December 15th: I miss Florida. I miss the storms that blew in suddenly, leaving just as suddenly with the air cleansed and fresh behind them. I miss the passion of those furious clouds, the golden split of lightning, the smell of the rain just before it drenches the earth. Most of all I miss the peace that comes afterward.
Here in Cambridge there are no thunderstorms—not this time of year anyway. There is snow and the cold snap of air as it bites at your skin. In the New England countryside there must be peace after the blizzards. Here there are only the sounds of the snow plows and salt trucks and then the rhythms of a city once again.
At home, with Sloane, there is no storm; there is no peace. There is only waiting. I think I lost my patience for waiting the day I turned sixteen.
Clay looked at the words he’d just written and shook his head. Keeping a journal was a habit he’d acquired in Elise’s English class. Now, even though he was usually loaded with homework, he still found time each day to write a few paragraphs. It had become as necessary as breathing. It was the one chance he had to express his feelings now that he and Amy were so far apart.
Closing the journal he stood, in no hurry for what was ahead. He pulled on his jacket and gloves and slung his backpack over his shoulder. The walk from the Harvard library to Sloane’s condominium wasn’t short, but he preferred it to taking a bus. These days he preferred anything that got him home late.
Forty-five minutes later, he stripped off his gloves and blew on his fingers to restore circulation. No matter what he wore, no matter what precautions he took, he couldn’t avoid the bone-chilling New England cold. He suspected the weather was going to get worse before it got better. He unlocked the front door of the gray stone four-plex and in a moment he was standing inside at the foot of the stairs that led up to Sloane’s apartment.
Someone had set up a Christmas tree at the side of the bottom steps. It was small, not up to the job of making the empty hallway festive, but Clay appreciated the gesture. The tree was a reminder that the holiday season was here and that soon he would be flying back to Miracle Springs.
Sloane wouldn’t be going with him.
Clay trudged up the steps, his backpack less heavy than his spirits. He hoped that Sloane had worked late; he hoped that the apartment would be empty when he unlocked the door. He hoped he would not have to face his father at all that night.
He wasn’t to have his wish. He was greeted by the sound of soft classical music and the sight of Sloane, a drink was in his hand, staring into sputtering flames in the fireplace. “You’re late.”
Clay closed the door behind him. “I stopped at the library. I’ve got a research paper due, and I needed some more information.”
Sloane nodded, still staring vacantly at the flames.
Clay went to his room and unpacked his book sack. He had the report to finish, and he was tempted to begin it immediately. But he was also growing, and his stomach was rumbling. He changed out of his school uniform and into comfortable jeans. He liked his school. He was constantly challenged, and he had been accepted by the other kids immediately. But he also liked the end of the day when he could just be himself again. Of course he would like coming home even better if Sloane didn’t make him feel so unwelcome.
Back in the living room he took stock of the situation. Sloane hadn’t moved. The same drink was in his hand, his eyes were still trained on the flames. It was the portrait of an unhappy man. Clay wondered if Sloane was this way all day or only when he was forced to come home and face the son he didn’t want. Something clenched convulsively inside him, but he ignored it and resolutely faced his father. “What are we doing about dinner?”
“I stopped and got Chinese. It’s in the kitchen. You can heat it up in the microwave.”
“Have you eaten?”
“No.”
Clay went into the kitchen and took down plates for both of them, dishing up food from various cartons and shoving it into the microwave, one plate at a time. When it was ready, he took it to the dining-room table, pulling silverware out of a drawer in the buffet on the way. “It’s ready.”
Sloane looked up as if he were surprised he was not alone. “You go ahead.”
Clay shrugged and began to eat. He would never think of this time in his life without tasting the tang of soy sauce and M.S.G. He figured that in the last six months, he and Sloane had averaged four nights a week of shrimp-fried rice, moo shu pork and egg rolls.
“How is it?”
Clay was surprised by Sloane’s question. Whenever Sloane spoke to him nowadays it was a surprise. “It’s okay.”
Sloane wandered over to the table, picking up his egg roll. He looked at it as if it were a radioactive isotope and dropped it back to the plate. “I was nineteen before I had my first Chinese food.”
“You’ve made up for it.”
Sloane’s eyes narrowed, and he regarded his son. “Is that a complaint?”
“Would it do any good?”
Sloane was surprised at Clay’s flippant answer. He sat down and leaned over the table. “I asked you a question.”
“So you did.” Clay leaned back, his eyes never flickering. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’m out of practice answering.”
“What does that mean?”
Clay sighed. “It means whatever you want it to, Sloane. Look, I’ve got to get busy on my report. It’s due before I leave for the holidays.” He stood, then looked in surprise at his arm. Sloane’s fingers were wrapped tightly around it “Sit!”
Clay sat, and Sloane released him.
“What did you mean about being out of practice answering?”
Clay leaned back in his chair. “What did you think I meant?”
“Obviously there’s some truth to what you say. I’ll have to give you a refresher course on how to respond. You don’t ask another question. You give an answer, a sentence with a period at the end. Now, what did you mean?”
Anger twisted inside him. “I meant that you never ask me anything.”
“I ask you how school is going.”
“That’s true. Sometimes you do ask me that. You did last month in fact.”
Sloane had the grace to look sheepish. “Has it been that bad?”
Clay shrugged. “I’m used to it.”
“I don’t mean to be so distant.”
“Don’t you?” Clay picked up a fork and began to toss it from hand to hand.
“No, I don’t. I’ve been… preoccupied. I haven’t meant to ignore you.”
“It seems to me that people always mean to act the way they do. I figured that out when I was about five and somebody apologized for spanking me. It could have been Willow, I don’t even remember. It was a woman. She said she didn’t mean it. She did. She enjoyed it. And you mean to be distant.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I’m not stupid, Sloane. I’m not a little kid either. I know what’s going on. I know you want me out of here.”
Sloane exhaled with force. “No, Clay… I—”
For the first time in a long time, Clay told the adult in charge what he wanted to tell him, not what that adult wanted to hear. “Stop lying to me! You don’t want me.” The fork clattered to the floor. “You haven’t wanted me from the first moment you found out you had a kid. You think you’re supposed to want me, so you try. Why don’t you just stop trying, Sloane? I don’t want you. I don’t need you!”
Sloane felt a surge of fury. He didn’t need this now. He wove his fingers together to keep from slapping Clay’s face. “I think you’d better go to your room,”
“If you recall, that was my idea in the first place.” Clay pushed back his chair and slammed it against the wall behind him. He was gone in a second.
Sloane shut his eyes. The momentary rage was gone. He sagged against his chair and wondered if it was humanly possible to feel any lower.
He had always thought he was a winner. Through sheer determination he had won his heart’s desire: freedom. Now freedom seemed a petty goal if it meant the absence of all the ties that made life worth living.
He got up and went back into the living room where he bent and stoked the fire. Then he returned to the chair where he had spent so much of the evening. He wasn’t a winner. Exactly the opposite. He had lost Elise; now he knew he had never even had Clay. He was a man alone.
How do you set things right when you’re incapable of communicating with the people you love most? He loved Clay, and yet somehow he had neglected to let Clay know. And Elise? Elise was gone, had been gone since September, and he had no idea where to find her. The past months he had been living in the middle of a nightmare.
In August, after a cocktail party where he had imbibed more than his usual limit, he had called her just to hear the sound of her voice. She had said nothing about leaving Miracle Springs, and of course, he hadn’t asked. Their call had been friendly and impersonal. He had hung up feeling lonelier than he could ever remember. He hadn’t wanted to repeat the experience, but he hadn’t wanted to lose touch with her either.
In September he had tried to call again, only by that time the phone was disconnected.
He had assumed the recorded message was simply a problem with the phone lines. Elise wouldn’t leave the town of her birth. He was as sure of that as he was of anything in the universe. But the next day he had gotten a chatty letter from his aunt containing all the news of Miracle Springs. The biggest story was Elise’s disappearance.
Evidently Lincoln Greeley, the high school principal, had known she was leaving because when the academic year started, there was a new teacher for tenth grade English. No one knew where she had gone or why, and Lincoln, a master of small-town politics, had refused to discuss the matter. All Lillian knew was that Elise’s house was up for sale and a nice young couple was probably going to buy it. Did Sloane know anything about it?
Sloane had gone through the month of September telling himself that when Elise wanted him to know where she was, she would tell him. At first he’d been pleased that she would spread her wings so mysteriously and fly away from everything that was familiar
and dear. He half expected her to land on his doorstep, and the thought gave him pleasure. He was beginning to admit just how much he missed her, beginning to realize what she added to his life—beginning to believe that there was hope for them after all. But by the end of September, he was beginning to worry.
Where was she? By mid-October he was frantic. He was working harder than he’d ever worked, writing, researching, teaching his classes, lecturing at nearby colleges and universities. All the work didn’t even begin to make a dent in his fears.
How could he ever have thought that he and Elise had no future together? Why hadn’t he told her he loved her?
Why hadn’t he realized he loved her?
He did. More than his freedom. More than his pride. More than his fears. He loved her. He wanted her. And for the first time he realized that this time his own fear had stood between them. He had been afraid to ask her to come. He had been so afraid that when he finally asked, at the very end of their time together, she couldn’t say yes without wondering how genuine the request was.
He had been afraid to tell her he loved her. He was a man, but he had acted like the boy who couldn’t wait to leave the town of his birth and its restrictions. He was a man, but he had acted like the boy who wanted to punish the girl who spoiled his grand escape.
He had been a fool.
By November, Sloane had humbled himself to the point of calling Bob Cargil and begging for information about Elise. Bob had refused to tell him anything. If it was possible to gloat over the telephone, Bob had done so. Still when Sloane hung up he’d realized that Bob didn’t know any more than he did.
Lincoln Greeley knew. Sloane called him, explained his desperation and pleaded for Lincoln’s help. With no explanation, Lincoln refused. He couldn’t be swayed. Elise’s realtor pleaded confidentiality and hung up on him.
Now it was December. Once, at the beginning of the month, a phone call had come late at night. Sloane had picked up the receiver and when he held it to his ear he could hear the peculiar crackle of a long-distance connection. There was no voice, only a click and then, later, the buzz of a dial tone. Every night now he waited for the phone to ring again. This time he would pick it up and call her name before she could hang up. He would make sure she knew he wanted her, needed her, loved her. Somehow he would make sure she knew that no matter what problems stood between them, he would find a way to make them all right.
If she didn’t call before vacation started, he would spend his holiday looking for her.
Right now though Sloane had a more immediate problem, and it stemmed from the same source. He had never had the courage to tell his son the one thing he needed to hear, just as he had never had the courage to tell Elise the same. It was time to make the final commitment to Clay.
Sloane stood and walked down the hallway to Clay’s room. He listened, undecided about how to approach the conversation that was long overdue. After a deep breath, he knocked on the door. “Clay? Will you come out here, please?”
There was a long interval. Sloane remembered well what it was like to be a teenager. He remembered the heady feeling of power that comes from knowing an adult is waiting for you. He was surprised it had taken Clay this long to learn the same thing. Finally the door swung open.
Clay lounged in the doorway, his eyes carefully veiled. He wondered what fancy language Sloane would couch his rejection in. What words would he use to rid himself of the son he had never wanted, the son who had finally told him exactly what he thought? If Clay knew one thing about adults, it was that they didn’t want to hear the truth. Sloane would not want to hear it again. Clay only hoped that when his father found another place for him, that place would be in Miracle Springs.
“I want to talk to you.” Sloane turned toward the living room, and Clay followed him. Sloane sat on the sofa and motioned for his son to join him. Clay sat on the far end.
“It’s very easy to misconstrue…” Sloane stopped. He realized just how stilted he sounded. Clay was trying to look stoic, but even in his own agony Sloane could see the vulnerability in his son’s eyes. He started again. “I’ve blown it.”
Clay just looked at him.
“Look Clay, I’ve been acting like a total jerk. It just never occurred to me that you’d think it had anything to do with you. I’m one hell of a lousy father.”
Clay’s eyes widened, and his expression encouraged Sloane.
“You see, I never had a father of my own. I never had anyone, really. My mother was always busy, distant. My aunts and uncles cared about me but they weren’t usually there when I needed them. I… well, I made it on my own. But I never learned how to tell people what I was feeling. I never learned to be a father either, and I don’t seem to have much talent.”
“What does this have to do with me?” Clay’s voice was still tinged with anger, but Sloane could also hear the hurt little boy, and he slid a little closer and touched him on the shoulder.
“I’ve been wrong about one thing. Very, very wrong. Right from the beginning. I’ve never told you the most important thing you can tell someone. I’ve never told you I love you. I do. I loved you the minute I set eyes on you.” He coughed to subdue the lump in his throat. “Every single day since I’ve been torn up inside thinking about all the time I’ve missed with you, thinking about how lonely you must have been, how lonely I was. I’ve tried to show you, but it hasn’t been good enough. You may not need me, Clay, but I need you. I want you in my life forever.”
Clay looked skeptical. Or was it that, having never been told he was loved, he didn’t know how to answer? Sloane didn’t know, but he did know that telling his son he loved him wasn’t enough. He slid closer until he was next to him. Then he put his arms around Clay in a powerful bear hug. “I mean every word of it,” he said, and he felt tears wet his cheeks. “And someday you’ll know I mean it.”
Clay sat in the circle of his father’s arms and wondered why he felt like he was going to cry too. He hadn’t cried since he was a small child. He felt Sloane tentatively stroke his hair and he marveled at how good it felt. Before he knew what he was doing, he was patting Sloane’s shoulder to comfort him.
“If you love me and you really want me here, then why have you been so awful to live with?” he asked after Sloane had drawn away a little
“I promise, it hasn’t had anything to do with you.”
“Do you need a refresher course on answering questions?” The insolence was gone. It was the voice of the boy Sloane had known in Miracle Springs, humorous, ingenuous.
He laughed a little, wiping away the tears that had felt so cleansing. “You want me to share my feelings with you?”
“Yeah. I could get to like it.”
“I’ll make a long story short. I’m upset about Elise.”
“Why? She sounds fine. She likes Atlanta; she likes her job.”
Sloane froze. “What?”
“It’s hard to tell the truth from letters, but I think she’s doing all right. She sounds a little lonely.”
“What are you saying?”
Clay frowned. “I can’t figure out why you’re worried. Did she tell you something she didn’t tell me?”
“She hasn’t told me anything! I didn’t know where she was! How do you know?”
“We’ve been writing since I left Miracle Springs. She sent me her new address when she moved. I just got a Christmas card from her yesterday.”
“Damn!” Sloane stood and began pacing the living room, pounding his fist into his hand. “All this time.”
“Too bad you didn’t tell me before.”
“Damn!”
Clay wondered just how far he could push Sloane. “See, if you’d told me, I could have saved you all this. I could have told you she’s in Atlanta working for some publishing company. I could have given you her address. I haven’t seen much of this love stuff but it does seem to me that if you love somebody you talk to them, tell them what’s worrying you.”
Sloane continued to pace. “Didn’t I already tell you I’d blown it? Obviously it was worse than I thought.”
“Well, why don’t you make a short story long?” Clay lounged back in his seat. “Tell me the rest.”
Sloane stopped pacing to shoot a grin at his son. He could almost see Clay relax under its power. “Do you really want to hear this?”
Clay nodded.
“All right, but it might take me awhile to get to the point. I’m still figuring it all out.”
“Make it up as you go along. I’ve got the time.”
Sloane began slowly. “Once upon a time there was a man, a hermit, who lived in a cave all by himself.”
“A bedtime story?” Clay interrupted. “Aren’t I a little old for that?”
“I missed all my other chances. I was cheated out of them. I’ll never forgive Destiny Ranch for that!”
Clay was surprised by the strength of his father’s words and the detour. “I was happy—”He stopped.
“Were you?” Sloane faced him.
“No.”
Sloane shut his eyes and nodded. “I know.”
Clay tried to be honest. He realized that Sloane actually wanted the truth. It was a new experience, but one Clay thought he was going to enjoy. “There were good things. I see the way kids are raised in other places, and what I had was better than a lot of that. Some of the people who came through the ranch were terrific. I learned so much from them. But I always missed,” his voice caught and he swallowed, “I always missed having someone who thought I was special enough to keep with them “
“I think you’re special enough.” Sloane opened his eyes. “You can do what you want, be who you want to be, but no matter what you do or who you are, you’re my son. That can’t change.”
Clay swallowed again. “Finish your story.”
Sloane nodded, knowing that Clay already had enough to contemplate. He began to pace again. “This hermit I was telling you about liked his cave. It was huge and warm and it had a picture window where he could watch the world go by. At night sometimes he’d sit by the fire and write down what he’d seen. He’d send off his writing, and people would read it. They liked what he had to say.”
“And then?”
“And then one day, the hermit was forced to go outside his cave. He didn’t want to go. He was happy being alone, at least he thought he was. Outside he found out that the real world, the one he thought he’d been writing about was a difficult place to be. One minute he’d feel happier than he’d known he could be, and the next minute he’d be in the depths of despair.”
“Sounds like a place I’ve been myself,” Clay said.
“Then you understand how this hermit felt.”
“Anyone who’s been there would.”
Sloane nodded. “It took this hermit a long time to adjust. He was so used to being alone he didn’t know what to say, what to do for other people. He didn’t realize he lacked courage, that was something he always accused other people of lacking. But the truth was that he was afraid of all those highs and lows. He kept a big part of himself away from the people he grew to love, just to play it safe. Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He returned to his cave.”
“But he wasn’t happy?”
“No, he wasn’t. Because you see, he’d changed. The picture window wasn’t big enough anymore. He could see but he couldn’t touch or smell or hear. In fact, he couldn’t hear at all; his cave was silent. So he tried to go back to the real world again, find the people he loved, but one of them was gone, and he couldn’t find the words to tell the other one what he was feeling.”
“So he ignored him.”
“Exactly.”
“And the one that was gone. Why did she go without telling the hermit where he could find her?”
“Because the hermit seemed like a hopeless case, I guess.”
“Was she right?”
“No.”
Clay smiled. “Then one day, the hermit found a map. At the very center of the map in a kingdom called Georgia was a big X. The hermit journeyed night and day until he reached the spot. There he found the treasure he’d been seeking.”
“Yes.”
“When are you going to leave?”
“As soon as you take off for Florida. With any luck, Elise and I’ll be joining you at Aunt Lillian’s for Christmas.”
“I don’t know. Elise may have too much sense to get mixed up with a hermit again.”
“You’re a rotten kid!” Sloane tempered his words by ruffling Clay’s hair. “My rotten kid, and don’t you ever forget it.”
Clay’s smile got bigger. “People don’t own people.”
“Don’t kid yourself. I’ve been owned body and soul for years, and I just figured it out. And you know what? It feels wonderful!”