always mean to act the way they do. I figured that out when I was about five and somebody apologized for spanking me. It could have been Willow, I don’t even remember. It was a woman. She said she didn’t mean it. She did. She enjoyed it. And you mean to be distant.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “I’m not stupid, Sloane. I’m not a little kid either. I know what’s going on. I know you want me out of here.”

  Sloane exhaled with force. “No, Clay… I—”

  For the first time in a long time, Clay told the adult in charge what he wanted to tell him, not what that adult wanted to hear. “Stop lying to me! You don’t want me.” The fork clattered to the floor. “You haven’t wanted me from the first moment you found out you had a kid. You think you’re supposed to want me, so you try. Why don’t you just stop trying, Sloane? I don’t want you. I don’t need you!”

  Sloane felt a surge of fury. He didn’t need this now. He wove his fingers together to keep from slapping Clay’s face. “I think you’d better go to your room,”

  “If you recall, that was my idea in the first place.” Clay pushed back his chair and slammed it against the wall behind him. He was gone in a second.

  Sloane shut his eyes. The momentary rage was gone. He sagged against his chair and wondered if it was humanly possible to feel any lower.

  He had always t
hought he was a winner. Through sheer determination he had won his heart’s desire: freedom. Now freedom seemed a petty goal if it meant the absence of all the ties that made life worth living.

  He got up and went back into the living room where he bent and stoked the fire. Then he returned to the chair where he had spent so much of the evening. He wasn’t a winner. Exactly the opposite. He had lost Elise; now he knew he had never even had Clay. He was a man alone.

  How do you set things right when you’re incapable of communicating with the people you love most? He loved Clay, and yet somehow he had neglected to let Clay know. And Elise? Elise was gone, had been gone since September, and he had no idea where to find her. The past months he had been living in the middle of a nightmare.

  In August, after a cocktail party where he had imbibed more than his usual limit, he had called her just to hear the sound of her voice. She had said nothing about leaving Miracle Springs, and of course, he hadn’t asked. Their call had been friendly and impersonal. He had hung up feeling lonelier than he could ever remember. He hadn’t wanted to repeat the experience, but he hadn’t wanted to lose touch with her either.

  In September he had tried to call again, only by that time the phone was disconnected.

  He had assumed the recorded message was simply a problem with the phone lines. Elise wouldn’t leave the town of her birth. He was as sure of that as he was of anything in the universe. But the next day he had gotten a chatty letter from his aunt containing all the news of Miracle Springs. The biggest story was Elise’s disappearance.

  Evidently Lincoln Greeley, the high school principal, had known she was leaving because when the academic year started, there was a new teacher for tenth grade English. No one knew where she had gone or why, and Lincoln, a master of small-town politics, had refused to discuss the matter. All Lillian knew was that Elise’s house was up for sale and a nice young couple was probably going to buy it. Did Sloane know anything about it?

  Sloane had gone through the month of September telling himself that when Elise wanted him to know where she was, she would tell him. At first he’d been pleased that she would spread her wings so mysteriously and fly away from everything that was familiar