Page 84 of Always to Remember
She placed her hand over his, and Clay thought she meant to squeeze it, but her touch felt more like a shadow passing in the night. “You make my son pay you for it.”
Clay felt the tears sting his eyes and burn down his throat. “No, ma’am. You always treated me like one of your own. I consider it an honor. …” He squeezed his eyes shut to stay the tears. “I won’t do it for money.”
Her fingers slipped from his hand. “I’m tired now. Meg, give this boy some pie before he goes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Clay picked the Bible off the bed and set it on the table beside her bed. He stood, leaned over, and placed a kiss on the wrinkled brow. “I love you, Mama Warner.”
“Love you, too, Clayton,” she whispered without opening her eyes.
Straightening, he watched her drift into sleep.
Meg lifted the lamp off the table. “Come on,” she said in a low voice.
Clay followed her to the kitchen, a kitchen he’d visited many times in his youth. It smelled of flour, cinnamon, and sugar. It smelled of Mama Warner even though she’d probably not entered the room in a good long while. He thought she’d spent so many years in this room that it would always carry a part of her with it. Just like his life. She’d always be there, in his heart, even after she left this world.
Meg walked to the table. Clay walked to the door and stopped, turning his hat in his hands. “I won’t be staying.”
She turned her head quickly, the knife she’d picked up hovering over the pie. “But Mama Warner wanted you to have some pie.”
“You can tell her I did. Tell her I enjoyed it.” He settled his hat on his head and reached for the door.
“But she wanted you to stay for a while.”
He studied the glass doorknob, remembering the day that several such knobs had arrived. He and Kirk had helped Mr. Warner put them on the doors. They’d given one to Clay, and he’d taken it to his mother—something fancy for her house. She’d put it on her front door so it could greet her guests. He wrapped his hand around the knob. “I’m not up to dealing with your hatred this evening, Meg.”
“Please stay,” she whispered, a slight tremor in her voice. “It’s pecan.”
He glanced over his shoulder. She looked vulnerable and so damned tired. She’d been honest in the beginning about her feelings and how she would treat him in town. It was unreasonable to think a couple of kisses could destroy a wall built on a foundation of hatred. Reluctantly, he nodded. “One piece.”
She turned her attention back to her task. “Would you like some coffee?”
Placing his hat on the table, he sat in the chair. “Buttermilk, if you got it.”
She set the plate and glass before him.
“You gonna join me?” he asked.
“I’d rather just watch.”
“I don’t like being watched. I get enough of that in town.” Ignoring the fork she’d set before him, he picked up the piece of pie and took a healthy bite. While he chewed, she pressed her finger to the plate, picked up a crumb, and carried it to her mouth. With great difficulty, he swallowed. He was jealous of a damn crumb because it had touched her lips.
He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I was concerned when you didn’t come to watch me work. I thought … I don’t know … I just thought …”
“What did you think?” she asked softly, holding his gaze.
He returned the pie to his plate before the sweat on his fingers made it any soggier. “I thought maybe the kiss upset you.”
He brought the glass to his lips, drinking deeply, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
Briefly, she placed her finger against the corner of his mouth. “You missed some.”
In awe, he watched as the white liquid on her finger disappeared into her mouth, and he wondered if she had any notion what her actions did to his insides.
Smiling softly, she placed her hand over his. “I never much liked buttermilk before.”
He turned his palm up and laced his fingers through hers. “Actually, I did miss having you watch me work this week.” He touched his other hand to her cheek. “I thought about you a lot, about that kiss. I wish to God you’d slapped me.”
