The Clay Lion (15 page)

Branson shook his head, feigning utter
disbelief.  “Yeah, he doesn’t like you at all. 
Because
people who are mildly interested agree to dinner with parents on the second
date.
  You are a total nut job, as usual Sis,” he concluded.

I punched him hard in the arm.  “That’s for
being insensitive.  Now get out of here.  It’s late and I’m tired.”

“Better get your beauty sleep for lover boy
tomorrow,” he teased.

“Get out!” I exclaimed, throwing my pillow at his
head as he sprinted for the door.

“Night, Sis,” he called over his shoulder.

“Goodnight Branson,” I replied, too thrilled with
the events of the past 48 hours of my life to be genuinely upset at him. 
I assumed that as keyed up as I was that I would be unable to fall asleep
quickly, but peaceful slumber was soon upon me, and with it, another day.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

I awoke in the morning to glimmering sunlight streaming
through my window, as if Mother Nature was reflecting the joy I felt bursting
from every cell of my body.

I prepared for the onslaught of questioning that
was sure to greet me at the breakfast table, but my family was surprisingly
tight lipped.  Mother was going on about my father starting seedlings for
our spring garden and Branson’s nose was stuck in a particularly large book
about the Spanish inquisition.  I poured myself a cup of orange juice and
sat down with a banana.  After finishing the banana, I prepared an English
muffin complete with butter and strawberry jam, and still no one said
anything.  Finally, as I cleared my dishes and headed back upstairs, my
father broke off his conversation with Mom to call me back into the room.

“Mom tells me Charlie will be joining us for
dinner this afternoon,” he stated, not allowing his intonation to betray how he
felt about the turn of events.

“She said it was okay,” I countered defensively.

“No, it’s fine.  I’d like to get to know
this young man a little more,” he continued, a smile forming at the corners of
his mouth.

“Please be nice, Daddy,” I moaned.  “Don’t
scare him away.  Please!”

“Would I do that?” he responded.

“Yes!” my mother and Branson chimed in
simultaneously.

“Please Daddy?” I continued begging.

 “I will make sure your father is on his
best behavior, if he knows what’s good for him,” my mother said, smiling at my
father.

The high-pitched jingle of my phone interrupted
the conversation.  I stood frozen in place, not knowing if I was excused from
the discussion.  By the third ring, my father said, “It’s probably him,
perhaps you should answer it!”

I ran for my phone but by the time I answered it,
a missed call was registered on the screen.  It had been Sarah, likely
calling for the juicy details of my outing with Charlie.  I quickly
returned her call and gave her the Cliff’s Notes version of the evening as I
prepared myself for church.  As I was coming to the end of my summary, the
call waiting on the phone alerted me that Charlie was on the other line. 
I apologized and said a quick goodbye to an understanding Sarah before
switching over to Charlie’s call.

The sound of his voice on the other end of the
line still seemed unreal to me. 

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey.”

“I was just checking to make sure that your folks
said that it was okay if I came over for dinner this afternoon.”

“Yes.  They said it was fine,” I assured
him.  “They are excited to meet you.”

“Oh.  Okay.  Good,” he said.

“Good,” I said.

There was a long pause.

“And one more thing Brooke.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Well, I guess I just wanted to hear your voice
again this morning.  You know… make sure you were still real,” he
said.  “Is that totally weird?”

“Totally weird,” I replied.  “But I totally
get it.”

“Really?
  I feel like something magical is happening.  And what’s
worse, I don’t feel stupid for saying that out loud to you,” Charlie
said.  “You can’t let this side of me get out though, or all the ladies
will be asking me over for dinner with their parents.”

“It will be our secret,” I laughed.  “And
Charlie,” I added, “I feel that way too.”

“See
ya
at two,” he
ended.

“See
ya
at two,” I
replied. 

Church was ridiculously slow.  I tried
concentrating on the readings and the sermon, but in addition to the fact that
I had experienced the entire service twice before, I finally admitted to myself
that Charlie Johnson had infected my entire consciousness.  It was the
same as it had been when Branson died, only with Charlie, instead of
debilitating pain, there was absolute joy.  The agony of losing my brother
had been replaced with the delight of newfound love.  And there was little
else that was able to hold my attention.

Mercifully, two o’clock arrived, as did
Charlie.  I had been glancing out the window every two to three minutes
for half an hour by the time I caught a glimpse of his car pulling down the
drive.

“He’s here!” I yelled to anyone within
earshot.  “Please don’t scare him away!” I added.

Before the doorbell could ring, I threw myself
down the stairs in an attempt to get to Charlie first, but Branson had
positioned himself next to the door in the hopes of making his own
introductions.  He opened the door, revealing a casually yet respectfully
dressed Charlie, still sporting his same canvas coat.

“Hey Charlie.
  Come on in,” Branson motioned with his
hand. “I’m Branson, Brooke’s brother.”

“Good to meet you, Bro,” replied Charlie.

It was as if I was observing the scene in the
third person from a narrator’s point of view.  They were both there, two
boys who each held a place in my heart, meeting one another for the first
time.  I was reminded of the dream I had about the three of us together
during my previous trip.  I shook my head, suddenly afraid that I was
indeed still living within a dream.  I told myself that no, it was
real.  It was happening.  I forced myself to breathe.

Charlie noticed me standing halfway up the
staircase and a smile spread across his face.  “Hi you,” he said.

“Dinner in fifteen minutes,” my mother
called.  “Has Charlie arrived?” she added, emerging from the kitchen into
the foyer.  “Oh, I see he has!  Welcome Charlie!” she said, wiping
her hands on her apron and extending them towards her guest.

“Hello, Mrs. Wallace,” he said formally, shaking
her hand firmly.  “Thank you for allowing me to join you this afternoon.”

“It’s our pleasure Charlie.  Well,” she
added, turning back toward the kitchen, “you all have fifteen minutes and then
I’ll need some help serving.”

“The football
game’s
on,” Branson said to Charlie.  “Dad and I are watching in here if you want
to join us.”

Charlie looked to me for what appeared to be
approval.  “I’ll come too,” I laughed.

After my father and Charlie were reacquainted,
the boys quickly bonded over their mutual dislike of the opposing team’s
defensive line and what they considered to be poor officiating by the line
judges.  I sat beside Charlie on the aptly named loveseat, my father in
his recliner and Branson on the floor.  Charlie did not hesitate to reach
for my hand, casually taking it in his own, right in front of my father and
brother.  After several minutes, I announced that I was heading to the
kitchen to help Mother with the meal.  Charlie offered to assist me, but I
insisted that he stay to enjoy the game.

Entering the kitchen, my mother was busily
carving the roast.  She stopped immediately as I entered the room.

“He’s adorable,” she gushed.

“Ugh, Mom,” I groaned.

“Good manners, dressed appropriately, clean
shaven.  He seems real nice, Brooke,” she added.

“He is Mom.”

She patted me on the shoulder.  “Well, now, if
you can get the green beans in a bowl and pull the rolls out of the oven, I’ll
get the rest.  And tell Branson he needs to get drinks for everyone. 
I made some tea if anyone wants some.”

I returned to the family room where all three men
were yelling at the screen, enraged by a sack that resulted in a fumble and a
turnover.

“Dinner’s ready,” I called above the din. 
“And Branson, Mom said to get drinks.”

Ten minutes passed before my mother and I were
able to persuade the boys to turn off the game and join us in the dining
room.  I spent the first half of the meal unable to eat, merely pushing
food around the plate, fearing that my father was going to derail my blossoming
romance with some embarrassing comment.  Charlie, on the other hand, seemed
to be taking the entire situation in stride, complimenting my mother’s cooking,
commenting on the artwork on the walls, and even having a full conversation
with Branson about the many torturing techniques of the Spanish
inquisition.  Finally, as the rest of the party was finishing, I gobbled
down the food on my plate.

“Will you be able to stay for a while and join us
for some dessert a little later on?” my mother asked expectantly.

“Yeah, at least stay and watch the rest of the
game,” Branson encouraged.

“Sure,” Charlie readily agreed.  “My mom and
Melody are at a dance recital all weekend, so I am on my own.”

Charlie stood from his chair and began to clear
the dishes from the table. 

“Charlie!” exclaimed my mother. 
“Absolutely not!
  You are our guest and I will not have
you doing chores.”

“I disagree, Mrs. Wallace,” Charlie
replied.  “You already prepared this wonderful meal for all of us, and so
you should be the one relaxing.  Let Brooke and I take care of cleaning up
and you go put your feet up in the family room.”

“Yeah, Mom.
  It’s fine.  We’ve got this,” I agreed.

 She caught my eye from across the table and
beamed with delight.

Alone at last in the quiet of the kitchen,
Charlie seized his opportunity to catch me in his embrace.  He took me by
the waist, bringing me close, only inches from his chest.  As he had the
night before, he gently placed my chin in his hand and tilted my face up
towards his own.  Slowly, cautiously, he brought his lips to mine. 
The kiss was moist and soft and tasted sweetly of butter.  When at last he
withdrew, I found myself holding steadily to his arm, lest my legs give way
beneath me.

“Your mom is a good cook,” he whispered.

“Taught her everything I know,” I replied.

He laughed aloud.  Then he stopped himself, feigning
seriousness and said, “As much as I’d love to stand here and make out all day,
these dishes are not going to wash
themselves
, so we
better get to it.” 

I saluted him.  “Yes, Drill Sergeant.”

It took us the better part of thirty minutes to
wrap the leftovers and clean the pots and pans.  Mother insisted that we
prepare a plate of food for Charlie to take with him.  It felt strangely
natural to be engaging in domestic chores with him and our conversation flowed
easily.

“When did you start swimming?” I asked, scraping
a plate into the compost.

“Before I could walk,” he laughed. 
“No, not that early.
  But I don’t remember learning, so
I was little.  What about you?”

“I’m not a great swimmer,” I admitted. 
“Branson and I would swim in the lake during the summer, but I’ve never had
lessons.  A couple times we got invited to friends’ birthday parties at
the pool, but we could never afford a membership growing up.”

“It sounds like I need to get you to the country
club and we need to work together on your technique,” he teased.

“The country club, huh?” I laughed.  “Sure
they’ll let someone from my side of the tracks in?”

“I’ll sneak you in the back door,” Charlie
whispered, pulling me close again as we finished drying the last pan.

Suddenly he spoke, as if hit by a burst of
inspiration.  “Swim championships are this week.  I’d love for you to
come and see me swim.  Would you?” he asked, his voice heavy with
anticipation.  “You should bring Branson with you, and you can sit with my
mom and Melody,” he added, as if sensing my anxiety at being out of my comfort
zone.

His eyes pleaded with me and I happily
agreed.  “I think Branson would love that.  And me too,” I added.

With that, a cheer erupted from the family
room.  A look of excitement passed across Charlie’s face.

“Go!” I said, smiling at his inability to
suppress his desires.  “We’re almost finished.  I’ll be in in a
minute.”