Where the Heart Lies

by Susan R. Hughes

  “Don’t be silly. I invited you.”

  “Yes, but that was before … the other evening.” She glanced back to where Clay’s sister had been, but she was no longer there, having moved back into the kitchen.

  “You don’t need to feel uncomfortable,” Clay said. “I’m the one who should be embarrassed. I am sorry about what happened. I was way out of line. I suppose I got lost in the moment.”

  Jordan felt warmth rise in her face. Amid the din of children’s laughter and chatter, she could easily recall the pleasure of his kisses in the dark. “It’s just that I’m not ready to get involved,” she struggled to explain. “My marriage has just broken up. I need some time to sort myself out.”

  “I understand. I ought to, considering I’ve gone through the same thing.”

  “It’s all right. We can just forget about it,” she said quietly, swallowing more of her wine. If only she could erase that evening from her mind.

  In a moment Sheryl emerged from the kitchen, carrying trays of snacks for the girls. She set the trays on the dining room table, and the girls leapt to their feet and scurried over, dipping their hands into bowls of chips and cheese sticks.

  One of the girls, her hands overflowing with corn chips, stopped in front of Clay and studied him a moment.

  “You’re that archeologist on TV,” she said matter-of-factly. “My mom watches you all the time. Where’s your hat?”

  Clay’s mouth twitched up at the edges. “I must have left it in one of the Egyptian pyramids,” he said playfully.

  The girl’s eyes widened. “Did you find any treasure there?”

  “No, unfortunately grave robbers cleaned out the pyramids centuries ago.”

  “Oh,” she said, her expression drooping in disappointment.

  “You know, archeology isn’t really about finding treasure,” Clay went on. “We work more with dirt and bits of rock and clay. What’s exciting is when we can fit all the little pieces together, like pieces of a puzzle, to discover something new about the past, and how our ancestors lived.”

  The girl’s face brightened a bit. “Cool.”

  Reaching into his back pocket, Clay pulled out a coin that Jordan remembered well. “See this?” he said, showing the girl the silver disc, the size of a dime but with rougher edges, and Classical figures stamped on the faces. “It’s a Roman coin. It’s not worth much, since so many have been found, but to me this is a real treasure. It’s amazing just to think that over 1600 years ago, someone held the same coin in his hand that I’m holding in my hand now.”

  The girl observed the coin reverently, peering closely at it in the palm of his hand. “Did you dig this out of the ground?”

  “Actually my dad bought it at a coin store. He gave it to me when I was a little boy. This is in part what inspired me to go into archeology in the first place.”

  After the girl moved off to join the other kids, who were now handing Alice her presents for opening, Jordan watched Clay enfold the coin in his hand, and then slide it into his pocket. She recalled him showing her that coin years ago, on one of their first dates. She was amazed he still carried it around with him. It had always made her heart swell to hear him talk about his passion for his work—despite the fact that his life’s work had effectively brought an end to their relationship.

  “You really impressed her,” she said, nudging his arm. “You’re probably the most famous archeologist in North America. Somewhat of a modern-day Indiana Jones.”

  Clay’s eyes rolled upward. “If only. I haven’t unearthed anything myself in years. My show involved profiling the great historic finds of other archeologists. Not that it wasn’t challenging. The pace was incredible, and so were the physical demands of filming in remote locations. But it was show business, not archeology.” His grin widened. “But I’ll admit, it was an amazing experience. I’ve been able to gain access to places and artifacts most people will never see.”

  Jordan felt her pulse speed up a little. His incredible smile still had an effect on her, especially after downing a glass of wine in record time. It eased her anxiety considerably.

  “Why did they cancel your show?” she wondered. “I thought it was really popular.”

  “I suppose it had run its course.” Clay raised his broad shoulders. “The ratings were lagging. After five years we may have just run out of interesting places to explore.”

  “Are you sure you can handle being a professor, stuck in one place?”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I think I can. I’ve had my fill of adventure, Jordan. It was exhilarating but exhausting. Besides, all this is new for me. I’ve never made it to one of Alice’s birthday parties.” He lifted his chin toward the group of girls, who were admiring the glittery purse Alice had just unwrapped. “I could get to like this quite a bit.”

  “And now you’ll have another niece or nephew to get to know,” Jordan said, tilting her head toward Sheryl.

  “And kids of my own, I hope.” His expression grew more serious, his gaze holding hers.

  Feeling her stomach dip, Jordan swallowed the last of her wine. “So did you carry that Roman coin with you all around the world?”

  Clay patted his back pocket, smiling. “You bet. Almost lost it a few times. I may not have had the best of luck this year, but at least my lucky charm hasn’t deserted me.” He lifted one shoulder. “Anyway, it’s not really a lucky charm. It’s more of a reminder of my dad. It keeps him with me. Sheryl does the same thing; she carries his university ring on her keychain.”

  “I know his loss was a big blow to your family,” Jordan said. Though Clay hadn’t liked to talk about it back when they were dating, Jordan had seen the pain in his eyes whenever he spoke of his dad, and come to realize how much he’d missed having a father growing up—and the poor substitute his stepfather had made. She remembered, too, that Clay’s memories of his father’s love of history had become a driving force in his life.

  He nodded, his mouth tightening at the edges. “I sometimes try to picture what he would’ve been like now, as an older man. I imagine this is just the sort of house he would’ve wanted to retire to.”

  “You still think about that sort of thing?”

  “More than I should, probably. Mainly I wonder whether he would’ve been proud of me.”

  “Of course he would, Clay.” Jordan’s words came out more impassioned than she’d intended. “Not just because of your success, or the house you could afford to buy, but because you’re a good man.”

  His gaze held hers, a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve just reminded me of something.”

  “What?”

  “The reason I fell in love with you. Your kindness and compassion. I’m glad to know you’re still the same in that respect.”

  “Thank you.” Jordan felt heat flood her face again. Clay’s old habit of speaking aloud whatever entered his mind was both a blessing and a curse. “Would you get me more wine, please?”

  * * *

  Heading into the kitchen with Jordan’s empty glass, Clay came upon his sister by the counter, bent over Alice’s cake, carefully decorating the sides with tiny pink rosettes.

  “Looks great,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Just getting a refill for Jordan.”

  Though Sheryl didn’t look up, from the side he saw her eyebrows inch upward. “She drained the first one quickly.”

  “Don’t start, Sheryl. You promised me you’d be nice.”

  “I’ve been perfectly nice,” his sister objected, still keeping her eyes on her work. “But I saw the look on your face when she walked in the room. Even after all these years, she’s got you under her spell.”

  “She is bewitching, I’ll admit,” he said with a teasing grin. “But may I remind you, you’re the one who called her up to make sure she came. Is it that you wanted to meet her so you could size her up?”

  Sheryl glanced at him sharply. “And what if I did? I may have been wrong about Molly being your child,
but I still can’t say I trust Jordan. Besides, you’re in a vulnerable state right now, barely divorced. You have to know that jumping back into a relationship with an old flame is a bad idea.”

  “I’m touched by your concern,” Clay said, the playfulness leaving his voice, “but I’m a big boy and I can take care of myself.”

  She frowned, assessing him with a probing gaze. “I know that. It’s just that you can’t be objective in this situation. I remember how crushed you were when she broke off your engagement. I don’t ever want to see you go through that again.”

  “You know it wasn’t quite as simple as that. Anyway, Jordan’s on the heels of her own divorce. She made it clear she’s in no hurry to get involved with me or anyone else. So you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  Sheryl’s eyebrows rose higher. “So you’ve discussed it?”

  Clay gave her a hard look, refusing to answer the question. “Come on, the girls are waiting for cake.” As he reached for the bottle of red wine on the counter to refill Jordan’s glass, Sheryl gave up the argument and resumed her work, and in a few minutes had the cake fully decorated with Alice’s name surrounded by bright sprinkles and rosebuds.

  Clay followed as Sheryl carried the cake out to the girls, starting them on a chorus of “Happy Birthday”. He approached Jordan, handing over her wine.

  “Thank you,” she said, before joining the singing. They exchanged a smile, and then she glanced away.

  Though they’d been enjoying a pleasant conversation, Jordan’s discomfort was still apparent. It didn’t surprise Clay; he’d come on so strongly the last time they saw each other, he was amazed she’d agreed to spend the weekend with him and his family, even with Sheryl’s persuasion. In the cold light of day, his actions from that evening seemed irrational and audacious. Yet at the time, it had felt so natural being with Jordan again that it hadn’t occurred to him not to act on his feelings. He had the same sense of comfort with her as he did at home with his family; at the same time, the spark that had so easily reignited between them had caught him off guard, quickly consuming him. He’d been unable to resist the impulse to touch and hold her again, and to open his heart to her, and consequently he’d sent her into a panic for which he frankly couldn’t blame her.

  He tried to focus on Alice, her eyes glittering with reflected candlelight as her mother set the cake on the coffee table in front of her. As the girls gathered around, she leaned in and extinguished the candles in a single breath.

  “Everyone come and get in the picture,” Lorraine instructed, brandishing a camera. She motioned for Clay’s brother-in-law, Dean, who had come into the house through the patio doors when the singing started, to join his wife and the girls around the cake.

  “You, too, Clay and Jordan,” Lorraine directed.

  “Oh, no, let me take the picture so you can be in it,” Jordan offered, setting her glass on an end table. “We can’t have a picture of Alice’s party without her grandmother in it.”

  “All right then,” Lorraine agreed, handing her the camera. “Thanks.”

  Clay saw the relief in Jordan’s face as she took the camera; the idea of being included in the family photo obviously made her uncomfortable.

  Once the picture had been taken, and the camera returned to Lorraine, Jordan went back to stand in her corner, where she continued drinking her wine in rapid sips as she watched Sheryl cut the cake into slices.

  “Is that your old flame?” Dean whispered, nudging Clay’s elbow. “How’d you let that one get away?”

  Clay shrugged, not answering. The question was a good one. He studied Jordan for a moment, appreciating her elegant bearing, the delicate structure of her face, and the sensuous form of her lips as she sipped from her glass.

  It was her soft, natural beauty that had caught his attention the evening they met back in university. A girl he’d been dating casually dragged him to a UBC Poetry Club meeting. It was the young woman who happened to be seated on the other side of him, however, who piqued his interest. Jordan Lewis, an English major, he would later find out. At first she didn’t seem to notice him at all; her attention was entirely caught up in the poetry that another student was reading aloud for the group. It was a work by the likes of Wordsworth, or maybe Coleridge—one of the Romantic poets—recited in ponderously earnest tones. Clay couldn’t remember any of the lines, but he remembered the face of the intriguing blonde next to him; she looked entranced, her eyes brimming with emotion. She had a poetry book open on her lap, dog-eared with notes scribbled all around the margins, and now and again she glanced down to read along silently. She was holding a pencil in her hand, and at one point she scrawled on the page, in large letters, “WOW.” Clay was captivated. Hers was a reaction of the heart, straightforward and unaffected. It struck an unexpected chord in him.

  After the reading he introduced himself to the blonde and spoke to her only briefly, muzzled by the glaring eyes of his jealous date. The relationship with that girl, whose name he couldn’t even bring to mind now, had fizzled out quickly. After that night, he couldn’t get Jordan Lewis out of his mind. He quickly found her name in the student directory and called to invite her out for coffee. For Clay, being with a woman so unlike himself was both fascinating and intoxicating. She was joyful, spirited and idealistic. She saw the good in everything and everyone, responding to cruelty and unfairness with surprise and hurt. Her naiveté sometimes worried Clay, but it endeared her to him.

  At the same time Jordan was the most disorganized and impractical person he knew, a foil to his headstrong practicality. Studying for tests and writing papers were invariably last-minute tasks for Jordan, yet she always achieved high marks. On school nights, she stayed up way too late to watch old movies on TV. She was easily distracted, losing track of time, and late for everything—classes, parties, dinner. Jordan was always in a rush, but never concerned about it. Things had a way of working out for her. Clay was surprised to hear she was running her own business now. Back when he knew her, she’d had her head too far in the clouds. But then, he knew people could change a great deal in a decade, as he had.

  Above all else, Jordan had been the warmest, most open person he knew. He had loved her with his whole heart, and nothing in his life—not even his divorce from Kathryn—had hurt him as much as losing her had.

  So why had he let her get away? Leaving her behind eleven years ago had meant a brilliant career for him. Had it been worth it? In this moment, he couldn’t manage to find a single shred of meaning in those intervening years.

  So she wasn’t ready to get involved right now, so soon after her divorce. He understood that; still, there’d been no mistaking her urgent response to his kiss, or the fierce way she’d clung to him for those few intense moments. She’d been spooked, that was all—he hoped.

  If any small part of her still burned for him, he would do his best to stoke those embers into full flame.

  Chapter Six

  Jordan woke early Saturday morning to the exuberant twittering of birds outside her window. Unable to get back to sleep, she climbed out of bed and pulled on her pale blue sundress, then peeked out the door of her room to listen for activity in the house. Met by silence, she crept down the stairs as quietly as she could. She realized someone else was up, however, once she reached the living room and breathed in the welcoming aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

  Following the aroma to the kitchen, she found Clay seated at the table, sipping from a mug with a newspaper spread out before him.

  “Oh, good morning,” he said cheerfully when he saw her.

  “Morning,” Jordan muttered, blinking at him in surprise. Even in her bleary morning state, it would’ve been hard not to notice that he was bare-chested, wearing only his pajama bottoms. It was also quite apparent that the physical demands of Clay’s former job had resulted in an athletic physique, with muscles that were much enhanced from the ones she remembered. By the time she realized she was staring, and raised her eyes to his, it was too late to pretend
she hadn’t been gawking. Feeling her face redden, she wished she could scurry back up to bed and start the morning over again.

  “Coffee?” Clay offered, an amused smile playing on his lips as he moved to stand up.

  “Thank you, I’ll get it.” Jordan nearly sprinted to the counter to grab the coffee pot. Her back to him, she took a mug from the drying rack and poured coffee into it, silently willing her colour to return to normal before she turned around.

  “What would you like for breakfast?” Clay asked. “Cereal? Toast? Eggs?”

  “Toast would be fine. I can get it.” Spotting a loaf of bread and a toaster on the counter, she quickly set to work, her uncooperative fingers struggling to get the sliding knob on the toaster to stay down.

  “Is everyone else still asleep?” she asked, finally persuading the knob to stay.

  “I think so. The kids seem to be. They were up pretty late, gabbing in their tents.”

  Jordan turned to face him, keeping her gaze firmly locked on his to keep it from drifting downward. “Molly is having a blast.”

  “Are you glad you came?” Clay asked.

  “It’s been interesting so far. Apparently you’re taking the kids kayaking and to see some prehistoric dump site.”

  “If there’s time. But this morning, they are going horseback riding, and I’m taking you to the McGovern estate sale.”

  “You don’t have to take me,” Jordan said quickly. “I can find it on my own.”

  “I know, but I’d be interested in seeing the place myself,” Clay said evenly. “Stan McGovern was almost a hundred years old when he passed on. He was a man of impeccable taste, and he had no children to take possession of his things. I’m intrigued to see what might be squirreled away in his house.”

  “All right, then,” Jordan agreed, seeing no way out of it, just as her toast popped up, slightly burned on the edges. She reached into the cupboard over the sink for a plate, but stopped short, her eye caught by three deer outside on the lawn. They were standing not far from the window, their heads bent low to the ground as they grazed silently on the long grass.