Page 85 of Always to Remember
“I wish I’d slapped you, too.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You wouldn’t even look at me today.”
“I was afraid if I did, people would see how glad I was that you walked over.”
“Would that have been so bad?”
She squeezed his fingers. “I’m not up to explaining to the people of this town or to my family what I feel for you. I can’t even explain it to myself.”
The kitchen door burst open, and Meg jumped to her feet. “Robert.”
“What the hell’s going on here, Meg?”
Clay shoved away from the table and stood.
“Mama Warner wanted to see him about a marker.”
“She seen him?”
She angled her chin. “Yes. She wanted him to have a piece of pie for his trouble.”
Clay felt as though he were a damn dog sitting under the table waiting for a morsel of conversation to be tossed his way. He placed his hat on his head and brought the brim down low. “I’ll be leaving now.” He walked to the door. “It’s good to see you, Robert.”
Robert stepped aside. “My uncle would rather not see your shadow crossing this threshold.”
“I’m sure that’s true, but if your grandmother asks to see me again, only a bullet will stop me from coming into this house.”
Maybe it was crazy for a lonely man to want to be alone, but Clay hadn’t wanted the company of his brothers after visiting with Mama Warner.
He stared at the swimming hole. No ripple disturbed the dark water, which resembled a mirror reflecting the pale light of the moon. During moments like this, Clay wished he were a painter.
Stone captured a strength that wasn’t always there. Stone contained no softness. Over the years, it had roughened his hands. He wished it had roughened his heart.
“I thought I’d find you here,” a voice as soft as silk whispered through the night.
Clay turned from the water and leaned against the boulder. Pressing his boot heel against a worn spot in the rock, making his knee jut out, he fought to appear calm.
Meg walked to the boulder and gazed at the pond. “It occurred to me that you lied to me,” she said softly.
“When?”
“When I asked you what Kirk looked like the last time you saw him.”
“That’s not the question I answered. You changed the question and asked what he looked like when he brought me the letters. I told you.”
She placed her hand over his where it rested on the boulder. “What did he look like the last time you saw him?”
Turning his palm up, he squeezed her hand. “Don’t do this.”
She tilted her face toward him, her eyes filled with tears that made them seem as deep as the water on the other side of the boulder. “Ah, Meg.”
Moving around his knee until she was nestled between his thighs, she placed her cheek against his chest. “What did he look like?”
Clay brought his arms around her. She was so small. He didn’t think he’d ever realized how small she was. “He looked …"—closing his eyes, he swallowed, swallowed the truth—"he just looked as though he’d fallen asleep.”
