Patricia Davids - A Family for Thanksgiving

It was the look of compassion in her eyes and the tone of her voice more than her words that gave him a sliver of hope. She remembered.

Nicki had been his sounding board during his last year of high school. She knew that he and his brother didn’t see eye to eye on anything. She’d been a good friend. He let her down—the way he’d let everyone down.

“I’m not sure Jesse and I’ll ever reconcile. He blames me for Mom and Dad’s death.”

“Not as much as you blame yourself.”

She’d always been good at reading him. Clay swallowed hard as old emotions threatened to swamp him. It had been his fault. Nothing would change that fact.

“You can shop all day for another guilty party, but you won’t find one. It was my idea to climb up and spray-paint graffiti on the Alma water tower that night, a stupid, dangerous stunt if there ever was one. I was the one who got arrested. I was one who called Dad to come bail me out.”

He swallowed hard against the pain of those memories. “If I hadn’t done it, Dad and Mom wouldn’t have been in the car when that semi crossed the center line. We’d still have parents, and Jesse and Maya wouldn’t hate my guts.”

“They don’t hate you, Clay. You’re their brother.”

“Okay, maybe Maya doesn’t, she always was the peacekeeper in the family. But Jesse hates me.”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“I’ve talked to him on the phone once since I left. He told me his wife had been killed, then he told me not to come home. It was pretty clear. I’m not welcome.”

She looked down, as if at a loss for words. Clay studied her face. He’d dreamed of her so often that he thought he knew her every feature by heart. He remembered the face of a girl. The woman standing in front of him had a quiet strength about her that was new. She’d matured, grown more beautiful—if that was possible.

The blustery wind put color in her cheeks. A cluster of curls from her shoulder-length hair blew across her full lips. She used one hand to drag her hair back and tuck it behind her ear. It was a gesture she used to use just before she gave him one of her shy, sweet smiles. Seeing it brought a flood of memories.

The two of them studying before the big algebra test, finding the courage to ask her to the dance, walking with her in the moonlight.

Now that he was with her again he knew those memories would never be enough. He wanted new ones. He wanted to get to know this new woman all over again.

When she looked up he saw deep indecision written clearly on her features. “I really do need to get going, Clay.”

He didn’t want to see her go, but didn’t know how to stop her from leaving. The irony of it wasn’t lost on him. He was good at leaving, not at staying.

God, I believe You brought me home for a reason. Show me what it is.

He nodded and smiled politely. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

He’d make sure of it.

A ghost of a smile curled the corner of her lips. “It’s a small town.”

“Smaller than it used to be.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s the sad truth.”

Sorry for his insensitive remark, he quickly added, “The people here know how to survive. My granddad told me the place was nearly wiped off the map just a few years after it was founded.”

“Yes. I know the story. It’s been repeated a lot lately.”

He followed her gaze across the road to where the shell of the rebuilt Old Town Hall stood out like a sore thumb, all glaring new plywood and silver sheets of insulation. It was clear the town had copied the size and style of the old structure.

Glancing westward, he saw the church had survived intact. The sturdy, square white building was another relic of High Plains history. Its row of arched windows had looked upon the town’s growth from a simple frontier mill town to a bustling city of more than three thousand residents.

Clay said, “I understand their need to replace that special part of their heritage.”

“Our heritage,” she said quietly. “It’s your home, too.”

His eyes locked with hers. Time stood still. It would only be home if he could find a way to earn back her friendship and her trust along with that of his brother and sister.

From down the street, someone called Nicki’s name breaking the connection between them. He looked over her shoulder to see her mother coming toward them. Glenis Appleton was pushing a dark blue stroller with a bright-eyed toddler in it. Since the tyke looked like it had been swallowed alive by a hooded pink coat, Clay assumed it was a little girl.

Slightly breathless, Glenis stopped beside Nicki. “We finished early so we thought we’d met you halfway.”

Stooping to the child’s level, Nicki asked, “Did you have fun at Nana’s quilting class?”

The little girl kicked her feet and jabbered with excitement.

Grinning, Glenis said, “She slept through the whole thing.”

Nicki rose. “Thanks for taking her this afternoon. Mom, you remember Clay Logan, don’t you?”

To say Nicki’s mother looked stunned was putting it mildly.

Clay raised two fingers to touch the brim of his hat. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Appleton.”

As Glenis glanced between Clay and Nicki, her expression hardened. “I didn’t know you were back in town, Clay.”

“I just got in.”

“I see.” Her gaze switched to Nicki. “You should get Kasey out of this cold wind.”

“You’re right.” Nicki accepted the stroller handles from her mother.

Her daughter eyed Clay seriously for a few seconds, then her round little face broke into a wide grin. She raised her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Hi. Hi.”

Squatting in front of child, Clay reached in and flicked her nose. “Hi, yourself, sugar face.”

Nicki pulled the stroller back a pace. “Come on, honey, let’s get you home. Clay, it was nice seeing you again. Have a good visit.”

Clay rose slowly and stood on the sidewalk staring after them as they walked away. His hopes, like the gazebo where he’d once kissed Nicki, had been reduced to ruins in a matter of seconds.

She had a child. He was too late.

Over the years Clay had considered the possibility that Nicki would find someone else. Sometimes, he even hoped that she’d found someone to love her as she deserved to be loved. But to see it—to know for certain she loved another man—cut deeper than he had imagined possible.

Nicki had gone on with her life. He hadn’t.

Racing to her rescue had seemed like a good idea five days ago. As it turned out, he was years too late. She didn’t need rescuing. Even the town he wanted to help rebuild was well on the way to recovery. He’d driven thousands of miles to discover no one needed him.

He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. So what now?

Leave again? And go where? He’d been north, south, east and west of Kansas. What good had it done him? He might pretend he was a carefree cowboy, but the specter of his failures followed him wherever he traveled.

He’d made so many mistakes. Each one led to another and another until it seemed like his whole life had been one long string of screwups. Just as Jesse had predicted.

Give me a clue here, God. What am I supposed to do?

Somehow, Clay knew he needed to start over, to find what had been missing in his life. As much as he’d wanted that to be Nicki, it wasn’t going to happen.

The knowledge was more depressing than the ruins of the town.

Nicki stopped at her front steps and lifted Kasey out of her stroller. Her mother folded the carrier and followed Nicki into the house.

Sitting on the camel-colored sofa, Nicki divested Kasey of her plush coat and mittens and waited for her mother to make some comment about Clay. She didn’t have long to wait.