The Clay Lion (18 page)

“It’s okay Brooke.  I have wonderful
parents.  I just wonder why they’ve never been able to tell me the truth,
assuming that is the truth.  I’m eighteen years old.  I figure if
they were going to tell me, they’d have done it by now.”

“Maybe there are circumstances that are messy or
something that would be painful to you.  More painful than being adopted,
I mean.  I’m sure they are only doing what they think is best for you.”

“I know.  That’s why I’ve given up
asking.  But maybe someday, it would be nice to know the truth.”

“I can see that.”

“You know what?” he asked, holding me at arms’
length, “I’ve never told anyone that before. 
About
maybe being adopted.”

“Well, your secret’s safe with me.  I am a
superhero after all,” I said coyly, turning back to the pizza bites.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
T
WO

January rolled into February and my relationship
with Charlie developed into a genuine love affair.  We spent most of our
free time together and, although Charlie had become a fixture at my house, I
had spent very little time getting to know his family.  I was initially
thrilled when he invited me to his Grandmother’s eightieth birthday party at
the country club.  However, as the date approached, I became anxious
knowing that I would be on display, not only for his immediate family, but for
countless extended family members as well.  And with Charlie’s father
being the senator, there was the chance that the paparazzi would make an
appearance.

Sarah and I spent the day before scouring the
mall for the perfect attire.  She convinced me that a simple empire waist
dress with a sweetheart neckline was a flawless look for an eightieth birthday
celebration.  It was a deep plum color, which she assured me would make my
hazel eyes pop.  I worried that I was overdressed until Charlie arrived
wearing a grey tweed suit and tie. 

“I don’t know how I like you better,” I commented
as he helped me with my coat, “all dressed up like this or in that little
racing suit of yours.”

“Very funny,” he replied as we walked to the car,
“maybe I have the suit on underneath.”

“That sounds like an invitation to me,” I said
wrapping my arms around his waist.

 “You, Madame, must be on your best
behavior,” Charlie scolded, kissing me on the nose.

“Aren’t I always?” I said smiling as I slid into
the passenger’s seat.

We drove fifteen miles to the west side of town
where the Mountain View Country Club was located.  Charlie, of course, had
eaten many meals there over the years, but the occasion marked a first for
me.  I would also be meeting his father for the first time.  Charlie
sensed my apprehension.

“You look amazing,” he said reassuringly as we
pulled into the parking lot.

“Thank you,” I said, “but I don’t feel
amazing.  I think I might throw up.”

“Why are you nervous?  They’re going to love
you. 
Just like I do.”

I held my breath and allowed myself to repeat his
words over again in my head. 

“What did you just say?”

Charlie turned to face me straight on and took my
hands in his.  “I love you,” he said. 

“That’s what I thought you said,” I laughed.

“And that’s funny?” he countered, openly
dejected.

“No,” I admonished him, leaning across the
console so that I could kiss him firmly on the lips.  “I think it’s a
miracle.  And do you know what?” I asked seriously.

“What?”

“I’ve loved you longer than you’ve loved me.”

“Oh really,” he said, pulling me across the car
and into his lap.

“Yes really.”

“And when was that?  When did you start
loving me?”

I thought momentarily about telling him the
truth. 
Telling him about my trips.
  About
the first time I saw him from afar across the vacant lot and knew instinctively
that he was someone I could love.

“I can’t tell you now.  But I will,
someday,” I promised, winking at him.

“I look forward to that.  But now, my lady,”
he paused dramatically, “we have an entrance to make.”

I carefully maneuvered myself back into the
passenger’s side of the car and waited for him to come around to open the door
for me.  He took my hand, helping me carefully make my way across the icy
parking lot in my heels.

The main dining room was lavishly decorated in
silver drapery and crystal adornments.  Most of Charlie’s family had
already arrived, some from out of state, and all eyes turned toward us as we
entered the room.  I quickly spotted Charlie’s mother and Melody sitting
with his father, who until that moment I had only seen in photographs. 
Melody waved frantically in our direction and I returned her enthusiasm. 
Instead of heading in their direction, Charlie led me to the other end of the
dining room, where an elderly woman was seated prominently at the head of the
table.  She wore a lavender chiffon dress and tiny bauble earrings that
dangled daintily from her earlobes.  He greeted her warmly with a hug.

“Happy birthday, Nana,” said Charlie, leaning
down to speak into her ear.  And then, placing my hand in hers he
continued, “This is Brooke.  She’s the girl I was telling you about.”

“Purple is my favorite color,” she said squeezing
my hand.  I made a mental note to thank Sarah for choosing my purple
dress.  “Mine too,” I said.  “I’m very pleased to meet you Mrs.
Johnson.”

“Charlie’s told me so much about you.  And
please, call me Nana.”

It was flattering to know that Charlie spoke
highly of me to his grandmother.  I turned to face him.  He was
beaming with pride.

“Well, Nana, thank you so much for allowing me to
be a part of your special day. 
And happy birthday!”
I said.

“Make sure you have a piece of cake,” she
whispered to me, as if it were a secret. “It’s my own recipe.”

“We will Nana,” Charlie agreed.  “We’re
going to go sit with Mom and Dad.  We’ll be back a little later.”

We made our way across the room, maneuvering
carefully through tables, chairs, and family members chatting together in quiet
groups.  As we approached Charlie’s parents, he squeezed my hand tightly,
and I wondered if the action was for my benefit or for his own.  I
squeezed back in a silent show of solidarity.

Melody ran immediately to greet me with a
hug.  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said.  “All these grown-ups are
boring!”

I smiled at her, returning the hug. 

“Will you sit next to me at dinner?” she asked.

“Of course,” I replied.  “And I think I have
a pen in my purse, so maybe we can play hangman while we wait for dinner to be
served.”

While I was speaking with Melody, Charlie greeted
his father with a handshake and spoke so quietly that I was unable to make out
what was being said between them.  At last, Charlie turned to me and made
the introduction I had been waiting for.

“Father,” he said, with a tone I had never heard
him use, “I would like you to meet Brooke Wallace.”

Phil Johnson extended his hand and took mine,
shaking it firmly, saying, “Miss Wallace, the pleasure is all mine.  We
are so pleased that you could join us today.  Please make yourself
comfortable and let us know if there is anything you need.”

“Thank you, sir,” I replied, unable to think of
anything more suitable to say.

Charlie and I made our way to the other side of
our table, where I sat between Melody and Charlie, opposite his parents. 
My nerves had returned after the contrived greeting I received from Mr.
Johnson.  I tried to console myself with the knowledge that he was a
politician and was used to speaking formally, keeping his emotions
reserved.  I suddenly felt a pang of sadness for Charlie, realizing how
difficult it would be to have a man like that for a father.  Someone who
kept every part of his persona carefully arranged for the world to see. 

As if a veil was being lifted, I was suddenly
aware of why Charlie enjoyed spending time in my home with my family.  I
remembered how quickly he took to my father, watching sports on TV and throwing
the football in the yard with him and Branson.  Charlie’s father was not
only physically absent while serving in the legislature, but emotionally at
arm’s length when at home.  I discreetly placed my hand on Charlie’s knee
and squeezed firmly, eliciting the same response from him.  I turned to
look at him, look
into
him, and when I did, I could see the sadness, but
also the joy.  I was the joy.  In that moment, the rest of the world melted
away.

After my revelation regarding Charlie’s father, I
was finally able to relax and enjoy the party.  Lunch, which consisted of
prime rib, stuffed flounder, roasted asparagus, and parsley potatoes, was in a
word, delicious.  Nana opened her many presents, gushing over the charm
bracelet Charlie presented to her.  Only as she read the card aloud did I
realize that Charlie had signed my name to the gift as well.  His
thoughtfulness had no end.  After Nana blew out all eighty candles on the
cake, the dance floor was revealed and Charlie took my hand to escort me into
the center of the room.  He gently slipped his free hand into the small of
my back and led me gracefully around the floor.  I wondered silently if
there was anything that Charlie could not do. 

It was not long before our coats were brought
from the check room and Charlie and I said our goodbyes to his many family
members.  As we met with Nana for the last time, she took my arm and
pulled me close so that she could whisper into my ear once again.

“He looks at you the way my Harvey looked at
me.  Take care of one another,” she advised.

“We will, Nana,” I promised.

The ride back across town was quiet. 
Charlie seemed strangely introspective.

“Penny for your thoughts,” I inquired.

“I meant what I said,” he said, taking his eyes
off the road to gauge my reaction.

“Me too,” I said, knowing immediately that he was
referring to his declaration of love for me.

“You said it was a miracle.  What did you
mean by that?”

“Isn’t all
love
a
miracle?” I asked.  “It’s a gift from God, don’t you think?  The fact
that we walked into one another’s lives was a gift we were given.  We
didn’t have to fall in love, but we did.  And that’s the miracle.”

“You’re one special girl, Brooke Wallace,” he
said.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” I replied, grinning at
our private joke.

We pulled into my driveway and, after securing
the car in park, Charlie leaned over to kiss me passionately before saying
goodbye. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said finally. 
“Maybe you and Branson and I can go for a hike into the valley.”

“I’d love that,” I said.

Once inside the house, I headed directly to my
room to take off the heels and party dress that were cutting off my circulation
in all the wrong places.  I heard music coming from Branson’s room,
alerting me to the fact that he had returned from bowling with Chad.  I
was pulling my favorite sweatshirt over my head when I heard it.  Branson
coughed.  I ran to my tablet that was sitting on my desk to check the
date.  It was Saturday, February 27 and in the previous two timelines we
had gone bowling together.  I was devastated to learn that even though we
had been apart for the day, like clockwork, Branson’s cough had returned. 
My descent into Dante’s Inferno began again.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
T
HREE

Facing Branson’s death for a third time was
completely different from the prior occasions.  During both previous
experiences, I carried a gift along with me.  As I was living out the
nightmare each time, I had been completely unaware of the gift.  I was
also ignorant of the effect this gift had on my ability to continue from day to
day as a mentor to Branson throughout his illness.  However, now that I
was facing his death without the gift, I was painfully aware that it was gone
and I struggled daily to persevere.

The gift I lost was hope.

During the original timeline, Branson’s illness
progressed slowly, and for the first several months, we had hope that he would
get better as we were ignorant of the final diagnosis.  It was only at the
end that my family was forced to face the reality of his death.  When I
returned and subsequently failed to save Branson using my first trip, I found
hope in returning for a second time to finish what I had started.  Knowing
there was still a chance to save him allowed me to find solace during our final
weeks together.