The Girl Made of Clay

by Nicole Meier

  The severe point of an elbow stopped him.

  “I got it,” she barked. Retrieving the phone, she cradled it between her chin and shoulder.

  “Yes?” Her tone was short. “What? When?” Sara eased her foot off the gas, slowing to listen.

  TR picked up her change in tone and was concerned.

  “Where is he now?” Her face pinched into a tight question.

  A muffled voice escalated on the other end as TR strained to listen. It belonged to a male; he could tell that much. It must have been Charlie. Sara’s husband had been left back at home, in charge of the boy and the dog. A red flag of worry popped up.

  “Did you plug in his nebulizer and connect the mask?” she inquired, the immediacy in her voice climbing. “And how long did that last?”

  TR’s chest tightened. Had something bad happened?

  More muted responses on the other end could be heard. Sara appeared as if she were running through a list of procedures as she responded to the information being fed to her. Toward the end of the conversation, he heard a vague trickle of relief in her voice. She spouted off a few more instructions and nodded.

  “Okay. Tell him I love him and I’ll be home in less than an hour. Let him watch TV or play the Xbox or something calm. Read a book. And please don’t leave the house with him, Charlie. I mean it. Sometimes the medicine makes him shaky, like he’s had too much caffeine. You need to watch for that and cut back on the Albuterol if this happens. He doesn’t like to feel that way; it scares him. Okay?”

  A few more head nods.

  “Okay. See you then. Bye.” She pressed the screen and dropped the phone into her lap. He noticed her hands were shaking. The car continued to speed past others. Sara leaned forward and frowned. TR noticed the tight lines in her forehead and the determined clench of her jaw. He felt for his daughter at that moment; she bore so much on her own. He supposed she always had. The realization saddened him.

  “Everything okay at home?” TR ventured. He couldn’t bear to think of anything happening to that beautiful boy.

  “What?” She did a double take like she’d forgotten he was in the car with her. He could tell her anger was still lurking, but she had temporarily set it aside because of the phone call. “Yeah, it’s going to be. Sam suffered an asthma attack. Charlie is just not that well equipped to handle things sometimes.”

  “You mean he’s not equipped because he’s the father, or he’s not equipped because he’s just not around to have enough practice?” he asked carefully.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes to which part?”

  Sara tossed him a look of sheer exasperation. “Yes to both, okay? You fathers have the luxury of coming and going when you please. Leading secret lives. It’s the mothers who stick around and make sure the family doesn’t fall apart.”

  TR felt himself bristle.

  “Sara,” he began. “I know you think all husbands, all fathers run out and ditch their families.”

  “Don’t they?” she snarled, her anger returning.

  TR scratched at his jawline, choosing to ignore the jab. It hurt nonetheless.

  “There are things you don’t always know about. Extenuating circumstances that prevent one from—”

  Sara snorted. “Extenuating circumstances.” There was fresh venom in her delivery.

  “Let me finish—”

  “I met him.” His daughter’s exclamation came out in a whimper. Her eyes were suddenly wet. It caught him off guard.

  “Who?” he asked, afraid of the answer that might come.

  “Do I have to spell it out for you? Can’t you just come clean for once?”

  “Sara, I—”

  “The other factor. Your extenuating circumstance.”

  The racing in his mind came to a grinding halt.

  “Oh.” TR’s lips went numb. It was too late. She’d found out before he’d had the chance to explain. And he understood, before she said another word, it was going to be hell trying to repair the damage.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  SARA

  Why couldn’t life only deal her one disaster at a time? Why did it instead have to rain down on her all at once? At the moment, all she wanted to do was magically time travel back to her house and hold her son. Sam needed her, and she wasn’t there. She was with her father instead, who had deceived her and wasted her time. It wasn’t fair.

  And then TR had to go and shoot his mouth off about men and their legitimate excuses. It was all Sara could do not to swerve the car off the road and boot him out. How dare he?

  “Start talking, TR,” Sara snapped. What did her father have to say for himself? She wanted to know.

  “Ah, Christ. This wasn’t how I wanted things to play out. I was going to tell you.” Her father squirmed in his seat.

  Fury reverberated up the back of her spine. “When? When were you going to share the little tidbit that there’s another family—living on your property! My God, TR, it’s not like informing me you’re out of fresh laundry! I went there to check on your house, and instead I find some guy named Bo and his crazy mother confronting me!”

  He flinched, and she wondered if he’d ever planned to tell her the truth.

  “It’s complicated,” he said. “And what business did you have tromping around on my property?” He banged a fist down on the center console.

  The nerve of him attacking her about trespassing was outrageous. “Well, maybe if you’d been more open with me, then I wouldn’t have had to resort to sneaking behind your back. This relationship is pretty one-sided, TR.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I’ve opened up my entire life to you—you’re living in my home! And you haven’t given me anything in return. Do you know what it was like for me to stand there, completely unprepared, and have some stranger tell me he was your son? A sibling I knew nothing about? It felt like shit, TR!” She shuddered as she held back a sob, the salty burn of tears collecting at the back of her throat. How could he have done this to her? The mix of humiliation and heartache twisted inside her chest. “You lied to me. You’re still lying to me. Why is it so difficult to understand this?” She batted the tears away and couldn’t believe she was crying. Again. He’d walked out on her and Joanne, only to go off and create some kind of replacement family without ever looking back.

  A heavy sigh passed between TR’s lips. “I’m sorry you had to find out that way. But like I said, it’s complicated. I was going to tell you. I swear. I just have some things I need to figure out first. Trust me, you don’t want my own damn worries stacked up on top of yours right now. Let’s just get home so you can see Sam.”

  It was useless. He simply didn’t know how to open up. Sara didn’t particularly know how to do this either, especially with someone who’d disappointed her so desperately. But she was trying. What had TR done to bridge the divide? Absolutely nothing. She stared straight ahead and seethed.

  At last, after many agonizing miles of TR’s stalling and stammering, Sara gave up. She was emotionally spent from it all, and she just wanted to go home. It was a relief to finally return to the familiar tall fir and cedar trees that dotted the street corner of her neighborhood. The homey sight served as a pleasant welcome-home banner to Sara’s inflamed state.

  Charlie’s car sat parked in the driveway, and some of Sam’s things were strewn across the front lawn. Her heart dropped. Had Sam been in such distress that they’d left belongings scattered carelessly outside?

  The front door flung open, and Sam’s expectant face emerged. Even from a distance she could tell his color looked a little pallid. But he was smiling, and that was a huge relief. Sara grinned and waggled her fingers from her spot inside the car.

  “Your boy there looks to be in one piece.” TR ducked his head and peered through her side window. Even in her anger toward him, she could detect the concern in TR’s voice. He cared for his grandson, if for no one else.

  “Yep.” She nearly responded with a snarky ret
ort about his boy, now that she knew he had one, but she stopped herself. She pushed out of the car, and her feet sped up the brick walkway, leaving TR behind.

  “Hi, Mom!” Sam called out. A ring of bright orange rimmed his mouth. Must be the sports drinks Charlie was forever buying for Sam. The amount of artificial dye used in them made her cringe, but it was better than a lot of the other sugary drinks many of his friends enjoyed, and she let it go.

  “Hi, babe. How’s it going?” Her smile widened. She told herself to keep her resolve, for Sam’s sake. She didn’t want him to see her break down.

  “Oh, you know. Pretty good.” He shrugged as she approached.

  Sara’s heart expanded. Here he’d been pulled from school, had been made to suffer through breathing treatments, and still managed to greet her without a complaint. He really was a great kid.

  For the last half of the drive, she’d yearned to inhale his little-boy smell of strawberry shampoo and frozen waffles. This was what she needed right now, to wrap her arms around the one sure thing in her world and hold on tight.

  Everything else could take a back seat.

  As she entered the house and deposited her coat in the front hall, Charlie came to greet her. Acer also appeared and wedged himself into the entryway, not wanting to be forgotten. His tail thumped happily against Sara’s leg. Out of habit, Sara picked up a nearby rubber dog toy and tossed it into the living room to get him out of the way. He went trotting off in search of it.

  “Hey,” Charlie said. The corners of his mouth were turned down, but he offered a small smile nonetheless. He looked tired.

  “Hi. No more complications?” Sara asked. She first looked at Charlie and then Sam, who was still at her side.

  “No. He’s okay now.” Charlie’s hand reached over and ruffled the top of Sam’s head. “He handled it like a champ.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Sam said.

  Sara nodded and met his gaze. “That’s good.”

  Charlie’s eyebrow rose. “What about you? You okay? You look like you’ve been—”

  Sara’s eyes quickly darted toward Sam, and she shook her head for Charlie to stop. Her son didn’t need to hear what had gone on in the car. Not when she was still so raw and might easily fold over into a heap of emotion.

  “I was just worried about Sam, that’s all. But it sounds like you guys had it handled. If you two will excuse me for just a second. I need to go to the bathroom.”

  Charlie cocked his head and watched her walk past them. “Why don’t you go back to resting on the sofa, buddy?” she heard him ask Sam. “I’ll make you something to eat in a bit.”

  Sara made it to the back of the house just as the tears came cascading forward. Blurry eyed, she slipped into the bathroom and hunched over on the edge of the tub. Grabbing a giant wad of toilet paper, she pressed it to her face and wept.

  Charlie knocked softly on the door and asked to be let in. Still sobbing, Sara leaned over and released the lock. Her husband entered and knelt down on the mosaic-tiled floor beside her. A comforting hand lifted to meet the small of her back.

  “Sara, honey, what’s the matter? Is it Sam? Because he’s okay now; he really is.” After so much distance between them, the tenderness of his touch weakened her.

  “No.” She blew into the toilet paper wad and then dropped it into her lap. “I mean, yes, I was worried about him. But that’s not it. It’s TR.” A fresh wave of sobs shuddered through her as she slumped over her knees and tried not to wail.

  The gentle hand that had been placed on her back stiffened. “What did he do now?” A rising irritation trailed Charlie’s question.

  Sara wanted to explain. Her first impulse was to confide in him, to lean on her spouse for support. But then she remembered what lay between them. The distrust, the distance. The confusing way her husband kept leaving. And because of this, she found herself clamming back up. On top of that she couldn’t stop crying. Every time she paused to take a breath, more jags followed, making it impossible to speak. She pressed more toilet paper to her face and let Charlie know she was too broken up to talk. She’d reveal the root of her distress later. He looked confused.

  “I’ll be right outside if you need me,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Sara said, his soothing words enveloping her before he clicked the door shut and exited into the hall. And for the briefest of seconds, she didn’t feel so alone.

  Charlie followed her lead throughout the dinner that followed, yo-yoing between casting bewildered glances at her and shrugging on an air of false normalcy in front of Sam. His expression, however, remained doubtful. Sara didn’t have the energy to do anything other than push her food around. She hadn’t any interest in keeping up the pretense of dialogue.

  Afterward, while Charlie and TR awkwardly attempted to make small talk over the task of clearing the table, Sara quickly retreated. Sneaking into the shelter of Sam’s room was the only thing that sounded good to her. She sought solitude with her sweet son, to be among his boyish things that reminded her of happier times, to wrap him in her arms and forget about the problems with her father for a while.

  As she settled onto the mattress of his low bed, the distress from her long day sank down with her. Her stocking feet kicked over the end of Sam’s striped comforter as she watched him get ready for bed. In drawn-out movements, he crossed the room and retrieved a pair of pajamas from a pine dresser. A listless hand closed the drawer. He operated as if underwater.

  “Feeling sluggish, pal?” She eyed him closely. His breathing had thankfully returned to normal, no longer forcing his chest to rise and fall in rushed actions. For this, she was truly grateful. Watching Sam suffer was the worst kind of agony.

  “Yeah, just tired,” Sam replied. A yawn escaped.

  Sara had the urge to reach out to stroke his soft face. He was still her baby in a certain sense, sweet and big eyed. But little indications that he was indeed changing had begun to morph his features. Like the crop of fresh freckles skimming the bridge of his nose. The summer sun had left its imprint on him, and Sara knew there was more to come. His once-minuscule set of baby teeth had all but given way to large permanent ones, widening his jawline and sculpting the places where baby fat once resided. And his shoulders were broadening, shaping his torso into a small V that reminded Sara too much of a teenager’s body.

  These were all minor changes that likely no one noticed but her. And still, each new development was like a tiny arrow to her heart. This was her only child. There wouldn’t be any more babies to hold. She and Charlie had agreed Sam was all they needed to round out their little family. He was it, and she desperately wished this time with him could last forever.

  As much as she craved to smother Sam in affection, she also knew enough to respect his space. He’d be transforming into a hormonal tween any day now, seeking privacy without the irritation of his mother hovering around. Time was going to march on whether Sara was ready for it or not. It was important to cherish the little moments. They wouldn’t last. So she lingered on the edge of his bed and chose to keep him company as he went about his bedtime routine.

  “I’ve been tired all day,” Sam said, ambling over to switch off the light on his shoebox-size goldfish tank. A solitary fish, which had lived for three curious years, swam in a circle as if to flap good night to his owner. Sara wondered how a thing so small had managed to last so long.

  “That’s just the medicine,” she reassured him. “You’re always tired after that stuff makes its way through your system. Your lungs had to work overtime today. Your body has been through a lot.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You’re going to be okay; you know that, right?” Her voice inched up an octave. She knew she was stating this more for her benefit than his. Sam didn’t get fazed by these types of episodes the way that she did. He’d been experiencing them his whole life; however, it was her job to comfort her son. This was the best way she knew how—by reiterating his strength.

  Sam mumbled a sleepy respon
se and wandered down the hall to change his clothes and brush his teeth. Sara reclined onto the downy bedding and waited for him to return. The clinking sound of silverware being rinsed in the sink and then placed back into a drawer drifted through the house. A faint murmur of male voices followed. Sara closed her eyes and guessed at what her husband and her father were discussing.

  Had her father spent time like this with his own son? Had he tucked Bo into bed as a child, maybe read a book aloud and sat in his room to cherish the little-boy moments? Had TR been a better father to his other child than he had to Sara?

  The image was piercing. Her nose stung a little with the welling of fresh hurt. Shifting, she blotted at her watery eyes. The painful idea of being replaced lodged itself in her heart. Why hadn’t she been enough?

  She tortured herself imagining her father whiling the years away with another child. A child that maybe was more like TR than she was. Did Bo pick up where Sara had been so cruelly left off? Had he been invited into TR’s studio, just as Sara had, when he was younger?

  Just thinking of this left an acrid taste in her mouth. She’d naively believed this singular aspect of TR’s world belonged only to her. The memories of her childhood spent squirreled away in TR’s workspace had been the one solid thing she could still claim in their twisted history as authentic.

  What was real anymore? Had her whole life been a lie?

  “Sam?” she asked as her son came back into the room.

  “Yeah?”

  “What do you think of your grandfather so far?”

  Sam shrugged. “I dunno. He’s cool, I guess.”

  Sara peered at him, cautious. “Cool how?”

  “Well, for one thing, he makes funny jokes. And he plays video games with me. That’s pretty cool. I mean, for an old guy.”

  Sara chuckled. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Most old guys don’t play video games. Unless you count Dad.” She winked.