A Straw Man (The Clay Lion Series Book 3)

by Amalie Jahn

  “I hadn’t noticed,” I replied curtly. “I’ve been too busy taking care of other people’s problems.”

  He recoiled, stung by the venom of my response. My initial reaction was to apologize but before I spoke, I quickly reminded myself there was no reason to be sorry. Nate was well past due for taking responsibility for his own behavior, and I wished for the millionth time that Sam had never died.

  Vicki didn’t put up a fight as I restrapped her into the car seat and without any further incidents, we were off.

  “Where am I taking you?” I asked, attempting to keep the irritation out of my voice as we reached the stop sign at the edge of the parking lot. A mirage shimmered on the boiling surface of the asphalt and I stared at it, unable to look at Nate. “I need to know which way to turn.”

  I waited, listening to the steady whoosh of the air conditioning blowing cool air at my cheek. Nate sighed, his shoulders rising and falling with great effort.

  “I’m sorry, Mel,” he said finally.

  I bowed my head. I didn’t want him to be sorry. I wanted him to admit he’d hit bottom and do something about it. My voice broke as I continued to avoid the very large elephant in the room.

  “Sorry doesn’t tell me which way to go. Am I taking you home? Do you want to go to your sister’s?”

  He remained silent and although I didn’t want to face him, I knew I couldn’t avoid him any longer. His chin was buried in his chest but he must have felt me staring because he finally replied.

  “I was kind of hoping that maybe I could go to your house,” he said.

  Coming home with me was the last request I expected. We hadn’t seen each other all summer. Not a single visit or invitation south. Even worse, he’d only called three times. Four if I included his appeal to bail him out of jail. He texted me twice a week to check in – a quick ‘how are you’ or ‘I miss you’ but nothing of any substance.

  I was losing him. Or perhaps I’d already lost him and was just holding on to the idea of who he used to be. Of how we used to be together. In that moment I knew unless he found a way to break the chains of his addiction I would never be able to take Nate home again. I reached out to him, laying my hand on his knee and was overcome by the depth of emotion the simple touch invoked.

  I looked past him, over his shoulder at another mirage. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea. Things haven’t exactly been great with us, you know?”

  He coughed weakly and adjusted his position in the car’s tiny seat so he could face me. His eyes were bloodshot - whether from crying or lack of sleep or pills, I didn’t know, but I suppressed the urge to be sympathetic.

  “I know,” he said finally. “It’s just that, you came. I didn’t know if you would, but you did. And then, while I’ve been waiting for you, I’ve been thinking that maybe things would be better if we just spent some more time together. You know, like before.”

  The mirage disappeared and reappeared as cars drove across it. It was there, and then it wasn’t. Just like Nate. I wasn’t ready to let him go but he was already gone. It was almost as if he had never really existed at all. As I stared past him, I wondered how long it would take to convince myself that our relationship had never happened so that maybe I could go back to school and move on with my life.

  “How long has it been?”

  He shrugged lazily. “Since what?”

  “Since you used, Nate? How long will it be before you feel the need to stone yourself into oblivion again?”

  He turned on me in an instant, shifting from acquiescing to furious without missing a beat. “Shut up, Melody,” he spat with contempt. With a simple, albeit antagonistic question, I’d evoked the drug-addled beast inside him. But for the first time, I didn’t care.

  Because I was angry too.

  “This isn’t okay anymore,” I growled, keeping my voice low so I didn’t upset Vicki. “You can’t continue to treat me this way. It’s not fair. And even though it’s my own fault I keep convincing myself to just hold on a little longer, hoping eventually you’ll go back to the way you used to be, I’m done being strung along. You are not the same person I fell in love with, Nate, and you’ve done a good job over the past few months of convincing me that you will never be that person again, no matter how long I wait or how badly I want it to come true. So I’m done. This is the last time I enable you.”

  The air felt as muggy on the inside of the car as it was on the outside, but as I pressed the button to crank up the air conditioning, my temperature continued to rise. Blood pulsed through my ears as I waited for him to respond. I wanted him to say something, anything, to acknowledge the destruction he had caused. I wanted him to feel the depth of my anguish. Instead, he rubbed the callouses on the palm of his hand, as if they were unseen pressure points with the power to alleviate his pain.

  “Is that really how you feel?” he said at last.

  Vicki whimpered in the back seat, and I knew if I started driving she would fall right to sleep. I needed to get moving before she worked herself into a frenzy or I’d be adding “screaming baby” to my growing list of problems. It was time to make a decision, but that was easier said than done.

  The truth was, although I didn’t want to say goodbye, it was time for me to move on with my life. The constant stress of maintaining a relationship with an addict was exhausting, like caring for a festering wound without even the most basic understanding of first aid. I knew I needed to properly bandage the emotional lacerations created by his addiction so I could begin to heal. I was finally ready to accept that while he was still in my life, hope would continue to pick at the scabs and I would continue to bleed. I was done wondering when it was all going to end. It was time to stop pretending we were ever going to be okay.

  Before I could stop myself, the words spilled out.

  “I don’t have the strength to worry over you any longer. I hate sitting up all hours of the night wondering if you’re okay. I hate wondering if today will be the day you take too many pills and don’t wake up. Sam’s death, the pills, your refusal to move on… they’ve made you a shell of who you used to be and it breaks my heart every single day. I nag you. You ignore me. You’ve turned me into a person I don’t like and you and I both know this isn’t what I signed up for. This isn’t who we are supposed to be together. I love you, Nate, but I don’t see any future for us if this is all there is left. And I know this isn’t your fault. I know you’re sick and your addiction and the way you act are only symptoms of that illness, but I can’t make you better. Only you can do that.”

  I tried not to cry as I waited for him to react. I searched his face for signs that he was angry or defensive or devastated.

  But he didn’t appear to be any of those things. Instead, without a word, he reached out to press his thumb gently across my bottom lip, his eyes closed as if in prayer, and then, without a word, he crawled out of the car, shutting the door carefully behind him.

  I sat in stunned silence, watching him in the rearview mirror as he crossed the parking lot back toward the police station. Vicki’s cries of protest intensified and I remained perched on the threshold between going after him and driving away. My grip tightened on the steering wheel as she began to scream in earnest. It was time to make a decision and I didn’t know if it was because of our shared history or in spite of it, but in that instant I knew the decision had already been made.

  C HAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SUMMER BREAK - FIRST to SECOND YEAR

  From upstairs in my bedroom I heard the familiar sound of the doorbell’s gong. I wasn’t expecting anyone and decided without looking out the window that it was probably just a delivery my mom could bring in when she got home from work. And then the doorbell rang a second time. And a third.

  I took the stairs two at a time since it was clear from the steady rhythm of knocks and rings that whoever graced my doorstop was growing impatient.

  “Nate!” I cried, leaping into his arms when I opened the door.

  “I thought
I was gonna have to sleep out here!” he laughed, crushing me in his embrace.

  “You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow,” I murmured into his chest as I breathed in his sweet, musky scent.

  He released me and backed onto the porch. “My shift at work got cancelled for tonight so I thought I’d surprise you. But I can go back home if you want,” he teased.

  “NO!” I replied, pulling him into the foyer. “Are those for me?” I asked, noticing the bouquet of daisies clutched in his fist.

  “My lady,” he bowed, extending the flowers toward me.

  “How very chivalrous,” I said as I accepted the daisies and thanked him with a proper kiss. A mixture of excitement and relief washed over me and the memory of his touch returned - the way his bottom lip fit perfectly beneath my own as if it had been formed just for that space. There was the gentle warmth I’d grown accustomed to, but also an urgency that was new. It had been three weeks since summer break began and the daily phone calls, although appreciated, were barely cutting it. Nothing beat the gift of having the person you love physically present in your life. Apparently Nate felt the same way.

  “Are we alone?” he asked, craning his neck to see into the kitchen.

  I knew what he was thinking. It was nice to know some things never changed.

  “Yes, but only for another 15 minutes or so. Mom should be home from work soon.”

  “Fifteen minutes is plenty of time,” he grinned.

  I elbowed him in the gut. “I’m sure we’ll get some time to ourselves at the beach. But for now, the last thing you need is to get on my mom’s bad side. I told her you were a gentleman.”

  “Why’d you lie to her like that?” he asked, tossing his duffle beside the door.

  I took his hand and led him into the kitchen, ignoring his advances. “Come on. Let’s find something to put these flowers in and maybe you can live up to her expectations by helping me start dinner.”

  Mom was as surprised as I was to see Nate had arrived a day early but was thrilled to have the extra help loading the food and gear into the car the next day. Growing up, our family’s yearly trip to the beach had always been the highlight of my summer. After my dad died, we stopped going for several years, but when Brooke and Charlie got married we resumed the tradition, adding Brooke and her parents to the mix. And after spending time with him over spring break, I was delighted when Charlie suggested it would be fun to invite Nate along as well. I was even more excited when Nate happily accepted the invitation, and although he swore my family couldn’t be half as crazy as his own, I secretly worried spending a week with all of us might spell the end of our relationship.

  My theory was tested the very first day.

  While I had visions of relaxing beside Nate on the beach and maybe even dipping my toes in the surf, Brooke’s father had other plans. Unbeknownst to the rest of us, he’d reserved a chartered, eight-hour fishing excursion, chumming for bluefish just off the coast. So instead of the lazy morning I had planned, we were all corralled into the back of Brooke’s parents’ van before sunrise so we could be to the boat by 7am. I couldn’t have been more disappointed.

  “This is not my idea of a good time,” I whispered to Nate as I rubbed sleep out of my eyes.

  “Are you kidding?” he countered, staring out the car window as the reflection of the rising sun rippled across the waves. “This is gonna be awesome! I’ve never been ocean fishing before.”

  With so many children, his family wasn’t able to afford vacations while he was growing up. As I watched him, glued to the seaside scenery on our way to the dock, it occurred to me that I’d begun taking our yearly vacation for granted.

  “It’s disgusting,” I told him. “Do you have any idea what chum smells like?”

  “Chopped up dead fish? I can imagine,” he replied, crinkling his nose. “But think of how much fun it’s gonna be to reel in those fighting blues!”

  It was endearing to experience the wonder of the day through Nate’s eyes. He took to the chumming process like he was born to shove fish carcasses into a grinder. At least if he was enjoying it, I didn’t have to.

  “Check out how the blood creates a film on the water,” he called to me above the boat’s engine. “I wonder if it’ll bring in any sharks?”

  Sadly for Nate, it did not bring any sharks, but it did end up bringing in dozens of bluefish. He listened attentively to the boat captain who explained how to rig our lines with various weights and sinkers. I helped bait his hook with a piece of smelt, and when we finally released our lines into the water, he was the first to snag a fish.

  “It’s pulling hard,” he laughed. “I wonder how big he is?”

  I handed my own line off to Charlie and watched Nate reel in his catch. He had the same look of determination and breathless anticipation he displayed on the football field, and I could not have been more proud as I watched him wrestle the fish into the boat.

  “He’s gigantic!” Charlie exclaimed, patting Nate on the back as the ten pound bluefish tossed itself around the hull of the boat. “Now the hard part is getting that hook out of its mouth. Those things will bite your finger off!”

  The three men worked carefully to free the fish from the line and tossed it into the live box without incurring any injuries. Meanwhile Brooke caught her first fish while our mothers sat chatting in the bow of the boat. Any other year I would have joined them with my sun hat and a book, but I couldn’t tear myself away from Nate’s excitement over every catch.

  “I’ve got another one on!” he cried, reeling his line eagerly while he fought to keep his balance. “I don’t think it’s as big as the first one, but it’s still fighting mad.”

  Our family ended up catching eighteen fish, which Nate reveled in cleaning with Charlie when we returned to shore. He joined me in the kitchen, sunburned and salt-kissed as I battered the fresh fillets in cracker crumbs for dinner.

  “That was the best day ever,” he sighed, leaning down to wrap his arms around my neck from behind.

  “Stinky fish really do it for ya, huh?”

  “Among other things,” he said, nibbling on my ear.

  I could feel the heat of his skin pressing against my bare shoulders and knew my fears about him being overwhelmed by my family were unfounded. He fit right in to our particular brand of crazy, probably even better than I did myself.

  “How about shucking corn? I’d totally love if you were into shucking corn.”

  “What’s my reward if I am?”

  I set the fillet onto the baking sheet and turned to face him, standing on my tip toes to kiss the fullness of his lips.

  “There’s more where that came from,” I told him, “and if you’re an especially good shucker, I’ll let you walk me to the ice cream place down the street for dessert.”

  He feigned the giddiness of a preteen girl. “Making out and ice cream?” he squealed.

  “I know. I’m sort of a dream come true. Now get on with your shucking.”

  Dinner was delicious, as was the ice cream.

  The making out was pretty amazing too.

  By the end of the week, my family was completely smitten with Nate. After happily participating in every one of our adventures, even posing for one of those ridiculous old-timey photos, he earned an honorary spot in the Wallace/Johnson clan. He and Charlie battled it out on the prehistoric themed mini-golf course, with Charlie winning by a stroke when he sank a hole-in-one through the legs of the flaming tyrannosaurus. He squeezed into a go-cart car he was entirely too big for and served as official bag carrier during our trip to the outlets. And on the last night of our vacation, he held my hand as we strolled along breaking surf.

  “Your family’s a lot of fun,” he told me.

  “We are,” I agreed. “Although I have to admit that I sort of missed having my dad around this week. He wasn’t perfect. He was actually really difficult, mostly. But on vacation, here at the beach, it was almost as if he turned into someone else. He became the most fun versio
n of himself. I’m always reminded of that Dad when we’re here.” I swung Nate’s hand by my side. “I’d like to think he would have enjoyed having you along with us.”

  He maneuvered to avoid a breaking wave. “So you think he would have liked me?”

  I laughed, considering the short list of things my father actually liked. “I think he would have put on his perma-smile and pretended to even if he didn’t. But yeah, deep down, I think he would have been a fool not to.”

  The surf washed in a foamy line of shells and seaweed. He stopped to pick up a shell that came to rest at his feet. It was a perfectly formed moon shell. He handed it to me.

  “Brooke told me the same thing about Branson - that he would have liked me. Said they played football together in the yard all the time when they were kids and that he would have loved having a real football player in the family.” He stopped to pick up another shell and threw it into the waves. “You’ve had a lot of death in your family. Life’s pretty fragile, isn’t it?”

  I looked up at him, illuminated by the moon reflecting off the ocean. It was strange to hear him being philosophical.

  “Death is a part of life,” I said. “It is what it is.”

  “Death should come at the end of life,” he countered. “Not in the beginning or the middle. It’s the order of things.”

  “Until it isn’t,” I said pragmatically.

  He fingered a length of hair that had blown free from my ponytail in the warm ocean breeze and tucked it behind my ear.

  “I love you, Mel,” he said. “I would have never guessed when we met just how strong you are. You’re a lot tougher than you look.”

  My heart swelled knowing he thought I was resilient. I’d never really thought of myself that way, but I supposed it was true. It felt good to hear the compliment coming from him. And then I considered how different he was from how I’d imagined him to be when we first met. I remembered assuming he was emotionally lacking, but the truth was exactly the opposite. His heart was as big as his brawny exterior and he never missed an opportunity to be kind.