After the Thaw

by Therese Heckenkamp

  Before leaving the shop, she rebundled herself in her coat and pulled on a wool hat that hid her new earrings and most of her hair. With the plastic bag looped over her arm, she stepped out into the cold night to see snowflakes drifting lazily from the sky, fluttering like tiny white fairy wings. She lifted her face to them and barely felt them brush her cheeks before they melted.

  She told herself she dreaded winter, the cold, the weak sun, the lack of color, the snow—but when winter came, there were occasional magical moments like this when it charmed her.

  “Excuse me,” said a man trying to enter the store, which she was mindlessly blocking.

  “Oh, sorry,” But as she answered, she realized she knew his voice. Well.

  Clay.

  Their eyes met.

  They both paused, the snow falling between them. A curtain. A gauzy wall so thin, yet so thick.

  They’d done an admirable job of avoiding each other in this small town, but every once in a while . . . She sighed, suddenly realizing at the squeeze of her heart, it really was time for her to move back to Woodfield.

  As they sidestepped at the same moment, she attempted a small nervous laugh. “Doing some last minute shopping for the baby, too, huh?”

  Clay scratched his knit cap. “Yeah, gonna try.” She watched his eyes go to the store window and catch a glimpse of the impossible selection. His face fell.

  She was about to offer to help him pick something out, when her brain stopped her. This was something he should do on his own.

  “Well, good luck. I’ll see you around.” Or not. She started to walk away, down the vacant, snowy sidewalk, when he came up beside her with brisk, tramping steps.

  “I’ll walk you to your car. Since it’s dark and snowing.”

  Really? She’d survived much worse. Her brain told her she shouldn’t accept his company, but it didn’t win this time. “Okay, thank you.” The snow continued sprinkling down as they walked side by side.

  He cleared his throat. “So how have you been? Did you have a good Christmas?”

  “I did. You?”

  “Yep.”

  That was a good spot to give up on, or so it seemed they both decided. The snow squeaked underfoot, reminding her of the sand at the beach all those long months ago.

  She turned her face to the glass storefronts, to window shop as they walked, and a sparkling jewelry display caused her to slow. “Look at that,” she breathed, pointing to little baby footprints on a dainty silver pendant. Entranced, words slid from her mouth before she could weigh whether she really wanted to say them. “You should get that for Brook.”

  Clay almost pressed his face to the window. His breath fogged the glass. He pushed open the shop door, and she found herself following, wanting to see the necklace up close.

  Almost instantly, she knew she’d made a mistake.

  As he spoke with the woman behind the counter, a long, obtuse case of glittering, taunting engagement rings assailed her. Countless facets captured and redirected the light in a thousand blinding rays.

  She shot a desperate look his way. How long did it take to buy one necklace?

  Struggle as she did to ignore them, the rings pulled her. Amongst the sparkle of sharp angled diamonds, a smooth, soft, calm pink sheen almost glowed, drawing her closer.

  Her fingertips pressed the glass as she stared, fixated on a pink pearl ring. A cluster of three little diamonds hugged the pearl on each side of a tapered gold band. Her heart tugged at the bittersweet thought of her mother’s necklace, heartlessly stolen by Nails. She doubted she’d ever see it again. But this ring would go so well with it . . .

  “Would you like to try it on?” the sales woman asked brightly.

  Embarrassed to be caught gaping, Charlene shook her head.

  Clay appeared at her side, a little jewelry bag crinkling in his hand.

  “Let me know if you want me to take any rings out so you can see them in the true light.” The woman beamed at both of them. “Have you set the date yet?”

  Charlene blinked three times before catching her meaning, then felt herself engulfed in an instant, furnace-hot blush.

  “Oh, no,” she choked out.

  “We’re not—” Clay attempted.

  The woman tilted her head, waiting expectantly.

  “We should get going,” Clay said. “Thanks for your help.”

  He and Charlene turned away from the sales woman in unison, practically tripping over each other in their haste to hustle out the door.

  Charlene found it a wonder the snowflakes didn’t sizzle on her burning cheeks. Tugging on her gloves, she walked vigorously, trying to expunge the last few minutes from her mind. The incident had been so utterly humiliating, the only thing to do was ignore it.

  Unfortunately, Clay didn’t.

  “You were looking at that pink one, right?”

  She clapped her hands to her arms. “I noticed it, yes. Because it reminded me of my mom.” She cleared her throat, trying to mask the catch in her voice. “Of a necklace she had, that’s all.”

  Clay remained quiet for a few steps. “You told me a while back that you were engaged to Ben.” She heard him cram the jewelry bag in his pocket. “Why don’t you wear a ring?”

  It stunned her that he had even noticed a detail like that. “I had one, but I lost it.”

  “Yeah? How long ago?”

  “A while.”

  He shot her a sideways glance. “And he hasn’t replaced it yet?”

  Her defenses rose. “Engagement rings aren’t cheap. And I was stupid and careless for losing it in in the first place.” She kicked the snow.

  “All I know is, you’ve gotta have a ring if you’re engaged. It warns other guys to back off. If I were Ben, I’d be getting you a ring right away. Just sayin’.” He coughed. “Tell him you want the pink one.”

  Her lip quirked. “It’s not a classic diamond engagement ring. I don’t think he’d really go for that.”

  A short, harsh noise escaped Clay’s throat, sounding slightly like a laugh. “He’s not going to be the one wearing it.”

  She narrowed her eyes at the snow drifts glinting severely under the street lamps, like piles of pulverized glass, and decided the subject needed changing. “So you bought the necklace. Brook’s going to love it.”

  “Hope so.”

  “So do you think you’ll be shopping for a ring for her anytime soon?”

  A car drove by, spraying dirty snow. Five steps later, he still hadn’t answered. She began to wonder if he’d even heard her. Then he said, “No.” The single word hung heavy in the air.

  “No?”

  “No.”

  She slowed her steps, wondering if she dared venture further into the subject. Something warned her there’d be no turning back if she did. Still, she persisted.

  “So are you thinking like maybe in another year or so . . . ?”

  His jaw flexed. “No. I’m not going to be buying her a ring. Ever. I’m not in love with Brook.”

  He stepped in front of her and stopped walking, which forced her to halt. He tugged the hat from his head and scrunched it in his fist. He looked her directly in the eye. “I’m in love with you, Charlene.”

  Her lips parted. Misty breath escaped, but no words. She simply watched the snowflakes powder his rumpled hair and gather on his shoulders.

  His stance was firm, his face pained, but resolute. “There, I said it. It’s about time.” His eyes flicked away for just a moment. “I don’t expect you to say it back, and I’m not asking you to.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’ve got no right telling you this when you’re engaged. But I’d rather tell you than regret not doing it.”

  Her gloved hand traveled up to her mouth and she pressed her lips, trying to squelch the whirr of emotions warring within her. “We’ve been through so much together, Clay . . . that’s all. I don’t really think what you feel could be—”

  “I know what I feel.” His voice lowered and held a touch of hope. “Does this
really come as such a shock to you?”

  “I—I don’t know.” Her hand crept down to her throat. “I don’t understand.” Her gaze scuttered over the snowbanks. “Then why . . . when I kissed you that night . . . did you get so angry?”

  He smacked his hat against his leg. “Because it was nothing but a pity kiss.” Disgust lay thick on his voice. “That’s worse than no kiss at all. The last thing I want is your pity.”

  She sensed his eyes searching her now, afraid to find more of that pity. His wary vulnerability just about crushed her. “Oh Clay, I care about you so much, but . . .” She took a step forward, and he took a step back, frowning.

  She moistened her cold lips. “I wish I knew what to say, but . . . I don’t. There’s Ben. We set the date. For June. And Brook, and Brook’s having a baby . . .”

  “The baby’s not mine, just so you know.” He scrubbed a hand across the stubble on his face and she heard the scratch. “She knows I’m always here for her as a friend, but we’ve been over since July.”

  July? That long ago? She thought back . . . July was when they’d kissed. July was also when Brook had stormed into the workshop with the letter. Had a broken heart driven her to it? “But you still see her. You spent Christmas together.”

  “She would have spent it alone. I couldn’t let her do that.”

  Of course not. He wasn’t that kind of person.

  “When I first met Brook,” he said in a worn voice, “I was trying to build a new life, and I thought she and I had a chance. I never meant to hurt her. I wanted it to work, but then you showed up. And then one day I realized what had first attracted me to her.” He looked away, then back at her with haunted eyes. “She reminded me of you.”

  “Clay—”

  “But she isn’t you.” His hands jammed deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunching. “I know I’m no good for you. You deserve a heck of a lot more than an ex-convict.” His voice turned husky. “I’ve been fighting this too long. It was time you knew, that’s all.” He waited a heartbeat, then tucked in his chin and turned away.

  Her hand left her side, then fell back. Her mind and heart fired erratic, discordant signals. She didn’t know what to do.

  Hurt Clay, or hurt Ben.

  She didn’t want to hurt anyone. She’d already promised herself to sweet, reliable, devoted Ben.

  But Clay . . .

  No, she couldn’t. It wasn’t right.

  How could she do that to Ben? She’d already taken so much from him.

  Gripping a storefront ledge mounded with snow, she observed Clay’s back, the stiffness of it, and floundered for words. It had taken so much for him to tell her this, and she didn’t feel worthy. She wasn’t. If he truly knew her . . .

  “Clay, you don’t even really know me . . .”

  He threw her a glance over his shoulder, clearly insulted, and tugged his hat back on.

  “Clay, wait.” Her hands moved mindlessly, pressing snow together in agitation as she stuffed her feelings away into a remote, frozen place. “I’m sorry I can’t say what you want to hear. I wish I could.” I wish I could.

  He hitched a shoulder, the motion saying, No big deal. Forget it.

  “I wish things were different.” Her voice wavered. “Don’t sell yourself short. You have so much to offer. So much. When you find the right girl . . .”

  He shook his head.

  “I don’t know how to say what I need to say,” she pleaded.

  “Then don’t.” He turned just long enough for her to see his eyes glint moist in the streetlight. “Just don’t. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

  She felt a tear roll down her cheek, saw it drop onto the misshapen snowball in her hand. She felt so inept. So sad. How could she help him see? “All these feelings and thoughts from right now . . . like this snowball, they’ll melt away . . . in time. And you’ll forget all about—”

  He stalked over and gave her a look that shut her up. “I don’t want to forget.” He clamped her hands, and as he leaned in, she sensed he was about to kiss her.

  She whipped her head back while releasing the snowball and pulling her hands free. “I’m sorry.”

  He’d never know how sorry.

  She took off, leaving him standing alone on the sidewalk, leaving him with nothing. Nothing but the worthless snowball.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Bone weary and feeling that her heart had just been bled dry, Charlene chucked her shopping bag onto her passenger seat. Grabbing her snow brush, she attacked the fluffy accumulation on her car, clearing each window with a vicious sweep.

  Back inside, she almost turned on the engine, needing the heater, but didn’t make it that far. Sealed in her vehicle with no one around in the vast night emptiness, she crumpled into a pathetic ball and sobbed aloud, hot tears pouring out.

  Her heart ached with excruciating pain, and she couldn’t even sort out why. It was a terrible blend of a great sense of loss over a might have been that could never be, and anger at the cruel way life taunted and tricked. Love wasn’t simple or predictable, safe and reliable; love sliced and slashed, twisted and gouged. Like a knife. A cursed knife.

  But she didn’t have enough tissues in her purse to keep crying like this. She had to stop and pull herself together. Sniffing deeply, she blotted her eyes, then nose, with her last sodden tissue before shoving her emotions away. Then she picked up her keys, cranked the ignition, and thrust her car into gear.

  Her phone chimed cheerily as she pulled into the sloppy street, but she didn’t even check it, fearing it was Clay.

  She’d been so careful, rarely letting herself venture into thinking of him as more than a friend, but now she realized how much she’d wanted to. Maybe, if they’d had a different history, and different timing, maybe . . . But there was no point entertaining thoughts of something that could never be.

  She couldn’t break up with Ben. She couldn’t.

  And no matter what Clay had said, Brook was her friend, and she wouldn’t hurt her that way. Even if they were over, she knew Brook still loved him. There was a line friends simply didn’t cross.

  Her phone rang again. And again.

  She went to silence the incessant noise, but saw it wasn’t Clay calling, after all. It was Brook.

  So she answered.

  “Charlene, finally! Oh my gosh—” she broke off with a primal cry, making Charlene cringe.

  “Are you okay? What’s going on? Are you—”

  “I’m in labor.” She paused to pant and breathe. “At the hospital. Can you come? Please, Charlene, I don’t have anyone to be with me, besides the nurses, and I really—” She cut her words off for another agonizing cry.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Charlene dropped her phone and stepped on the gas.

  She’d bought the baby gifts just in time.

  * * *

  Tossing and turning, Nails sweltered as feverish thoughts coursed through his mind . . .

  His mother only ever came to him in nightmares. Always holding the syringe, driving the needle at him. “It will make you happy, Lance. So happy.” She pulled dry, cracked lips into a smile, a terrifying smile in her pale, hollow face.

  A child again, he ran.

  She chased him.

  He tripped and fell, and she loomed over him. Her wasted arm stabbed, the needle’s sharp silver tip piercing him through the heart with a fierce, radiating pain.

  His eyes flew open to darkness. Wild breathing. His own. He gritted his teeth and flipped his sweat-soaked pillow, kicked the hot sheets off. Lay there, still sweating. The Callaghans had given him his own room. After all the rooms he’d shared with other foster kids, it was a luxury. But nights like this, the quiet was too much. He punched his pillow and cursed.

  Sleep refused to come. He tipped himself out of bed and rubbed his head, paced the floor. At last he opened the door and slipped into the hall. A strip of dim light glowed from Beth’s room. Peaceful light. It drew him nearer. He stood at the cracked door and saw
her face, her smooth brow, her eyelids closed in oblivious tranquility.

  Something in him ached. He swallowed and nudged her door wider, stepped closer, his bare feet muffled on the carpet. Her hair cascaded, soft ripples fanned all around, draping her pillow, her forehead, her cheek, her shoulders.

  Across the room, he glimpsed her little sister Gracie curled in her toddler bed under the window. Sound asleep. Her night light bathed the room in a gentle glow.

  Looking again at Beth, he realized there was room in her bed. He sucked in a shallow breath. What would it feel like to lie beside her?

  He took a step closer. Then another. His heart skipped a beat.

  Slowly, he eased himself onto the rosebud mattress sheet. The slight creak made him freeze, but she didn’t stir. He relaxed.

  She wouldn’t know. No one would know. He would just lie there for a second, soaking up her serenity. Till he forgot the nightmare.

  He fit perfectly, almost touching her, but not quite. He was close enough to feel warmth radiating from her, to smell her scent, vanilla and cinnamon. He fingered one of her curls, like smooth ribbon. Tension drained from him, and his breathing evened out, grew shallow, and his lids drooped . . .

  * * *

  Wrong, so wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The pain surpassed every suffering she’d ever experienced. She screamed and pleaded and swore, to no avail.

  The doctor didn’t care. The nurses didn’t care. No one cared. No one. She was a patient. A room number. Nothing more.

  She flailed from side to side, her eyes searching wildly, as if her frenzy could make him materialize. He should be here with her, helping her through this, but he wasn’t. Worse yet, she knew where he was, and who he was thinking of. She had heard the way he said the other woman’s name, and it gutted her.

  She would never forgive him.

  * * *

  Charlene entered Brook’s hospital room and wished she could turn right back around. Brook writhed on the narrow, inclined bed. Her eyes squeezed shut and her face contorted. Making horrible sounds, she didn’t even notice her. Charlene edged closer and saw her forehead and upper lip beaded in sweat.