“I feel like we haven’t seen much of you the past few weeks. How have you been?” She smiled; her lipstick was bright red.
“I’ve been good. Just enjoying my time until class starts again.”
“Jason loves to brag about you. He says you had a 4.0 last semester.”
Claire smiled, relief that Jason’s mom didn’t know yet. “I did.”
“You are just the brightest thing. I’m so happy you ended up with my boy.”
“Claire” The cashier called out, signaling that her order was ready.
“That’s me.” Claire smiled, quickly walking away from Jason’s Mom. She picked up the bag and two drinks, as she started to walk out.
“I’ll walk with you.” Jason’s mom said. Claire's stomach dropped. All she wanted to do was get away from her. Jason’s mom held the door open, “Are you meeting up with Jason?” She asked Claire.
Panic filled her, “No, why?”
“You have two meals.”
Claire looked down at her hands, “Oh, right. It’s for my friend Logan.” She lied again.
“Oh,” Meredith looked at her watch. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention him before. Does Jason know him?”
Claire smiled, “He does. Logan went to school with us.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” Meredith smiled. “Well, I have a luncheon with the ladies. Your mother will be there.”
“Tell her I said hi.” Claire said, with a quick wave.
“One more thing, Claire.”
Claire stopped, “Yes?”
“Sunday dinner. Will you come?”
Claire stared back at her knowing she was going to break Meredith's heart when she found out that she and Jason weren’t together. But she didn’t want to tell her yet, so she agreed. “Sure.”
“Good.” Meredith smiled, and got into her car.
While Claire walked through the main street of town, she suddenly felt nervous as if people were watching her. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, but no one else knew that. But when she walked up the steps of the library, her stomach fluttered with just the thought of Clay. Nothing else mattered when he was near.
When she walked through the doors Clay was sitting on the right side of the freshly finished steps. The left still had yet to be touched. He looked up at her; every time his eyes landed on her she felt as if he were memorizing her body.
“Hope you like chicken and french-fries.” Claire held the bag up.
“I’d eat anything right now.”
“Sweet tea.” She handed him one of the drinks, then sat down next to him. She pulled out one of the boxes, and handed it to him.
“Thank you.” He smiled, taking it from her. “How was your trip in town?”
“A lot of smiling at people that I don’t even know.”
He laughed, “At least you get smiles, I just get stared at.”
“Then stare back.”
“What?” He took a bite of chicken.
“Jenny and I used to play a game; when people would stare at us, we stared right back. Freaks them out every time.”
“I’ll have to try that sometime, but I think it’ll be a little more strange not coming from the town’s sweetheart.”
She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, “Don’t call me that.”
“Why?” He leaned back taking another bite of chicken.
She took a sip of sweet tea, “Because my name is Claire, and I’m not always sweet.”
He raised an eyebrow, “Oh yeah? Well Claire, what makes you not so sweet?”
“One time in second grade I stole an eraser from this boy Caleb’s pencil box. I told everyone my Grandma bought it for me. Not sure if they believed me, but I thought I was a pretty good actress.”
He laughed, “You rebel. I might have to report you.”
“You would never.” She smiled over her shoulder at him.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He continued eating. “I never stole an eraser, but I did throw sand in this annoying kid's face when I was in elementary. I had to sit out of recess for three days.”
Claire gasped sarcastically, “Three whole days?”
“Hush.” He smiled. “That was a big thing to eight year old Clay.”
Claire stood from the steps, “Do you ever read any of the books?”
“No, can’t say that I do.”
“Why not? You have them at your disposal while you’re here.” She walked down an aisle. “Books are magical; they’re the key to the locks of people’s hearts. Their dreams and wishes are in these pages.” She ran her fingers along the spines of the books.
“Their fears and demons are also in those pages.”
She smiled at his annoying pessimism, and then plucked one of the books from the shelf. She flipped through the pages, until landing on a specific page; “You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever.” She read.
“Jane Austen, Persuasion.” He replied.
She poked her head around the corner of the aisle, still holding the book, “You know Jane Austen? I thought you didn’t read the books?”
“My mother helped set up the library when they first restored the building; she loved projects. She would bring books home, and read them to me after dinner. Jane Austen was her favorite. She thought it would make me more cultured.”
Claire stared at him for a few seconds; this was the first time he openly spoke of his mom, which made Claire’s heart grow. “Do you want me to continue?” She offered.
“Sure.” He didn’t smile, but she could tell he was repressing how it brought fond memories of his mom to him.
Clay started working again, and Claire read aloud. The world outside passed by, but time was standing still between them. Clay would glance up at Claire when she would stutter over a word, or smile at a sentence. The more she read the more animated she became; he would laugh occasionally as her voice rose and fell, which made her smile even brighter.
The next few hours flew by faster than either one of them wanted. Clay had finished all that he could do, and the sun had started to set. He cleaned up his mess, and started to take his things to his truck. Claire helped carry a few things behind him.
Once his truck was loaded, he turned to face her, “Thanks for entertaining me today.”
“Anytime,” She smiled.
“Do you want to go for ice cream?” Clay suggested.
“Really?”
“You can even get mint chocolate chip.” He smirked.
“Can’t forget the Maraschino cherry.”
“Never.” He nudged her, and she giggled.
They walked through town, until they arrived at a small ice cream shop; it was busy. The middle of June will do that to an ice cream shop. They both looked inside. She watched him stare at the crowd.
“Do you not want to go in?” She asked.
“It’s fine.”
He held the door open for her, she walked inside. The smell of waffle cones filled the air. She caught people’s eyes as she walked toward the counter. He was a few steps behind her.
“Hey, Claire.” A guy sitting at a table said.
She smiled, not responding. It was Dean; he was of the jocks from high school that never amounted to anything; at least not yet.
“Get whatever you want.” Clay said to her.
“Claire, are you two together right now?” Dean continued.
Claire shot him a look, “Does it matter?”
Dean’s friend laughed, “Better be careful, Cunningham. You might end up in the river like his mom.”
Claire’s eyes shot to Clay; his face had hardened, his fists were clenched. She knew that he could easily take on Dean and his friend, but Clay opted for the mature route, and bit his tongue. She hated guys like Dean.
“I’m going to wait outside.” Clay said, and turned toward the door. She watched him walk away, her heart breaking for him.
Claire’s attention shot ba
ck to Dean and his friend, “You two are immature.”
They both laughed. Dean raised his eyebrows at her, “Better not let Jason find out where you are.”
“What I do is not Jason’s concern anymore.” She snapped, and stormed toward the door.
Once outside she saw Clay leaning against the brick wall that sectioned off the sidewalk and the shopping area. “Are you ok?” She asked.
“Fine.” He said flatly. He was pissed.
“Is this about your Mom's death?” She was unsure if that was even the right question to ask.
“My mother isn’t dead!” He spun around so fast, she thought she could see hell in his painful eyes.
She gasped, shuttering from his anger, “I...I…”
He stepped closer to her, “You live in your perfect house, with your perfect parents, and your perfect future. Believing anything the town tells you. You know nothing about me.”
“We’ve never talked about it. I didn’t...” Her chest started to feel tight.
“Has it ever occurred to you that I don’t want to talk about it?” He waved his hand. “Why did you even come today?”
His stubbornness was starting to piss her off, “I’m here because I care.”
“I don’t need your church girl pity. I don’t need you to fix me. I’m not some sad story you get to tell your kids one day. Go back to your fiancé.”
She gasped, “That’s beneath you, Clay.”
“And what if this is the real me?”
“It’s not.”
“Go home, Claire.” He said, looking away from her.
She cared about him, but she wasn’t going to stand there, and let him treat her like that. He was putting up his defense like she and Logan had talked about. She walked past him without another word. He didn’t follow, and her tears started to form.
Chapter Eleven
Clay
Sunday Morning Clay woke up early, after barely sleeping he was surprised that he woke at a normal hour. He rolled back and forth in his bed all night thinking about how he spoke to Claire. It was 7:30, and he knew he needed to go to his father’s for breakfast. He got out of bed and pulled a pair of jeans on, and a white shirt over his head.
He walked down the gravel driveway toward his father’s house. He could see his father sitting on his front porch drinking coffee. When he got closer his father stood giving him a half wave.
“Are we not having breakfast this morning?” Clay asked.
His father took a sip of coffee, “I thought I’d let you make it.”
Clay shook his head laughing, “You’re getting lazy in your old age.”
His father opened the screen door, “Not lazy; at some point you start taking care of your parents. I thought today was a good day.”
“I make dinner for you all the time.” Clay walked into the kitchen.
“Why not round it out with all three meals?”
He opened the refrigerator, “You’ve lost your mind.”
“Are you going to work today?”
For once Clay wasn’t in the mood to work. All he wanted to do was apologize to Claire, but as he watched her walk away last night, he wasn’t sure she would talk to him.
“I don’t think so.” Clay finally responded.
His father sat down on a stool, “That’s surprising.”
“Do you remember when Mom would read Jane Austen to me?”
“I do. Why?”
“No reason.” Clay was remembering the way Claire looked as she read allowed to him, the sound of her laugh filling the echoing library.
“How’s the library account coming along?”
“Almost finished. One more Saturday, and I’ll be done.”
“Good. That’s what I like to hear.”
*
After breakfast Clay found himself walking down to Sanderson Field. He needed to think, and that was his favorite place to escape. He sat down on the swing when he reached the oak tree. The sun was glistening on the water, as the wind blew through the trees.
He knew he was out of line last night. His phone was sitting in his lap, he picked it up searching for Claire’s name. He stared at it for a few moments, trying to articulate what he would say to her, and then finally decided to text her; “Meet me under the oak tree.”
He sent the text, and let out a breath that he was holding. The idea of them together was driving him insane. In no world could he see that it would work out well, but she didn’t seem to care. What he did know was that a need for her formed inside of him the night he met her. He wasn’t looking for anyone, but she found him. Like the golden sun missing the silver moon; she aligned the heavens to reach him, and he was falling like a shooting star.
An hour passed as he waited. He never received a text back from her. His hope was slowly dying, until he saw her blue dress blowing in the wind as she walked across the field. She was barefoot, carrying her shoes. At first he smiled, and then quickly remembered that he needed to apologize.
She walked up stopping ten feet away; her mouth was twisted in the corner, as if she were thinking of something to say.
“I’m sorry.” He admitted.
“I did nothing wrong last night.” Claire finally spoke.
“Do you want to sit?” He motioned to the bench.
She didn’t say anything as she walked past him, dropping her shoes on the ground. She hopped up on the bench, and then looked at him. Her eyes were darker blue, the color they turn when she’s sad.
He sat down next to her, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”
“Clay, I won’t tip toe around you. You can’t get upset because I asked a question. You said I listen to what the town says about your Mom, but that’s because that’s all I know.”
He stared forward at the water, “I don’t ever talk about her.”
“At all?”
“Not even to my Pop.”
He felt her eyes on him, she was waiting for more.
“She’s not dead. At least I don’t think she is.”
“Will you tell me the real story?”
He looked over at her, he was about to trust her with the one thing he’s kept close to his heart, but she already had his heart. So, she might as well know the rest. “She disappeared when I was eleven. It was one of the worst storms that we had in years. We all went to sleep that night like every night. She made dinner; it was her chicken casserole. I still remember how it tasted. In the middle of the night the storm got really bad. My dad woke from the storm; I woke from the sounds of my father screaming my mother’s name on the front porch. I remember standing at the door, watching my Pop. The electricity had gone out, and the wind was whipping the rain; changing directions every few minutes. He searched for her all night, until the next morning when he went into the police station to report her missing. Then a missing person’s case was opened. In the first few day’s my mother’s shoe was found by the bridge. My father refused to believe that she had taken her own life, but they eventually closed the case. We had started to accept that she was gone, until her credit card was used in a city three hours from here. The police said someone probably found it, and used it. My father disagreed and went to look for her, but he never found anything.”
“You’ve never gone to look for her?”
“I was eleven, and by the time I was able to drive I didn’t care anymore. I was so tired of the jokes of her killing herself that it made me angry with her. In the end she left us, no matter what the truth was.”
Claire took his hand, lacing her fingers with his. He looked down at their hands, and squeezed hers. “I’ve never told anyone the full story. I didn’t think anyone deserved the truth.”
“Thank you for telling me.” Claire rubbed his hand with her thumb.
He looked over at her, and smiled, “Thank you for listening.”
“What city was it that her card was used in?”
“Lafayette.”
“I’ve never been there.”
“I haven’t
either.” He released her hand. “You look very pretty by the way.”
She fanned out her dress, “Thanks I came from church. My parents forced me to go since I kind of ditched last Sunday.”
He smiled, “That was a good day.”
“Can I see your house?” She asked.
“My house?”
“I want to see where you live.”
“You’ve seen my house.”
She giggled, “That’s your father’s house. I want to see yours.”
“I guess so. It’s not that impressive.”
She hopped off the swing, “Take me.” She held her hand out for his.
He broke into a smile, and took her hand, as he got off of the swing. “Let’s go.”
When they reached his house, he tried to remember if he had washed the dishes, or made his bed. They walked up the steps together, he stopped with his hand on the door, “It’s not much, but my Pop and I built it.”
“Open the door, Clay.” She reached for the handled, placing her hand on his, pushing the door open. He let her walk in first, and let the door slam behind them.
He watched as her eyes scanned his one room home, his eyes then followed her gaze. It wasn’t as bad as he thought. It was simple and rustic. It had everything he needed.
“I love it.” She said, walking in further. Claire ran her fingers along the sheets of his bed, lost in thought. Her eyes landed on a small bookshelf, “I thought you didn’t read.” She gave him a cheeky smile.
“I read sometimes.”
“You’ll have to read for me next time.” She walked over to him; he was standing in the middle of the room. “Will you do something if I ask you?”
“Depends.”
She stared up into his eyes, stepping closer. “I want you to kiss me.”
At first he froze, staring back at her, but then as if it were instinct he reached up running his thumb along her bottom lip, “A kiss changes things.”
“I don’t care.” Her voice wavered.
“I do.” He took a deep breath, and stepped away.
She caught his hand, “Don’t pull away.”
He looked back into Claire’s now icy blue eyes, “Alison.”
“Who’s that?”
“She was my friend in high school, and she kissed me. Everything changed after that.”
Under the Oak Tree Page 9
