Clay sat at a stop light waiting to turn onto the main highway toward home when he saw Callan’s car streak through traffic. As soon as his light turned green, he hoped to catch up with her, but she drove way too fast, zooming in and out of cars like a lunatic. It had snowed earlier in the day and a light sheen of ice covered the road.
Convinced his wife had gone completely mad, he’d never known her to drive recklessly. Fast, yes, but not irresponsibly. He sent a prayer heavenward that she would get home without causing an accident.
Just as he said “amen,” he watched her car fishtail across both lanes of traffic. Clay saw cars brake and slide, trying to avoid a collision with Callan’s out-of-control vehicle. Afraid she was about to die or kill someone else, he watched in terror as her car spun back to the right and slid on the shoulder before she gained control and continued down the road, seemingly oblivious to the danger she had caused.
Not even aware he’d been holding his breath, Clay let it out as he clenched the steering wheel tighter, trying to stop the trembling in his hands and the galloping of his heart.
She could have just died.
She could have killed someone.
Clay had reached the end of his patience. He’d put up with her changing moods, her frosty attitude, her screaming, crying, and pouting. She’d left town without telling him she planned to be gone until her cranky call from the airport. Now, she drove like a woman possessed, trying to kill herself or get someone else killed on the road.
He’d let her have her way far too long and not said anything. Tonight, Callan would get an earful when he got home. For once, she’d sit and take it.
Although he was generally a laid back and easygoing kind of guy, once Clay lost his temper there was no denying the fact. He didn’t think he’d ever been so angry in his entire life.
What if she had killed herself with her carelessness? Clay couldn’t even let those thoughts register. If he did, he’d soften too much to confront Callan and finally say what needed to be said.
When he parked in the driveway, he surmised Callan was already in the house. From the tracks in the snow, she’d pulled in her suitcase.
After slamming his pickup door shut, he barreled into the house and for good measure, slammed the front door as well. One of her picture-perfect doodads fell off a shelf and hit the floor with a crash. Clay yanked off his coat and threw it down as he charged into the kitchen looking for Callan.
He found her in the bedroom, unpacking her suitcase and tossing things on the bed, muttering under her breath.
Startled, she turned when Clay stomped into the room. Despite the fact that his knees still felt wobbly and he wanted to pull Callan into his arms and hold her to make sure she was safe, he turned on the full force of his anger. He stopped just inches away from her and pointed his still-shaking index finger in her face.
“If I ever,” Clay hollered, his face turning red from long-repressed anger, “and I mean ever, see you drive like that again, I will personally cut your driver’s license into shreds. Do you hear me?”
Shocked by his outburst, Callan slapped his hand out of her face and took a step back. This was nothing like the welcome home greeting she’d imagined. She’d scared herself half to death when her car slid around on the highway and still seethed over the whole Arty incident.
Callan needed Clay to take her side and give her some encouragement. Obviously, that wouldn’t happen.
Indignant and already angry, she boiled over.
“My hearing, along with my driving, is fine, thank you,” she said so slowly and coldly, she hoped Clay experienced frostbite.
When she started to walk past him, his hand shot out and grabbed her upper arm. “Oh, no you don’t, Callan. You aren’t going to walk away from me this time. You aren’t going to yell, cry, pout, or do anything but listen to what I have to say.”
“Let go of me.” Callan brushed at his hand. The more she pushed, the more he tightened his grip. “Clay, let go! You’re hurting me.”
He finally gave her arm a shove and took a step back. In the thirteen years she’d known him, she’d never seen him this angry and it frightened her.
Clay seemed huge and intimidating when he was mad. His face was red, and a vein near his temple throbbed riotously. Uncertain about what enraged him, she decided she wasn’t sticking around to find out the cause.
With plans for escape, Callan ran toward the front door. She’d give Clay time to cool down while she went to Aunt Julie’s for a while.
Clay chased after her, easily catching her in the living room. After grabbing her around the waist, he set her down on the couch and pinned her in with one of his strong arms on each side of her while his legs kept hers from moving. “I said you’re going to listen to what I have to say, so just sit still.”
Callan could never remember wanting to slap Clay across the face before but she battled an uncontrollable urge to smack him. How dare he manhandle her! Had he lost his mind?
She crossed her arms across her chest and tilted her head, hoping he would stop leaning so close. “I’m listening.”
“You were driving like a crazy person out there.” Clay placed a hand over her mouth when she started to protest. “Callan, I saw you streak through the light on Alameda then weave in and out of cars. You had to be doing at least seventy in a fifty-five zone. In case you haven’t noticed, we had snow today and the roads are slick. I saw you almost wreck the car. You could have really hurt someone. You could have hurt yourself. What is wrong with you? What would you have done if you’d caused an accident and killed someone? I’ve never known you to be so irresponsible or so careless.”
The lump in her throat and the stinging of tears in her eyes prevented Callan from being able to answer. Clay was right. She had driven recklessly. Was she trying to get herself killed?
Maybe.
The truth in that answer both frightened and shocked her. Is that what her life had come to?
No.
She wanted to live, just not her life right now. It was full of misery, pain, and unrelenting darkness.
Clay saw her struggle to hold back her tears. Saw fear fly through her eyes. He wasn’t caving in this time and hardened himself against her emotions.
“Don’t think tears will get you out of this, Callan. They aren’t going to work this time. You might as well get comfortable because we aren’t moving until we’ve come to an understanding. I want my wife back. My real wife. I don’t want the silent, stoic, unemotional wife. I don’t want the crazed, screaming, out-of-control wife. I don’t want the cold, distant stranger who huddles on the edge of the bed. I want my sweet, loving, passionate, fiery wife back – all of her. I won’t settle for anything less.” Clay continued leaning over her, his face just inches from hers.
Callan sat as silent and still as stone. “What if she doesn’t exist anymore,” she finally whispered, furiously brushing away tears.
“She does.” Clay sat next to her, ready to grab her if she tried another escape. He spoke quietly, trying to calm down. “She came back for a holiday visit and I liked seeing her very much. It made me realize just how much I missed her. I want her back full-time. Where is she, Callan?” Clay picked up one of her hands and started rubbing the back of it with his thumb. “Can’t we find her again? Can’t we try?”
She continued to sit without speaking.
Clay shook his head. “I think you’ve taken on too much and you’re going to have to let something go. You’ve stretched yourself too thin, worn yourself out. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I insist you give up this crazy event planning business. Nothing has been right since you started it.”
Callan pulled her hand out of his grasp and glared at Clay. How dare he try to take away her dreams? His dream was to teach, and she encouraged him every step of the way from his part-time teaching position right on through becoming dean of the Ag department at the college.
“That’s not fair, Clay. You know that business
is my dream. You know I’m good at it. You know I can make it work,” she said with as much calm as she could muster, which was next to none. “You can’t take it away from me.”
“I can and I will. Even if it wasn’t a money pit, it sucks up all your time. I’m tired of you always being gone or busy. You never have time for me. If I’m on one of your to-do lists at all, my name is at the very bottom.”
“That’s completely untrue. We could spend more time together if I didn’t have to do everything around the house. You don’t do laundry, you don’t clean, you rarely do the shopping, and you don’t pay the bills. When you cook, you leave me with all the mess to clean up. Instead of helping me, you go sit in front of the television and watch your stupid sports shows. You make the choice of watching television over spending time with me when I am home.” Callan’s temper continued to rise.
“Maybe I’d be more interested in spending time with you if you weren’t always so cold and detached, Miss Ice Queen.” Clay regretted the flash of pain he saw in Callan’s eyes, but the truth in her words both wounded and angered him. He lashed back at her. “You hide out in your office and ignore me. Besides, you’re a control freak. You want to be in control of everything. You refold the laundry when I do it. You reload the dishwasher when I put dishes in. You’re convinced I’m incapable of running the vacuum correctly. In fact, you don’t trust me to pay the bills. With me not seeing them, it makes it convenient for you to keep your business expenses quiet.”
“Come with me.” Callan jumped off the couch and stormed into her office, opening a desk drawer. She pulled out a ledger and slammed it on top of the desk.
“Sit,” she barked and pointed to the office chair. Opening the ledger, she tapped her index finger next to a number on the first page.
“This is the amount of the original loan I took out for my business. I accrued these credit card bills because you wouldn’t co-sign for a larger loan. This number here is the total debt I’ve accumulated with my business,” Callan explained in a flat voice, devoid of emotion. She could talk business without having a meltdown.
Clay gawked at the numbers in front of him. Ready to blow his stack, he realized the amount of debt was worse than he imagined. He knew she’d opened a credit card account just for the business, but when had she charged up so much? They’d be paying this off until they were well past retirement years.
“Before you say anything, let me show you the last entry,” Callan said as she flipped through pages. “This is the amount of debt I owed at the end of last month.”
As he looked at the last number in the ledger, Clay could see that Callan had made sizeable dents in the debt. Impressive dents in the debt. Maybe he wasn’t reading it correctly.
“So this number, here, is your total debt left to pay? For everything? Loan, credit card, other bills?” Clay asked pointing to the number.
“Yes.” Callan pulled a bound report from the drawer. “This is my business plan. If you care to look through it, you’ll see that I project paying off the debt in a year to eighteen months, if my business continues to grow as it has the past two years. If you had the tiniest bit of interest in it, you’d know that. Instead, you use it as the excuse for everything about me you don’t like. As soon as I refused to borrow money from your parents, you shut the door on my business and my dreams. You act jealous of the time I invest in it. You’ve not supported it or me at all. I finally quit talking to you about it, because you wouldn’t listen. I had to do this on my own, Clay. I didn’t want to borrow money from your folks because we both know they wouldn’t have made us pay it back. I needed to do this on my own, to make it a success from the ground up. With or without your help I’m going to make it happen.”
Clay stood up and paced around her office. Her statement left him unsettled and tense.
“Isn’t that what it always comes down to, Callan? With or without me, you do what you want. Do I mean so little to you? Has it really been so terrible being married to me? Can you just cast aside the last thirteen years that easily and choose your business over us?” Clay knew his words cut deep. He could see it in her face, but he plunged ahead.
“There was a time when I knew without a doubt that you loved me. I’m not so sure any more. You’re angry all the time. You turn every little thing into a reason to be mad or hurt. Seriously, Callan, what have you got to be that miserable about? Is it that awful having a husband who loves you, a job you like, a business you apparently manage very well?” Clay waved his hand around the office for emphasis. “To have friends you enjoy, a father who adores you, a nice home to live in? Is that what makes you so miserable? Having a life many people only dream of?”
Clay stopped pacing and stared at Callan. She appeared desperate to escape as remorse and misery flooded her face. He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “What is it? What’s making you so unhappy? Tell me, Callan. Tell me, once and for all, what’s making you so miserable?”
“Killing our baby,” Callan whispered, pushing past Clay as she ran out of the office.
There. She’d told Clay her darkest secret, the one that had plagued her for three long years. Now he’d leave, never come back. She would deserve it for destroying the precious little life that would have been a constant reminder of the depths of their love.
A love Callan was now convinced no longer existed.
Clay caught her in the kitchen and swung her around to look at him, holding her bent elbows in his hands. “What did you say?” He was sure he misheard her.
Callan couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead, she looked over his shoulder, tears streaming down her face. “Killing our baby,” Callan whispered again.
“What baby?” Clay felt like he’d been punched in the stomach as all the air rushed out of him. He couldn’t believe Callan had been pregnant and not even bothered to tell him.
“I didn’t plan on it, Clay, honest I didn’t. I wasn’t feeling well, having some problems, and went to the doctor. She confirmed I was expecting. I was about four months along when I miscarried.” Callan stared down at the floor and spoke so quietly, Clay had to strain to hear her. “You won’t have to worry about having kids because not only did I lose our baby, there won’t ever be another.”
They both stood quietly for a moment, neither knowing what to say.
“When, Callan?” Clay finally managed to ask, tightening his grip on her as she began to shake. “When did it happen?”
Callan remained silent, looking anywhere but at him. Finally, she drew in a ragged breath.
Clay knew if he hadn’t been holding onto her, she would have collapsed to the floor. “Callan, when did it happen?”
She took a breath and lifted anguish-filled eyes to his. “Two weeks after mother died.” She turned and ran into the bedroom, slamming the door.
Clay stared at the closed bedroom door. He could hear Callan’s sobs, but was unable to move. Unable to go to her, to give her the comfort he knew she desperately needed.
Two weeks after her mother died was that very week. No wonder she’d behaved so erratically.
Callan, how could you not tell me?
Heart of Clay Page 12
