by T. E. Woods
And when Miranda handed Clay the gift she brought for him, his hesitancy to accept vanished when he opened it and saw what she’d wrapped so elegantly. His laughter came straight from his gut, seemingly surprising his own son.
“I’m betting it’s still your favorite,” Miranda had said.
“What is it, Dad?”
Clay held the box for his son to see. “It’s a six-pack of ramen. Roasted chicken flavor.”
“Dad loves ramen!” Steel said. “How’d you know that, Mom?”
Miranda’s eyes softened as she looked at Clay. “Your dad used to eat those crazy noodles every day. Always cooked two packs. He liked to toss in a scoop or two of salsa. Your dad would stand over your grandmother’s kitchen sink, pot in one hand, spoon in the other, and slurp his way to paradise.”
“He still puts the salsa in.” Steel pointed an accusatory finger at his father. “And that’s the last time I hear any flack from you when I stand over the sink to eat. Your secrets are being exposed.”
“So it seems,” Clay answered. “Miranda, I’m afraid I don’t have a gift for you.”
Her smile was warm and gentle. “This is my gift. And I appreciate it more than I have words.”
After gift-opening, Miranda had shooed the two of them out of the kitchen, insisting she be left alone. Within an hour his house was filled with aromas foreign to the home of a bachelor father and his son. While Clay and Steel remained in the living room, jamming together on acoustic guitars, Miranda seemed content to stay away, busying herself at the stove and oven. She’d brought them a platter of snacks a little past noon. Fresh vegetables with a dip spiced in a way Clay couldn’t identify. Steel emptied the platter in short order, thanking his mother with an eagerness Clay couldn’t recall ever hearing. Two hours later, when Miranda came out again to interrupt Clay and Steel’s watching of an old Mel Gibson thriller, she asked where Clay kept his tablecloth and napkins. Without even pausing the movie, Steel jumped up to show her where the linen closet was. By the time dinner was finally served, anyone who happened upon the three of them would have assumed they’d stumbled onto a loving family, comfortable in each other’s company and enjoying a relaxed holiday meal together.
“How did you learn to cook like this, Miranda?” Clay took another bite of his Yorkshire pudding.
“Probably the same way you learned to play the guitar and piano as beautifully as you do. First comes the desire, then comes the instruction, then comes the hanging around with people who do it better than you. After that, it’s nothing but practice, practice, practice.”
“Do you cook for a living?” Clay was a bit embarrassed that his son’s mother had been in town for a month and he had no idea of what her life was like.
“Mom’s a business tycoon! She runs a whole company.” Steel ladled gravy over yet another serving of mashed potatoes. “She goes all over the world making deals.”
Miranda laid a gentle hand on her son’s arm. “I’m hardly a tycoon. And no one would ever mistake Ann Arbor for the commerce capital of the world.”
“You run it? Did you go to college? Business school?” Clay asked.
“No.” Miranda’s voice was soft. “Things weren’t the best for me after I left. For a lot of years I simply drifted. Living hand to mouth. Sleeping where I had to. Eating when I could. But then the powerful hand that guides the universe put me in a diner one day. A man offered me a better way. It’s his company I run. He was generous enough to teach me what I needed to know. From the ground up.”
“Each One Teach One,” Steel offered.
“What’s that?” Clay asked. “Some sort of slogan?”
“It’s a philosophy. One of the main pillars of my church.”
“I never knew you to be a churchgoer.”
Miranda held his gaze for a moment before responding. “Twenty years changes a person, Clay. There are many things you never knew about me. Doesn’t make them any less true.”
Clay considered her answer. Before he could speak again, Steel’s phone trilled.
“No phones at the table, Steel,” Clay reminded. “Just because you’ve been gone doesn’t mean the rules have changed.”
“But dinner’s over, right?” Steel’s eyes were filled with the rule-pushing mischief Clay missed so much when his son was traveling. Steel glanced at his phone screen, then turned toward Miranda. “It’s Tawney.”
Miranda nodded and Steel pushed himself away from the table, answering his phone as he walked toward his bedroom.
“Who’s Tawney? Why do you know her and I don’t?” Clay asked. “And I’d appreciate it if you not excuse my son from my table on Christmas Day.”
Clay saw the amusement in her eyes and immediately flashed back to when he was seventeen. Miranda had wanted to go to his senior prom. Clay hated dancing and begged off, promising to take her to her own prom the following year. Miranda got the same look she wore now. The one that indicated she was going to get her way so his best move was to accept it and avoid wasting time.
“Tawney’s a young woman who’s coming off a hard road. I’m going to be working with her. Teaching her how to make her way in life.”
“Part of that program you were talking about? Each One Teach One?”
“Exactly. She’s at the hotel. Holiday celebrations aren’t exactly her thing. At least not yet. But she’ll learn how important it is to mark these days with people you love.”
Clay felt a warning stir deep inside him. “And you’re telling me you love Steel?”
All playfulness disappeared from her lovely face. The sophisticated woman Miranda had become vanished. She was once again the intensely vulnerable teenager he’d first met at a gas station in Bozeman. She was looking for a ride across town to her girlfriend’s house. Miranda’s mother had been too busy down at the corner bar to buy groceries. A friend had invited her to come for lunch, but she needed to find a way to get there. Clay had offered her a ride in his father’s beat-up truck. By the time he’d dropped her off, the teenaged Clay had been convinced he’d just met the girl he’d spend the rest of his life with.
“I can understand your question,” she said now. “And the bitterness I hear in your voice. I left Steel. I ran as far away as I could, and I stayed away as long as I was able. But I never stopped loving him. Not one day…not one hour in all these years passed without a thought of him. A curiosity about what he’s doing. What scares him? Is he athletic? Does he love music as much as his daddy? You may find it difficult to believe, Clay, but yes. I love my son.”
“He’s my son.” Clay heard the defensiveness in his voice. “A person earns the right to say that.”
Miranda looked down at her perfectly manicured hands. “You’re right, of course. I have no right to expect anything from him. Or you, for that matter. That’s why today is so special. I don’t deserve the kindness you’ve shown me. I know that. But I’m cherishing this day nonetheless. To spend it with the two men who fill my heart…well, it means the world, Clay. The entire world.”
A heaviness pulled in his chest. His breath grew labored and slow. He looked into Miranda’s pale blue eyes and felt the stirring of old memories and dreams.
“You’ve given Steel a very special memory,” he said.
“One I hope is the foundation of many more.”
She held his gaze. Clay was grateful when Steel came back to the dining room.
“Tawney said she ordered steak from room service. She’s been binge-watching movies all day. Sounds like she’s having a great time all by herself.”
“You want to have her come over?” Clay asked his son. “Join us for dessert?”
“I asked her. She says she’s groovin’ on being alone in the suite.” Steel turned toward Miranda. “Told me to tell you not to worry about rushing back to the hotel.” He looked toward the kitchen. “But speaking of dessert…what’s
the plan?”
Miranda laughed and stood. “Dessert needs to be earned. What do you say you help me clear the table?” She looked at Clay. “You go put your feet up. My boy and I will get things fixed up here. We’ll call you when we’re ready to serve the pies.”
Clay watched his son pick up dirty plates and carry them to the kitchen. He saw Miranda tie on an apron and fill the sink with soapy water while Steel managed to find ways to playfully provoke her.
This is how it could have been, Miranda. We could have been a family.
He shook his head clear of the image, pushed himself away from the table, and headed back to his bedroom. He closed the door and pulled out his phone, hoping to find a text from Sydney.
There was none.
His mind floated back to their private Christmas Eve celebration the evening before. He’d been excited to give her his gift, an antique chain of braided silver and a similarly aged locket. He’d made a line drawing of a woman’s face. Dark hair. Luminous eyes. In his drawing the woman held a finger to her lips. A print shop was able to shrink his drawing to fit the locket perfectly. Sydney got the message as soon as she saw it.
“She’s telling someone to hush! This is Hush Money, isn’t it?”
And while her enthusiasm over his gift was genuine, and she’d been eager to see his own reaction to the gift she had for him, the rest of their time together seemed marked by a distance she refused to acknowledge. They’d shared a bottle of wine, but her conversation was guarded, as though she was weighing every word before she uttered it. Even their lovemaking, though on the surface as familiar as times past, seemed different. She wasn’t as available or as present a partner. And this morning, over coffee, she’d seemed to be somewhere other than in the room with him. He’d thanked her again for her thoughtful gift. She’d given him a silver cigarette case along with papers assuring it had once belonged to Bessie Smith, the woman every blues aficionado called the Empress.
You’re very welcome was all she said.
He sat on the side of his bed and checked again for a text from her. Finding none, he composed one of his own.
Merry Christmas. If there really is a Santa, my request is that he bring you to me. No gift wrap necessary. Miss you.
He pressed send, leaned back against the headboard, and closed his eyes. He felt himself beginning to drift off to sleep when he heard his son calling out to him. Dessert was ready. It was time for him to rejoin the party with his might-have-been family.
Miranda had been as generous with her desserts as she’d been with the dinner. The three of them lingered over their sweets while Steel regaled them with tales of his latest adventures. Miranda and Clay laughed and gasped where appropriate, and shook their heads in unison at some of Steel’s more outrageous experiences.
“No!” Miranda struggled to speak between streaks of laughter. “Clay, how did we ever manage to create such a certifiably crazy young man?”
“It must be some sort of X factor,” Clay explained through his own amusement. “I’ve never done anything reckless in my life.”
Miranda made an exaggerated show of rolling her eyes. “You sure about that, now? If memory serves, our son didn’t fall too far from his daddy’s tree.”
Clay forced a scowl. “Let’s not go there. I’d rather hear about Steel’s plans. What’s next for you, boy? Spearfishing on the Amazon? Maybe a walkabout Down Under?”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking about taking Mom up on her offer.”
“Oh? What offer is that?”
“Mom wants to take me back to Ann Arbor. To work with her at MidWest ImEx.”
Every bit of holiday cheer drained from Clay’s mood. He found himself on instant high alert. “Tell me more about that.”
“Each One Teach One,” Steel explained. “Like Mom learned how to be the big executive she is. Someone taught her. She’s going to teach me. Like she said, I can’t be drifting forever.”
Clay shot Miranda a harsh look. “Steel, you’re nineteen. These are the years to have your adventures. Before you have responsibilities.”
“But ImEx fits right in with that,” Steel countered. “They sell things all over the world. Buy things from every country. I’d still have the chance to travel. Mom says my experience handling myself in foreign territory will do me good.”
“How would your mother know what would do you good? What about college? What about your music?”
“Mom didn’t go to college. Look at how she turned out. Who knows? Maybe someday I can run a company like that, too.”
“And as relates to music,” Miranda interjected. “I already have a grand piano in my home. It’s always been for decoration, but now perhaps it’ll get put to good use. And there’s plenty of opportunity for Steel to meet young people to jam with. He could take his guitar down to campus and within the hour he’d have a dozen people asking him to join them.”
Clay wanted to tell her she was a stranger. To remind her she was a shiny new trinket dangling herself in front of someone who might look like a fully-grown man, but was actually a motherless child starving to feast on whatever crumb she decided to toss his way.
What’s going to happen when the responsibility gets to you, Miranda? Past is prologue, after all. What will my boy do when you decide you’ve had enough?
“And this church of yours,” Clay asked Miranda. “What’s it called?”
“The Church of Today,” she answered. “You sound like you think it’s a cult or something. It’s actually quite large. Growing, too. I suspect we’ll have a fully operational congregation here in Madison by St. Patrick’s Day. I’d love for you to be a part of it, Clay.”
“We’re talking about Steel. Is it your expectation he be a part of your religious activities, as well?”
“Dad, I want to learn more about it. From what Mom’s been telling me, it’s been a guiding path for her. I’d like to be part of something like that. They’re all about helping others reach their full potential.”
Clay felt icy hands squeezing his chest. So many words screamed inside his brain. Warnings for his son. Curses for his fear. Threats for the woman who stood capable of breaking his son’s heart the way she once broke his.
He took a deep breath and forced a fatherly smile on the exhale. “This is a lot for me to take in. And it’s getting late, at least for me. I’ve got to get to the Low Down early tomorrow morning. Shore up details for New Year’s Eve.”
“Big plans?” Miranda asked.
“Last minute plan is more like it. Leadbelly Mud is playing.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “ ‘Dirty Toes’ Leadbelly? ‘Whistlestop Blues’? That Leadbelly?”
“That’s the guy. Since when do you know so much about blues?”
“C’mon, Clay. You don’t have to be a bluesman to know about Leadbelly Mud! The guy’s a legend. How’d you book him?”
“Got lucky. He has a gig scheduled in Chicago next week. Another joint wanted him for New Year’s, but they were going to charge two hundred fifty a ticket. And Leadbelly—”
“Only plays for tips,” Miranda interrupted. “I’d heard that. I thought it was a myth.”
“It’s his way of keeping it real. He’s booked in Minneapolis on the third. His manager called and asked if I had a spot open.”
“And you said you’d make one.”
“Leadbelly’s never played Madison before. Every blues hound within two hundred miles will be at the Low Down.” He realized he was rambling on about things she didn’t need to know. Miranda always had been good at changing the subject when things got hot. It irritated him that he’d allowed her to do it again. “I’m going to turn in.” He stood and wrapped his son in an extended hug. “Merry Christmas, Steel. I love you so much. Let’s talk more later.
“And, Miranda, thank you for a delicious dinner.”
“Go
od night, Clay. Like you said”—her voice was nearly a purr—“we’ll talk more later.”
Clay ignored the bait, waved them each good night, and went back to his room. He checked his phone again.
No message from Sydney.
He tossed his phone on the nightstand, then took a shower that was neither long enough nor hot enough to relieve the fear he felt for his son or his exasperation with Miranda. He crawled into bed, determined to not let his annoyance interfere with his sleep. Instead, he focused his thoughts on Sydney.
He conjured her in his mind. First her physicality. Jet-black hair. Luminous blue eyes. Tall, straight back. Slender hips, long legs, silky shoulders. Once he had her fully present in his mind’s eye, he switched to her essence. Keen intelligence. Warm sense of humor that could turn bawdy after a rare third glass of wine. Tender compassion for others coupled with a fierce determination to succeed in a rough career. Deeply sensual, with a particular weakness for foot rubs and kisses on the back of her knees.
It didn’t take long before he was able to fall asleep wrapped in dreams of the woman with whom he realized he was falling deeply in love.
* * *
—
He felt a soft hand caress the side of his face and inhaled deeply. A subtle scent drifted to him. Floral and light.
Sydney’s here. With me. She’s here.
The fantasy hand moved to his shoulder, down his back, across his hip. He heard a low moan escape his own lips as he shifted onto his back.
Come to me, Sydney. Be with me.
A warm and gentle hand smoothed itself across his chest. He felt his erection stir, growing stronger with each movement of the teasing fingers on his chest. A cool draft painted his right side. A weight pressed against his mattress. Lips against the side of his neck.
He rolled to his right, still wrapped enough in sleep to assume he was participating in a delightful dream. His hand reached out and smoothed a path from shoulder to hip of his fantasy lover. He reached for her waist, slender and yielding, and pulled her toward him.
