The Clouds Aren't White

by Rachael Wright

  The Clouds Aren’t White The Clouds Aren’t White

  Rachael Wright

  Copyright © 2016 Rachael Wright

  All rights reserved. For Jared, who saw the invisible.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One - 9

  Chapter Two - 28

  Chapter Three - 46

  Chapter Four - 65

  Chapter Five - 79

  Chapter Six - 93

  Chapter Seven -109

  Chapter Eight - 130

  Chapter Nine - 152

  Chapter Ten - 174

  Chapter Eleven - 195

  Chapter Twelve - 214

  Chapter Thirteen - 242

  Chapter Fourteen - 264 Chapter Fifteen - 283

  CHAPTER ONE

  My biggest flaw, over commitment. At this very moment it’s paying off in beads of sweat running down the small of my back and catching in the waistband of my skirt. If I wasn't so concerned about 'doing enough' I would have said no to this spur of the moment trip. There's a mechanical whir of fans above and a ticking that sounds as though some metal part is catching. I'm annoyed. September in Colorado and the air conditioning is out.

  I crane my head to see over the many loitering figures in the entryway and silently curse us being so late. Overcommitted on top of being late. It is a wonder I haven't started growling at people by now.

  "Mommy?" a small voice says from around my elbow. "Don't worry, Sophie, we'll find him," I say to my daughter. She takes to craning her neck along with me. Sophie's five and

  with a head of liberty-minded blonde curls, thin frame, and little pointed chin she looks more like a vintage print of a fairie than a kindergartener. She presses up against me as a man in a black illfitting suit pushes roughly by her, his swinging briefcase catches her shoulder and she stumbles forward. I turn around, incensed, but the black suit has disappeared into the crowd.

  I hate crowds. Not the simple, easy hate of the press of bodies. No, it’s the mob mentality-the loss of sense when people turn into mindless beasts.

  In an effort to calm down, I begin ticking away the hours it'll take us to drive to Denver. We're running perilously close to being late. There won't be time for bathroom breaks or lunch or a chance to stretch our legs, and I was the idiot who decided a skirt and heels would be appropriate for the drive.

  "This is ridiculous," I say and start pushing my way forward. Bodies are reluctant to let us through but I keep moving, if I'm moving I have a purpose and the sooner I'll get out of this wretched building. The courthouse is packed for some inane reason, three or four news crews heave their monstrous cameras around, newspaper reporters jot away on their iPads, and a smattering of lawyers and spectators are chatting conspiratorially in groups. All the bodies in the room are pressed tightly against each other, glistening with sweat; the tension in the room is starting to mount. The group seems to collectively hold its breath like some great many-legged beast. Sophie and I squirm our way through the mass, my eye is on the elevator across the room when I walk straight into what feels like a brick wall.

  "Excuse me..." I snap, looking up.

  "In a hurry, Emmeline?" says a deep voice. My husband. "We were trying to find you," I say, forcing my eyes to stop

  rolling. I lift Sophie up and hand her over. "Here, take her before someone steps on her, Hugh." Sophie reaches out her arms and wraps them around Hugh's neck. She's dwarfed by both his six-foot figure and large amount of muscle. They're polar opposites, the two of them. Sophie's a wisp of a girl with such fair skin that the intricate map of her veins and arteries can be seen in sharp relief while Hugh is tall and muscular with deep brown hair and an imposing aura. He parts the crowd easily and Sophie sits on his arm, a toothy smile playing on her face. I'm left to shuffle along in their wake, my mind whirring through the trip to Denver, when I run straight into Hugh for the second time. He turns around giving me one of those rolling-eyeball looks. Moving to the side, it’s clear what made Hugh stop. A man stands sheepishly on the parched grass, looking hungrily at the mass of people inside the courthouse.

  "Need a bite, my friend?" Hugh says brightly. I take in the man's overgrown beard, beady black eyes, the cardboard sign, a grimy notebook propped up against his backpack, and a small Army veteran patch that has been pinned painstakingly onto the canvas. The sun beats down with a vengeance, and I notice large sweat stains on the flannel shirt he wears.

  He's probably only a few years older than Hugh, but his face is so weather-beaten and his eyes so sunken and so full of sorrow that he could easily pass for sixty. He looks at Hugh, genuinely shocked, and stares for a moment before nodding infinitesimally.

  With one sure hand clutching Sophie to his chest, Hugh digs into the back pocket of his trousers and pulls out his wallet. I don't see the amount of money that's given but Hugh also pulls out a full frequent eater card from a local deli and hands it over as well.

  "There's a good shelter down the road that offers hot meals, showers, and a bed," Hugh says pointing down the street in front of us.

  The man doesn't say anything, just stares intently as though trying to memorize his face. The dark eyes are unsettling, like great black pits. He takes the card, absentmindedly, as though he's only just remembered that it was offered. Hugh says farewell and we continue on down the sidewalk. He urges us forward asking Sophie where she wants to eat for dinner in Denver. My heels click against the pavement like metronomes.

  We are almost to the car when I glance back, a prickly sort of feeling urging me to turn, and I see him. Staring after us. He stands a little too straight and his head isn't bowed but rather cocked off to the side. I stare back, watching as he gathers his belongings, as he marches out of sight.

  "What was going on at the courthouse today?" Hugh asks as we near our car.

  "Huh?" I say, blinking rapidly.

  "I asked if you knew what was going on at the courthouse."

  "Oh...no. I thought you might.”

  Everyone is in a rush to get back to the comfort of air conditioning.

  "Not a clue. I'm not even sure why the prosecutor's office had me come in," Hugh says with a frown.

  We're rapidly making our way towards the interstate, and I'm finally starting to relax, the bearded black-eyed man already forgotten.

  "What did they ask?"

  "Some general questions about my last year as a cop. The strange thing was, they were all questions that could easily have been answered in an email, or gotten from my file for that matter. It’s almost as if..." Hugh says trailing off.

  His face has dissolved into a frown.

  "As if what?" I say, pressing him.

  "As if he just wanted me to come in to see how I'd react to the questioning...but I'm probably overthinking the whole thing."

  "Who was it?"

  "Oh, Gideon Mallory. I only know him by reputation, he's supposed to be heavy hitter."

  "What happened your last year? Besides running for office?" I say, absentmindedly strumming the folds of my skirt.

  Hugh is quiet for a time, staring intently at the road, his brows furrowed in concentration.

  "There wasn't much. The normal DUIs, a couple suicides, fatal accidents, a couple of promotions," Hugh says, beating out a rhythm unconsciously on his leg.

  We are both quiet as we make our way through the mountains. I steal frequent glances at the clock. We'll only barely make it to Denver for Hugh's meeting. A few minutes later I realize I've unconsciously started mimicking Hugh's leg tapping.

  To relax, I steal a glance back at Sophie who is curled up in her car seat working on a picture that she's coloring. She's adorably intent about it. The red marker is clasped so tightly in her hand that her little knuckles are turning slowly white.
The tip of her tongue sticks out from between her lips. I turn back around, smiling. It’s hard to get worked up about Hugh's mystery when I'm just happy that we are together.

  At a gas station in Vail Hugh's phone goes off. He takes a look at the screen and his whole demeanor quickly changes. With a spring in his step he takes off towards the convenience store as I stare ludicrously from the pump. He smiles and paces the aisles. He walks taller, his chest expanding with joy. A cold breeze raises goose flesh on the back of my legs; I clasp my arms to my chest.

  "Mommy?" Sophie says through the open window.

  "Yes?" I say, tearing my gaze from Hugh.

  "What are we doing while Daddy is in his meeting.”

  "We have a lot of errands to run, sweetheart," I say, turning back towards the pump and replacing the nozzle.

  "But couldn't we go to the park and play? Or go watch a movie?" Sophie wheedles in her silkiest voice.

  "If we have time. After dinner we are going to drive home because Daddy has to be home for another meeting."

  "I wish we could just play, it would be more fun than shopping," Sophie says, crossing her arms and staring moodily at the picture in front of her.

  "That's beautiful," I say, leaning against the car and taking a closer look.

  Sophie's drawn all three of us in the normal style of five year olds. I see where the excessive use of red has come in. Two red dresses and a red shirt and black pants for Daddy.

  "It’s for Daddy's office, so he remembers me," Sophie says, heaving a sigh, caressing the crayon marks.

  "Daddy always remembers you.”

  Sophie gives me a sad grin as Hugh finally makes his way back to the car.

  "What was that about?" I say as we get back on the interstate, crunching echoes up from the back seat where Sophie's ravenously consuming a bag of crackers.

  "What was what about?" Hugh says.

  "That phone call...you were smiling," I say.

  "Oh that," Hugh says, leaning over to check the left lane before passing a car. "It was nothing."

  "It didn't look like nothing," I counter.

  "Just work stuff," Hugh says evasively.

  "Right," I say, crossing my arms.

  I don't know why I'm angry. All I know is in ten years of marriage I've never seen him get so excited about a phone call from work. So I stare moodily out the window, watching the pines and evergreens speed past. The horizon is turning a sickly grey as we drive onward; the clouds in all directions seem to be converging on each other. As I stare they start to clash, multiplying their mass.

  "I'd like your opinion on something," Hugh says a few minutes later as we enter a tunnel bathed in a sickly orange light.

  "Hmm?"

  "Do you like politics?" Hugh asks.

  His voice is hesitant and furtive.

  "What?" I say, pulling myself out of a half doze.

  "Do you like being in politics, being a politician's wife?”

  His eyes are focused firmly on the road even though I'm staring at him like he's gone crazy.

  "I like being married to you," I say evasively.

  "But this life? Do you enjoy it?"

  "Where's this coming from?"

  Hugh doesn't answer me right away but glances in the rearview mirror to look at Sophie, slumped against her car seat in total exhaustion.

  "I'm tired," he says.

  "I can drive.”

  "The pressure. The time away. It’s exhausting."

  "It can be," I say slowly.

  "You should have been the politician," Hugh says with a laugh.

  "I've learned a lot.”

  Hugh reaches for my hand, tracing the lines in my palm. I look at him, watching the planes of his face as he navigates the road. He's not the conventional kind of handsome. His nose is slightly too large and his ears a little too small, but his eyes contain such a depth of sentiment, of love, of passion. Looking in them, anyone might believe they were the center of his world.

  "You didn't answer my question," Hugh says quietly a few moments later.

  "It hasn't been bad. We've been able to do so much because of this job, I suppose down the line we could do so much more," I say.

  "But do you love it? Would you do this job above anything else?" Hugh says, pressing stubbornly onward.

  I bow my head, contemplating my fingers, trying to weigh the consequences of my answer.

  "No.”

  It comes out like a whisper, like some secret thing. A Pandora’s box.

  "I agree.”

  Unlike me he's not hesitant or worried about the answer. I wonder how long he's been turning this over in his mind.

  "I thought you loved politics," I say, watching his face.

  It’s set into a sort of half frown. He doesn't take his eyes off the road. The muscles of his jaw work, like he's chewing on the words, feeling them out.

  "It was always expected, you know, coming from a family like mine. My father has always thought our family could be the new 'Kennedys.' I am the peg on which they have hung all their dreams and aspirations. The one that could go the furthest. The one with the most potential. I made a good marriage to a beautiful woman from a good family, had a cute baby to carry when I was sworn in, what more could he have asked for?" Hugh says and his voice grates over the words as though they burn his throat.

  Deep creases furrow themselves deeper into his brow.

  "Who was this beautiful woman from a good family?" I say with a grin.

  Hugh just stares blankly ahead.

  "He planned it out. He's already annoyed we haven't had another child. Every move I make he makes some comment on, riding me like a prized two-year-old thoroughbred colt," Hugh says as though he didn't hear my comment, which, I remind myself, he probably didn't.

  "Your father loves you, Hugh," I say, lying my hand placating on his arm.

  "No," he says crisply, "Your father loves you. Adores you even. You could become a drug addict or end up in jail and he'd still think the sun rose and set on you.

  "He's a good father. Mine, on the other hand, sees me as a tool, as a means to achieve what he couldn't. 'Do the family proud,' I've been hearing it nonstop since I remember. Its the soundtrack of my childhood."

  "You have made them proud. I'm sure deep down your father is proud of you.”

  My hand is still on his arm but I wonder whether he feels it. He's wrapped up in the turmoil raging inside of him. His eyes shift back and forth in their sockets, like caged animals.

  "He won't be proud, not even if I make it into the governor's mansion. Is that even pride in your son?" Hugh shakes his head. "What I'm trying to get at is, I'm wasting it, my life. Why spend my entire life trying to make some cranky old man happy? I'd rather spend it making you happy," Hugh says, glancing over at me and wrapping his fingers around mine.

  "You do make me happy," I say with a smile, trying to hide the fact my insides are dancing the conga.

  "What's your wildest dream?"

  "I...uh..." I stutter, rather taken aback by the question, "I'd like to eventually work in a museum and I'd like to see you more often."

  "What if that were possible?"

  "What do you mean?" I say, breathlessly.

  "We could leave it all behind. You, me, Sophie. Live our life, no regrets."

  "That wouldn't be easy," I say, my mind in a tailspin thinking about the requirements for that sort of life change.

  A job, for one. I pull my fingers through my hair, feeling it catch on the tangles.

  "I'm not saying its going to be today, or tomorrow, but soon. I won't run for reelection," he says and squeezes my hand with no small amount of force. "We will make it happen."

  "I wouldn't say no."

  We fall into a comfortable silence, working our way ever closer to Denver. I turn Hugh's words over and over in my mind, dissecting them. We aren't wealthy by any means. Though Hugh's father pushed him into law school and then private practice, Hugh's heart has never been in it. The first thing to be left behind,
at the start of a new life, the J.D. after his name and the law books with it.

  A haze is settling over Denver, mingling with the monstrous lowlying clouds, as we crest the final hill and begin our descent. The city looks ashen and out of focus. Smog that's been percolating in the city for days, I assume. The golden dome of the state Capitol can scarcely be seen through the haze.

  "The meeting's over at six o'clock, Emmeline, are you alright to come get me?"

  Hugh shifts the car into park and my eyes snap to his face. We've arrived at the Capitol building in the time that I've spent plotting out our timeline for getting out of politics.

  "Absolutely. I have a couple errands to run so we'll be busy," I say, thinking I hear a sigh from the back seat.

  "Drive safe, alright?" Hugh leans over, kisses my cheek, holding my face in one hand and giving me a winning smile.

  A smile that touches his eyes and makes the skin around them crinkle up.

  "We'll be fine.”

  He smiles again and leans back around to see Sophie.

  "You keep your Mom safe and be a good girl for her ok, Soph?"

  "Come give me a kiss," she says with her arms stretched out.

  Hugh and I grin at each other.

  "Sure, baby."

  Sophie lays her head on his shoulder, smiling. Hugh enfolds me in his arms as he meets me at the driver's side door, briefcase in hand. I smooth down a crease on his shirt collar and brush a piece of lint off the crisp black suit.

  "I'll miss you," I say leaning against him.

  "Try to relax a little. Go get tea or something with her," he motions back to Sophie.

  "I'll try.”

  I've packed too much into the space of three hours. He looks at me, sucking on his lip, considering something.

  "I may have put in a job application for you," Hugh says, in a rush.

  "What?" I say. I'm not sure I even heard him right.

  "You may not even get a response. Keep a lookout during the next couple of weeks."

  Hugh raises his eyebrows while I try to formulate a coherent thought.

  "Are you going to tell me what it is?"

  "Nope," he says with a note of finality.

  "Well...ok..."

  I glance over at Sophie in the car with her book barely inches from her face when I feel his hand on my cheek.