I stood three feet away from Clyde. Embarrassed. Surprised. Regretful. Back when Neil and I had dated, his influence impressed me so much, I was blinded to his character, but now I knew better. The power Neil wielded in our little town demanded respect. And caution.
And Clyde and I had just smeared his nose in cow manure.
“Guess we’ve done it now,” Clyde said.
I couldn’t see him to know if his left eyebrow curved upward in a challenge, but I imagined it did. He usually had that expression on his face whenever Neil was around. I tugged nervously at a lock of my hair. “I don’t defend him.”
Clyde shifted on the hood, but he didn’t say anything.
“I don’t,” I repeated. “I hate him.”
“You shouldn’t hate him, Lyn.”
“Don’t you?”
He paused. “Not anymore.”
“But he sent you to prison.”
“Actually, Susan’s daddy did that. But I can’t say I didn’t feel more than a little satisfaction when I heard that man had passed on.”
“Neil married Susan when she was pregnant with your child. Isn’t that enough to warrant a little hatred?”
“Aw, Lyn …” He was quiet for a while, but the silence rang as he decided what to say to me. “When I was in prison, it took some time before I could even believe what he did. But sure, for a while there I was ate up with hate.”
The breeze whipped past the scoreboard, causing the metal to creak and moan. The sound made me lonely and I shivered, wishing I had controlled my anger.
Anger.
I squinted at Clyde’s shadow. “You really do have an anger problem, don’t you?”
“You’re one to talk.”
“You shouldn’t have kissed me like that.”
He spoke his next words slowly, and I wondered if he were fighting his anger right then. “Lynda, I wasn’t the only one angry, and I sure as heck wasn’t the only one kissing.”
His tone was like a warden explaining broken rules to a delinquent, and my fists tightened in rebellion. “You started it.”
He laughed then, loudly, and I suddenly worried that Neil was still in the area, listening. But no. The wind would cover our voices. Thank God for the wind.
Clyde’s laughter faded. “Lyn, you’re such a toddler.”
“Shut up.” It was a hard phrase, and I usually delivered it with a kick, effectively masking any emotions I wanted to avoid, but this time a sob rose halfway up my lungs before I stuffed it back where it belonged.
“Hey, now,” Clyde whispered. When I didn’t respond, he groped for my hand in the darkness, then slid his index finger into my palm. The action comforted me like mashed potatoes with gravy, and when I tightened my grip around his finger, he pulled me slowly into his embrace.
He was still sitting on the hood of the sedan, and as I stood between his knees, I relaxed into the soft spot between his shoulder and neck. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” I rubbed my nose against his skin, inhaling his sweaty, soapy scent.
“Why not?”
“Well … technically, I’m still married.”
“Most people wouldn’t think so.”
“The church would.”
We both fell silent as we held each other. Him running his free hand through my hair. Me clinging to his waist as if I were drowning. Maybe I was. Drowning in years of bitterness toward the two men who had hurt me, toward the church, toward a lifetime of hard luck.
Clyde combed his fingers through my hair, from my scalp all the way to the ends, causing a tingling sensation as though he’d poured bubbling champagne on me and let it trickle down my body. Then he hooked his thumbs though the belt loops of my jeans and let his palms spread across my hips. His breath warmed my forehead. “Are you saying you don’t want this?”
His question scared me because I knew it was time I gave him an answer—a real answer—but no matter what I said, my life would never be a fairy tale. There would still be problems to deal with and pain to overcome, not to mention the judgment of a community of people who thought they knew us. I loosened my grip on his waist and pulled away from his embrace.
I waited, thinking, wishing the decision were easier.
He sighed—a defeated sound that communicated more emotion than a hundred sentences could have—and suddenly I found it difficult to breathe.
I heard him stand, take a few steps away, then turn back. “We’re not kids anymore,” he said. “We’ve known each other more than half our lives, and there’s no reason for us to dillydally around. I want to make you happy, and I want to start doing it now. I’m going to ask you one more time, and after that, I’ll never bring it up again. I’ll take Neil’s advice and move on, leave you alone.” He seemed to hold his breath for a count of three before inhaling. “Do you want to be with me or not?”
Good Lord. In forty-three years of living, I’d only ever loved three men. One of them dumped me for a woman he didn’t love. One of them left me alone with a child. And one of them—whom I’d always loved like a brother—was standing in front of me giving me an ultimatum.
A thunderhead stormed through my mind, shadowing my mood until I thought I might lose myself in its whirlwind of doubt, but surprisingly when the worst of it passed, only a bank of gray puffs remained, and a sliver of moonlight pierced through the thickness. As I felt its warm promise of hope, I realized three things. First, Clyde didn’t just want to date me. He wanted me forever and always. Second, deep down in my soul, in the place I never allowed myself to visit, I probably wanted him, too. And last, but at the forefront of my thoughts, I desperately needed to free myself from the bars that imprisoned me in memories.
It had been only eight days since Dixie had set off that tangle of thoughts in my head when she mentioned Clyde, but it seemed as though a year had passed. A year of confusion and disbelief. But I could no longer deny the feelings I had for this man. No matter what baggage lay in our past or what difficulties lay in our future, Clyde Felton—with all the problems that came along with him—was my present.
I stumbled forward, and when I placed a palm on his chest, he bent down and his body melted around me. His arms roughly encircled my shoulders, and his core trembled as if he were fighting back emotion.
“Yes,” I whispered. I couldn’t say aloud everything I wanted to say. I couldn’t tell him I lay awake at night and wondered what it would feel like to have him next to me. I couldn’t verbalize that he was the only person who made me feel alive. I couldn’t say I wanted him just as desperately as he wanted me. My voice and mind and lips froze into a solid mass of anxiety. “Yes,” I repeated.
It was all I could say, but it was enough.
Clyde buried his face in my neck and wept.