Chapter Eight
The sound of a car door shutting awoke Clay the next morning. Lifting the blind on the window, he watched Callan back out of the driveway and head down the road while bright sunlight shimmered across a coating of new snow.
If he didn’t feel like his chest constricted into ever-tightening bands, he may have noticed what a beautiful day it promised to be. Although he wondered where she was going, relief flooded through him that he wouldn’t have to face her that morning.
He went to their room, showered and dressed. Callan’s suitcase remained where he’d left it last night. After tossing it up on the bed, he decided to empty it for her before he left for the ranch.
Clay couldn’t say why he felt compelled to unpack it, but he needed to do that for her. He dumped the dirty clothes into the laundry room, set her makeup bag on the bathroom counter, and pushed the suitcase under the bed. He placed the assorted paperwork on the dining room table, hung her clean blouse in the closet and looked at a small pile of clean underclothes – all black. He had no idea where they went. How could he not even know where to put away Callan’s things?
He turned to her dresser and pulled open the top drawer, staring down in surprise and shock. His neat, organized, orderly wife had a drawer that looked like a whirlwind had blown through it.
Clay proceeded to open all her drawers and found the same disheveled state in each one. It wasn’t like her to have things in disarray. Clay thought about the clothes precisely folded, socks perfectly matched, that sat in his own dresser drawers. He certainly didn’t care how neatly things were put away as long as he had clean clothes when he needed them, but Callan made the effort to create order for him.
Intrigued, Clay went through the entire house, opening every drawer. All the kitchen, bathroom and storage drawers were neat and organized. Why would Callan take such time and effort to bring order to everything except her personal things? Was it her way of saying she didn’t matter, wasn’t important?
He ventured into Callan’s office and looked around. In the past, he’d hated this room because he assumed it was where Callan went to hide. Now, he knew better.
Beautifully decorated, it offered a great view of the backyard. The sage green and white color scheme created a calming and soothing atmosphere.
No wonder Callan spends so much time in here.
Despite the feeling that he invaded her space, he sought answers for questions he couldn’t yet voice as he opened drawers, the filing cabinet, and cupboards.
He sat down and read the business plan she’d shoved in his face last night. Her business savvy and success didn’t surprise Clay in the least.
Callan had always been smart, driven, and detail-oriented. Clay picked up the ledger and went through it page by page. An entry posted in payments dated in the spring nearly three years ago caught his eye. A payment to the hospital, made out of Callan’s business account. They both had good insurance, so the total wasn’t staggering, but the thought that she wouldn’t even use his money, their joint account, to pay the bill for the miscarriage made his jaw clench.
Why, Callan, girl? Why did you hide this from me?
As he stared out the window without seeing anything, Clay knew that at any time, he could have talked to Callan. He could have asked about her business, about the bills, about the debt and she would have shared everything with him. She wasn’t hiding anything.
Irritated at her for not taking the loan from his parents and jealous of the time she spent on her business, he wanted to make her suffer a little. He made barbed comments about her dreams, ignored her success, and hurt her deeply. Clay realized how childishly he’d behaved.
Regret weighed heavy on him as he rose to his feet and placed the ledger and business plan back in the drawer Callan pulled them from last night. Contemplative, he went out to start his pickup and scrape the windshield.
On his way back through the living room, he noticed the broken vase that fell to the floor when he’d slammed the front door. Carefully cleaning up the pieces, it seemed ironic that of all the things he could have broken, the heart-shaped crystal vase he’d given Callan for their second anniversary was the one that hit the floor.
A broken heart beyond repair, thanks to him.
He hoped Callan’s heart was in better shape than the one he just dumped in the trash.
Hurriedly returning to the bedroom, he grabbed a duffle bag from the closet and packed it with a change of clothes and things he’d need for an overnight stay. After writing Callan a note, he left it on the kitchen counter then went out the door.
A short while later he arrived at the ranch. He took a deep breath before opening the back door.
“Hey, there, Clay,” Bobbi said as he walked into the kitchen and tossed his bag on the floor. “What are you doing out here on this gorgeous Saturday?”
Clay removed his hat and sank down onto one of the bar stools at the counter. “I need some space and time to think. Do you mind if I spend the night, Mom? Please?”
Bobbi turned off the water she’d been running into a saucepan, concern causing her brow to wrinkle. Callan and Clay never fought and she didn’t know what to make of Clay’s request. She wiped her hands and leaned across the counter, looking Clay square in the face. “What did you do?”
“It’s kind of complicated,” Clay said, not yet willing to share the details with his family.
“Does Callan know you’re here?”
“She will when she finds my note. She wasn’t home when I left.” Clay stared at the countertop, avoiding his mother’s direct gaze.
Bobbi gave him an accusing glare. “So you took the coward’s way out and left when she wasn’t home to stop you.”
Clay’s head snapped up and he started to make a smart remark. Instead, he sighed dejectedly. “Mom, I just can’t talk about it right now. Can I stay or not?”
Bobbi walked around the counter and put her arms around her son. “You don’t need to ask, honey. Is Callan okay?”
“No. Julie is going to spend the day with her.”
In an effort to lighten the mood, Bobbi gave him a teasing smile. “You do know I told Callan a long time ago that if you two ever split up, we were keeping her and you were the one hitting the road.”
Clay couldn’t help but offer a grin in return. “Thanks, Mom. That really makes me feel better.”
After tossing his bag into his old bedroom, Clay caught his favorite horse, saddled Doc, and decided a long ride would give him plenty of time to think. He rode off in the direction of the old homestead cabin. It looked lonely and forsaken against the winter snow.
He tied Doc to a hitching rail that had held the reins of countless horses over the years then opened the door and walked inside. He used to like to play “pioneers” in the cabin when his friends came to spend the night. It was a great place for boys to roughhouse and wrestle.
Made out of huge logs, the cabin was weathered but solid. There were two original rooms: the great room that housed the kitchen, dining and living area, as well as one bedroom. In the 1920s, another bedroom and a bathroom were added, making the cabin much more modern. He knew before his parents moved in as newlyweds, much of the cabin had been updated and renovated. A massive rock fireplace kept the whole cabin toasty warm on cold nights.
As Clay wandered around, looking at old family heirlooms, he wondered how much love and how many heartaches the old cabin had seen. If it could talk, he was sure it would have plenty of stories to tell.
He remembered bringing Callan to the cabin for the first time. She thought it was wonderful, full of the history of his family. “It’s a wonderful thing to be able to pass on to future generations, Clay,” she’d said. Yet, she’d known then there wouldn’t ever be a future generation.
Clay sank down on a sheet-covered chair with the weight of the world resting across his broad shoulders.
Up until yesterday, he hadn’t given much thought to fatherhood. It was something he hadn’t g
otten around to yet. Now that he knew there would never be a child of his own flesh and blood, he suddenly felt cheated. He had no idea how he could mourn something he never had, never even knew he wanted, but grief clutched relentlessly at his chest.
He wondered if Callan had been about to tell him the truth the night she had an asthma attack. She started to say what was bothering her and blurted out the word “killing.” Would she have told him then if she could? Not that it mattered now.
Clay let his thoughts wander back three years. When he’d returned home from the training trip, Callan told him she had an emergency appendectomy and didn’t want to worry him. He didn’t question it, accepting her explanation for her pale cheeks, fresh scar, and weakened state.
How could she keep a secret like that to herself? Why hadn’t he noticed? How could he have missed it? How had he overlooked the fact that she had been four months pregnant? Wouldn’t she have been showing by then?
Admittedly, he’d been wrapped up in his job at that point in their marriage. He taught extra classes, worked with the competitive teams as an assistant, and did whatever he could to further his career. Evidently, he’d managed to stay so involved in his work he missed the signs from Callan that something was terribly wrong.
When she needed him most, he’d let her down.
Clay could see that Callan had spent the last three years sinking down to the point where she could no longer bear the burden of her secret. A secret she wouldn’t have felt necessary to keep if he had been supportive of her or paid the least bit of attention to what happened in her life and heart.
Julie said Callan nearly bled to death when she miscarried. What if he’d lost her then? Clay’s throat clogged on the emotion and fear generated by that thought. Shaken, he took off his hat and raked his hands through his hair. Finally, he leaned back and let out a shaky breath.
“Lord, I’m going to need your help to get through this,” Clay prayed, his heart filled with pain. “Help me to forgive Callan. Help me to help her. Help me to be the husband she needs me to be.”
Clay didn’t know how long he sat in the stillness of the cabin, letting his thoughts and emotions tumble. The sound of Doc whickering and another horse answering drew him off the chair and to the door. He watched his dad dismount and walk toward him.
Steve gave him a hearty handshake and pat on the back. “Your mom was worried about you,” he said, walking inside and closing the door. “It isn’t much warmer in here than outside. Why didn’t you build a fire or turn up the heat?”
“I didn’t think the chimney had been cleaned for a while and didn’t want to burn the place down. I completely forgot about the electric furnace,” Clay said absently. “It would have been a waste to heat it up for a few minutes anyway.”
“You’ve been out here for hours. No sense in freezing. Besides, I have the chimney cleaned every fall when we do the one at the house, just in case someone wants to use the cabin.” Steve looked around before taking a seat on the chair Clay vacated. He removed his cowboy hat and hung it from his knee. “I figured I’d find you hiding out here. You sure did that a lot as a young buck.”
Clay leaned against the fireplace mantle and glanced at his dad. “I did? I guess I don’t remember.”
Steve smiled and nodded his head. “Anytime you had some problem to think through or wanted to hide, you’d come to the cabin. It always seemed to be a good thinking spot for you. Is it helping today?”
Clay rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I don’t think so. I can’t get my thoughts into any kind of order let alone make sense.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“No.”
“I don’t know what happened between you and Callan, but I do know you two love each other way too much not to work at making things right. Sometimes marriage is fun and games but sometimes it is hard work. Really hard work. You know your mom and I are both ready to listen whenever you need us.” Steve stood from the chair and settled his hat back on his head. Playfully throwing an arm around Clay’s neck, he tugged him toward the door. “Let’s get home and enjoy the dinner your mother made. I’m too old to sit out in the cold like this.”