Take My Hand

by Missouri Vaun

  “Good. Maybe she can cheer you up.” Finally, he looked up and winked.

  “Yeah, maybe so.”

  He folded the paper, stood, and stretched his back.

  “You know, life doesn’t just hand you things. Sometimes you have to make an effort if you want things to change. If you want good things to come your way.” He downed the last of his to-go coffee and tossed the cup in the trash. “There’s nothing free in this world but the grace of God.”

  “I’ll have to weigh that.” Clay rested her chin in her hand.

  “You weigh it. You’ll see that I’m right.” He patted her shoulder on his way to the door. “All right then, I’m gonna go check on Edith Miller. She called earlier to invite me over to sample some peach cobbler.”

  “Sounds like a mission worthy of your skills. Tell Mrs. Miller I said hello.”

  Her grandpa waved but didn’t turn around as his slightly stooped frame was silhouetted by the morning sun in the doorway. He ambled toward his truck, looking left and right and casting a wave in Eddie’s direction.

  Clay wondered what life felt like for her grandpa. He was happy and he seemed to have it all figured out now that he was in his twilight years. Did he ever have the desire to go back and do things differently? Or did forbearance come with age? Clay wondered if she’d always look back at her time in New York with regrets, or if some day she’d actually move beyond it. Everyone made mistakes. Why couldn’t she move past hers?

  “She’s a little out of your league, ain’t she?”

  Clay had been lost in thought until she heard Bo’s voice.

  “None of your business. You need to steer clear of me and of River.”

  “Is that a warning?” He poured himself a coffee and glanced sideways at her.

  “More like a promise.”

  “Hmm.” He sipped his coffee and stared off as if he were pondering the mysteries of the universe.

  She was about to say something else, but then the phone rang and Bo weaseled back to the garage while she answered it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  River stopped halfway up the driveway, leaning forward for a better view. Trip’s house looked like a Southern mansion. A long, wide driveway entered the property and then split off to the left where the house sat a good distance off the road. To the right of the drive was a quaint Victorian with a sign that identified it as the vet clinic. Beyond that, she could see a long, U-shaped stable ringed by paddocks and a riding ring complete with jumps. Wow. This was an impressive spread.

  The private residence was separated from the clinic and stables by a dark board fence and an iron gate guarded by a butch woman who was checking IDs and reading a short list of rules to each guest before letting them past. She directed most cars to parking in a grassed area behind a huge old barn past the house, but after reading the rules—including a warning that she must pass a breathalyzer to drive out—and checking a clipboard, she directed River to park with the handful of cars on the front lawn. She wondered if she’d been awarded VIP parking.

  Clay had called around three thirty to say she had a request for a tow that she had to take care of so River should go ahead to Trip’s and Clay would meet her there. But now she really regretted not telling Clay she’d simply wait for her so that they could arrive together.

  The party seemed to be in full swing when River arrived. A steady stream of cars, trucks, and a higher than average number of Subarus clogged the drive, many honking their horns as they drove past the huge crowd of women overflowing the backyard to park behind the barn. Yes, she was definitely at a lesbian gathering. It felt oddly intimate to be driving up to Clay’s best friend’s house in Clay’s truck. She parked and followed two other women who’d also apparently rated VIP parking in the front. They politely nodded hello as they crossed the neatly trimmed lawn to the front of the house.

  Luckily, Trip was greeting people in the foyer.

  “River. Hey there. So glad you could make it.” Trip motioned her over. “Come on, I’ll show you where the drinks are and then we’ll get you some food. Where’s Clay?”

  “She had a late call, but she said she’ll be here for sure.” River followed Trip as they wound their way through the living room and out double French doors to the patio and pool area. “Trip, your house is amazing.” She’d gotten used to small spaces in the city. She couldn’t imagine having this much room to breathe.

  “Thanks. I have to tell you that I can’t really take credit for it. I inherited this place from my grandfather.”

  “Well, it’s beautiful.”

  There were bartending stations at each end of the pool. River had brought along a bottle of champagne and, unsure what to do with it, handed it over to Trip.

  “Would you like me to open this for you?”

  “That’d be great, thank you.” River watched as Trip removed the foil and aimed the bottle in a safe direction to pop the cork. “I wasn’t sure what to bring.”

  “This is a good choice. We’ve got quite a few women here who like the bubbly stuff. Personally, I like a nicely chilled pale ale.” Trip snagged a plastic cup from the nearest bartender and filled it with champagne. “I know it’s best in a glass flute, but I have a strict no-glass rule around the pool.” She grabbed a marker from the table and wrote River’s name on the champagne bottle, then handed it to the bartender, who plunged it into a deep plastic watering trough that was filled to the brim with ice and drinks. The bartender poured a pale ale into one of the red plastic cups and handed it to Trip.

  “Here’s to new friends.” Trip tipped her glass in River’s direction.

  “To new friends.” They clinked cups lightly and sipped.

  “Well, now, you just mingle and make yourself at home. I left Jay to watch the grill, and if I know her she’ll burn the burgers before I get back.”

  River took a few more sips and scanned the pool area. There was a table, shaded by a festively striped umbrella nearby with an empty chair. She decided to join the small group of women at the table and introduce herself. Plus, the chair afforded her a nice view of the house so she could keep an eye out for Clay.

  * * *

  Clay finally got to Trip’s place around five thirty, later than she’d planned. After the last call of the day, she’d gone home, showered and changed, and then ridden her motorcycle to the cookout. She hoped River hadn’t given up on her and left. She ran her fingers through her still damp hair as she scanned the crowd. She said hello to a couple of friends as she made her way toward the patio, where she paused and slowly panned the pool area. By the time she spotted her, River was already walking toward her. She was wearing an ivory dress that clung teasingly to every curve.

  “Wow, you look fantastic.”

  “Thanks, so do you.” River leaned in and gave Clay a friendly kiss on the cheek.

  “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. Have you made some new friends?”

  “A few. People here are very friendly. But you were the friend I most wanted to see.” River trailed her fingers down Clay’s arm.

  When River’s fingers reached Clay’s wrist, she rotated her hand and captured River’s. She knew she’d never hear the end of it if Trip or Grace spotted them holding hands, but she didn’t care.

  “I’m starved. Have you eaten yet?”

  “No, but I’ve scouted out our options. Burgers and quesadillas and some yummy looking chips and salsa.” They angled toward the food tables hand in hand. Clay said hello to a couple of women who shot her questioning looks. She wasn’t completely sure if they were interested in her or interested in River. Too late on either count, because Clay wasn’t going to let River out of her sight for the rest of the night.

  “Let’s get a little of everything.”

  “Sounds good.”

  They heaped two plates and then walked back toward the double French doors.

  “Want to eat inside out of the heat? I wanted to see if Trip was inside too so I could say hello.” Clay tipped her head toward t
he air-conditioned interior.

  When they entered the living area, which opened directly into the dining and kitchen, the entire space overflowed with mostly women and a smattering of men drinking, eating, and competing to be heard.

  “Oh, we forgot to get you a drink. What do you want and I’ll get it for you?”

  “I’ll take a beer, thanks.”

  Trip walked up just as River stepped back outside.

  “One little dance in the gazebo and she’s already fetching you drinks?”

  “She’s polite that way.” Clay bit off part of her quesadilla. “Great turnout, Trip. Did you invite the whole damn town?”

  “Most of it.” Trip pulled Clay across the room toward a tall androgynous looking woman with ebony hair. The woman looked a little lost in the crowd. As they got closer, Clay recognized her. She’d seen this woman once before with Grace. “Hey, I want you to meet someone.” The dark-haired woman looked up as Trip approached, with Clay in tow. “Hi, Dani, Glad you could make it.” Trip patted Dani on the back. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to blow me off.”

  Trip jerked her thumb toward Clay. “Don’t think you’ve been properly introduced, but this is Clay Cahill, resident artist extraordinaire and part-time tow truck driver and grease monkey.”

  Clay shifted her paper plate loaded with a burger, quesadillas, chips and salsa to her left hand and offered a half wave. “Welcome to Pine Cone and the best cookout in the county.”

  “Thanks. Nice to meet you too.”

  “There’s River. I’m going to go relieve her of that nice cold beer.”

  Clay cut through the crowded room, leaving Trip to chat with Dani. Clay didn’t really enjoy balancing food and a drink while standing, but there were no seats to be had so they made the best of it, by leaving their drinks on a nearby windowsill so they could more easily hold the plate with one hand and eat with the other. River seemed completely entertained by Clay’s food juggling act and people watching. Somehow, River managed to make standing and eating look effortless. Clay admired River’s poise, regardless of the situation.

  “So, you dressed up for this cookout, huh?”

  “What? This?” River looked down at the dress. “Not really.” She tugged the hem out a little in invitation. “Feel it. It’s made of stretchy cotton T-shirt material. This dress is actually cooler and more comfortable than shorts.”

  “Hmm, I stand corrected.” Clay quirked an eyebrow as she fingered the fabric. “You wear it well.”

  “Almost as good as you wear those Levi’s.”

  Clay almost choked on a chip. Before she could recover, Grace entered her peripheral vision and she looked upset. Dani, the woman Clay had met just a few minutes earlier, was tugging Grace by the arm toward the hallway.

  “Sorry, will you excuse me just a minute?”

  Clay pushed through the crowd in an attempt to intercept.

  “Are you okay, Grace?” Clay was just about to reach for Dani, but Grace waved her off. Clay watched them disappear down the hallway before she returned to River.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah, I was just checking on Grace.”

  “You two are close, aren’t you?”

  “We are. I love Grace like a sister.”

  “And you…you were never…”

  “Together? Only once, for about four minutes.”

  “Four whole minutes?”

  Clay laughed. “Yes, we kissed under the bleachers one night after a football game back when we were in high school. And then we decided we were much better as friends.”

  “Lucky for me.” River smiled mischievously. They finished their food and Clay led River back outside.

  Clay motioned toward a couple of open chairs by the pool, she was ready to sit for a while and enjoy her beer.

  “Before I sit down I’m going to make a quick run to the restroom. Save my seat.” There was a small table between two lounge chairs where River deposited her drink and cell phone.

  Clay relaxed, sipped her beer, and watched several bikini clad women splash each other on the other side of the pool. Trip was grilling a second round of food and entertaining a small circle of women as she cooked. Clay couldn’t make out what Trip was saying, but it was obviously entertaining. The women surrounding Trip were laughing and seemed to be hanging on her every word. Trip loved a rapt audience.

  River’s phone vibrated, causing it to dance against the metal poolside table. Clay glanced over absently, not meaning to pry, but she couldn’t help noticing her name pop up in the text message that flashed across the screen. She leaned over for a closer look.

  How’s it going? Any luck landing Clay Cahill as a client? Inquiring minds are dying to know.

  What the fuck? Clay sat bolt upright, every muscle suddenly tightly coiled. She should have followed her initial cautionary impulse and stayed the hell away from River. This was all happening again like a nightmarish loop she couldn’t break free of. God, how could she be so stupid? Clay was angry, hurt, and disappointed in herself. All three feelings seemed stirred together into some toxic cocktail that triggered an impulse to flee, right that minute. She strode toward the French doors, cutting a quick path through the living room still crowded with people in random stages of inebriation, and in her blind fury almost ran right into River. She pulled up short, hardly able to even see her through the red haze of anger clouding her vision.

  “Clay?”

  Clay clenched her jaw. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to say anything at all. She just wanted out. She wanted to be away.

  “What’s wrong? Are you leaving?”

  The hurt, confused expression on River’s face tugged at her insides, but not enough to stay. She’d seen the text. She knew the truth now. Regardless of how she’d thought she felt about River, or what she thought River felt about her, she’d been wrong. Again.

  “Am I a date or a client?”

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She surged forward, bumping into a woman who didn’t get out of her way fast enough, and was out the door.

  * * *

  Shocked, River watched the door close behind Clay.

  What was Clay talking about?

  Why would she ask if she was a client?

  River puzzled over Clay’s strange, abrupt, infuriating behavior as she walked back poolside to retrieve her phone. She glanced at the text from Amelia on the screen and instantly knew. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Fuck. Clay had obviously seen the text from Amelia. A wave of queasiness threatened to capsize her so she dropped to the chair and waited for her stomach to settle.

  She covered her mouth and scanned the festive party. She felt isolated from the joy all around her. She needed to fix this, but how? Should she follow Clay? Should she give Clay time to cool off? She had no idea what to do.

  Chapter Twenty

  River wracked her brain to pull up details of where Clay lived. They’d only stopped by there the one time and she wasn’t sure she could find it. If she could remember the street they’d turned on then she thought she could find it. Surely there weren’t that many livable warehouse spaces in Pine Cone.

  “Hey, why are you sitting all by yourself over here?” Trip paused near her chair, on her way to deliver a plateful of burgers to the buffet table. “Where’s Clay?”

  “Um, something came up and I think she had to leave.”

  “She had to leave?”

  River was no good at subterfuge, and she certainly didn’t want to tell Trip the truth. She smiled weakly at Trip as she stood up. “Actually, I should get going also. Thank you so much for inviting me.”

  “Okay, well, when you see Clay tell her to call me. It’s not like her to leave without saying good-bye.” Trip seemed suspicious of River’s explanation.

  One more reason not to linger.

  The champagne had given her a buzz, but not so much so that she couldn’t pass the breathalyzer she was required to take
before claiming her keys. Crossing the uneven grassy field to the truck proved more challenging. She almost turned her ankle before she settled herself in the driver’s seat. Several deep breaths didn’t calm her uneasiness as she backed out and turned the truck toward town. She’s was desperate to explain things to Clay. This was a terrible, awful, huge misunderstanding.

  * * *

  Clay stood in the middle of the large open space breathing hard. For the first time since leaving New York, she had too many feelings. The weight of them bore down on her, making her limbs feel heavy.

  The canvas she’d drowned with black paint was still on the floor. She picked it up and slammed the edge of it against the nearest concrete support column until it cracked. Bracing the fractured wooden frame against her knee, she bent the painting in half and shoved it in the oversized trash can.

  She returned to the shelves full of art supplies, pulled a large roll of canvas away from the wall, and unfurled it in one massive arcing move. The raw canvas was about ten feet square.

  She kicked her shoes off as she walked toward the metal shelves stocked with paint. She scanned the colors for a moment but realized that red was the only option. The jar of brushes tipped over in her haste to grab for one, and she left them spilled across the table.

  With the canister of liquid acrylic in one hand and the brush, like a weapon in the other, Clay approached the canvas like some big game hunter staging a kill. With deliberate, swift strokes, she began to throw color at the blank canvas, using the brush but without making contact. Liquid red pooled and spattered like some flayed animal in the throes of death. But there was too much distance and not enough contact.

  She set the brush and paint aside, sank her hands into the wet paint, and swept them across the canvas in successive arcs. A tear escaped and trailed down her cheek. She brushed at it with the shoulder of her T-shirt. She was in it now, fully, completely. She turned again toward the shelving full of canisters with the sensation of paint slowly dripping from her fingers as if from a wound. She needed more. Something to kill the red.