A Straw Man (The Clay Lion Series Book 3) Page 6

  “Please, Mom. He’s gone. Don’t speak ill of the dead.”

  Grandma laughed in a way that made the hair on my arms stand on end. “Oh I’ll speak ill, alright. I can’t believe after all he did that you continue to defend him.”

  The dishwasher door slammed shut, rattling the silverware inside.

  “I’m not defending him, Mother! I’m as upset about it as you are. Even more so. But what am I to do about it now? My marriage was built on a lie. My husband used a woman to win an election, got her pregnant, and fooled me into raising his illegitimate son.” Her voice rose to a frenzied pitch and, realizing her mistake, she lowered it again to just above a whisper. I strained to hear the rest of the conversation.

  “It does me no good to dwell in the past. Regardless of how it happened and despite his shortcomings as a man, Phil blessed my life with two beautiful children. Charlie is still my son and he will always be my son. The bottom line is that the joy he and Melody have given me far outweigh the pain of Phil’s betrayal. I’ve come to terms with that and I’ve found peace. I wish to God you would just let this go.” She sighed heavily and I heard the kitchen chair creak beneath her weight as she returned to her seat at the table. “Please.”

  “I just feel so awful for you, but I will try.”

  When neither spoke for several minutes, I escaped unnoticed to my bedroom. Fueled by the truth, hidden no longer, a small ember of anger which had been smoldering since my father’s passing began to burn in earnest.

  Even when he traveled to DC, my father always kept close tabs on his perfect nuclear family. There was a code of conduct we were to abide by and a standard of behavior and dress we were required to maintain. It was expected that we would excel at academics and participate as civic leaders, even if it was only just for show. When he died, all of those expectations suddenly fell away, and we were released from our proverbial cage.

  While my mom enjoyed her new life full of freedom and ambition, I stayed behind, struggling to come to terms with the truth about my dad. When I finally unstuck myself and consciously rejoined the world, I spent my sophomore year of high school exploring the facets of life I hadn’t even known existed while he was alive. With Mom off pursuing her own agenda, there was no one checking to be sure I was completing homework assignments or studying or attending classes.

  And so I simply stopped, because for the first time in my life, I could.

  I only did things that made me happy, or at least things I thought would make me happy. I neglected schoolwork and healthy relationships and my responsibilities. I started drinking. Smoking pot. I found myself partying with new friends in the middle of the night, scurrying like field mice out basement windows and back doors when police arrived. There were keggers. There were benders.

  And all the while, there was the fear that no one cared.

  When my grades started to reflect my new lifestyle, mom realized that maybe freedom at fifteen looked entirely different from freedom at 47. That perhaps I wasn’t ready to make decisions for myself. At least not the big ones.

  Outwardly, I fought her attempts to rein me in. When she reinstated my father’s rules about curfews and mandatory homework checks, I blew up at her. I cursed. I slammed doors and threw dishes at her head. I complained to anyone who would listen about how unfairly I was being treated and how difficult my life had become. And I continued to do exactly what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it. My mom was at her wits end.

  And then one day Charlie came home.

  The birds were just waking up when I stumbled through the porch slider the Saturday morning before Easter. He was there, asleep on the family room sectional with a knitted afghan across his legs and a book fanned open on his chest. In my inebriated state his presence took me by surprise and I cried out, thinking he was an intruder.

  “Melody? Is that you?” he called into the dim light of morning.

  I froze in place. “Yes,” I replied.

  He hesitated, waiting for me to acknowledge why he was there. His features were indistinguishable but I was keenly aware that he knew where I’d been and what I was doing. My soul bore the weight of his disappointment without him uttering another word.

  “Charlie,” I whispered at last, “I’m so sorry.”

  Graciously, my brother made arrangements with his job to work remotely until the end of the school year so he could be more present in my life. He blamed himself unnecessarily for my behavior, which pained me to no end. I knew I’d been acting like a spoiled brat and couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing him further. He was unable to mask his displeasure and regret when I approached him with my third quarter grades. And although my GPA had plummeted to abysmal lows, he assured me that all was not lost as he cheerfully sat in on my teacher conference to discuss what could be done.

  With his help and the assistance of a tutor, I was able to finish out my sophomore year with a passing average. I made amends with the old friends I’d forsaken who mercifully accepted me back into their fold.

  Most importantly, I confided in Charlie about the conversation I overheard concerning my dad, and when I told him what I’d discovered, he broke down in tears.

  “I never wanted to keep secrets from you, Mel,” he said. “I know what it means to be lied to, but I couldn’t stand the thought of being the one to taint your memories of him. I didn’t have it in me I guess. Please don’t be angry.”

  He was easily forgiven since there was no doubt in my mind that his intentions were pure. With my mom’s approval, he encouraged me to resume the weekly appointments with Dr. Richmond I’d abandoned in exchange for my path of destruction. He helped me to explore my feelings regarding my father, and discussed why I acted out instead of choosing a healthier outlet for my pain and confusion. After several weeks, the raging fire inside me was reduced to smoldering ashes.

  Back on the straight and narrow, I became my own parole officer and task master, resolved to graduate with a respectable average. I focused solely on schoolwork for the remainder of my high school career, neglecting most friendships and would-be suitors. I was determined not to let a season of poor decisions keep me from my life’s goals. The day my acceptance letter arrived from UVA, I finally exhaled. Everything was going to be okay.

  I considered myself lucky, realizing the error of my ways before destroying my life. Unfortunately, instead of solving my problems by finding balance between the two worlds, I’d simply reverted back to what I knew.

  Structure. Order. Routine.

  And then, as fate would have it, Nate walked into my life before classes even began, testing the limits of my firmly established boundaries. He’d been testing them ever since.

  C HAPTER TWELVE

  SPRING SEMESTER - FIRST YEAR

  Nate pulled the car onto a gravel drive in an unfamiliar area off the interstate. There was a large sign at the entrance to the road that read “VSA.”

  “We’re here!” he announced, the air around him pulsing with excitement.

  “Fabulous,” I said dryly, making a great show of rolling my eyes as he pulled in front of a large building which appeared to be some sort of hangar. “If only I knew where ‘here’ was.”

  After parking the car, Nate glanced nervously at his watch and then at me. “We only have a couple minutes until our scheduled time. Now if you’re scared or don’t want to do it, I completely understand and I won’t be upset. I promise. But I want you to at least take the preparation class and see what you think at the end before you make your final decision, okay?”

  I was beginning to wonder if he was losing his mind. Had he forgotten that I still had no idea where we were or what we were doing?

  “I’d be happy to make a decision if you would share with me what we’re doing here! Is this some kind of airport?”

  “Yeah. Sort of.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped outside, but when I didn’t follow him, he leaned back in to encourage me out of the car. “Come on. They’re waiting for us.”

  As e
xasperated as I was curious, I trailed behind him into the hangar where there were a handful of men milling about. One of them turned to greet us as we entered.

  “You must be Nate,” he called, crossing the expanse in great strides. “I’m glad you found us! I’m Paul. We spoke on the phone last week.”

  “Oh, hey,” Nate replied, taking his hand, “it’s nice to meet you.”

  “And this,” he said, turning to me, “must be Melody. It’s nice to meet you too.”

  Paul appeared to be in his mid-40s and was at least as big as Nate, if not bigger. He looked down at me with the mischievous grin of a schoolboy. His handshake was painfully firm and I was glad when he released his grip and returned his attention to Nate.

  “Are you guys ready to get started?”

  I glared up at Nate and crossed my arms across my chest. I was done being kept in the dark. Enough was enough.

  “Get started with what?” I asked.

  A deliberate look passed between Paul and Nate.

  “You decided to keep it a secret after all,” Paul laughed, nudging Nate playfully on the shoulder. “That was a bold move.”

  Nate tousled my hair as if I was a golden retriever. “She can handle it. She loves surprises.”

  I threw his hand off my head and grabbed the front of his shirt. I was losing my patience and my sense of humor.

  “Just tell me what we’re doing, Nate, or so help me, I will…”

  “We’re going skydiving,” he interrupted. “I thought for sure you’d have figured it out by now.”

  I suddenly noticed the rigging two of the men were assembling on a table in the far corner of the room. Behind them, hanging on the wall, were bright purple jumpsuits and half a dozen posters of reckless thrill-seekers plummeting to the earth. How had I missed seeing them?

  As I finally processed what was going on, part of me was thrilled.

  And the other part was petrified.

  “Skydiving?” I stammered. “Like with a parachute? Out of a plane? From up in the air?”

  Both men chuckled good-naturedly at my ridiculous litany of questions.

  “Yes,” Paul said, pulling me into the crook of his arm to lead me further into the hangar, “like with a parachute. I don’t think any of us want to try it without one.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Nate who was following behind. I could tell by the look on his face he was nervous about whether or not I was going to join him on his adventure. He gave me a thumbs-up and mouthed the words ‘I love you’ as Paul began filling us in on what we would experience during our hour together.

  My head began to spin as the three of us sat at a table at the far end of the hangar. Paul, who I learned would be our instructor as well as Nate’s tandem jumper, spent the next 20 minutes explaining to us what would take place during the jump. I zoned out repeatedly as he talked about harness fittings and wind speeds. At some point, Nate took my hand and wrapped it inside his. I knew he was trying to put me at ease, but as the minutes ticked past, my anxiety grew. We watched a short video about how the company and its agents would not be held legally accountable for any injury or loss sustained as a result of the activity and then he presented us with paperwork to sign.

  As I read the clause about death, I thought of my dad who died senselessly on a rock climbing expedition when his harness gave way. I reminded myself that he had been murdered. People jumped out of perfectly good planes all the time. Nate wouldn’t ask me to do anything that wasn’t safe.

  I would be fine.

  I steadied my hand to sign my name at the bottom of the form.

  “You’re going with me then?” Nate whispered into my ear.

  “I guess so,” I replied, my voice wavering slightly. “I can’t let you have all the fun.”

  As we sat beside one another during the 17 minute plane ride, Nate nervously tugged at his fittings. It was unlike him to worry over anything, and it was nice to see that he was human after all. I sidled up close beside him so he could hear me over the hum of the plane’s engines.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He stopped fidgeting and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re welcome,” he replied.

  “This had to have cost you a fortune. I hope you’re not eating ramen all week because of me.”

  He shook his head and traced the outline of the patch on the shoulder of my jumpsuit. “I actually got the passes from my brother. He won two tandem jumps at a charity auction at work, and since Laura’s pregnant, they couldn’t go. He offered them to me over Christmas break and I’ve been waiting for it to warm up to take you ever since.”

  His generosity and thoughtfulness warmed my heart and took my mind off the fact that his idea of a romantic date involved possible death. I couldn’t believe he’d kept it a secret for so many months.

  “Thanks for taking me instead of Tyree,” I told him, as our instructors motioned for us to slide down the bench toward the door.

  “I told you the day I met you I was your guy if you were looking for fun. I’m just trying not to disappoint.”

  “You never disappoint,” I assured him. I kissed him gently on the lips and was surprised when my lips were met with an atypical sense of desperation. I realized instantly that he was more anxious about the jump than he was letting on. “That was for luck. I’ll see you on the ground.”

  He hesitated, looking me in the eyes. “Love you,” he said.

  “Love you back,” I replied.

  We strapped onto our partners and before I had a chance to reconsider the foolishness of what I was about to do, I was out of the plane.

  My fall from 13,000 feet was life-affirming. People use that phrase a lot when they really mean that an experience was important or memorable.

  For me, it was truly a spiritual event.

  Before leaving the world behind and then rushing back to meet it at 120 miles per hour, I’d always lived my life in extremes – all business or all pleasure, never a mixture of both.

  As the earth raced toward me, I saw with sudden clarity how beautiful life could be when a sense of balance is maintained. Things didn’t have to be all one way or the other. I could be the best version of myself while still enjoying life’s pleasures.

  I could work hard to get good grades and risk my life skydiving at the same time.

  Nate touched down with his partner on a grassy patch not far from where I landed and once he was released from his restraints, he ran to embrace me.

  “So, what’d you think?” he asked breathlessly, nuzzling his face against the top of my head.

  Although I really wanted to thank him for helping me to see the importance of maintaining balance in my life, thriving in the vibrant colors instead of existing in the black and white, I decided to keep it simple.

  “I thought it was amazing,” I told him. “Just like you.”

  C HAPTER THIRTEEN

  FALL SEMESTER – SECOND YEAR

  Less than two weeks after Sam’s death the world expected us to return to our classes and practices and lives as if nothing had happened. But something had happened. And I watched as those of us in Sam’s inner circle who were most affected by his absence dealt with our grief in very different ways.

  Mild-mannered Josh metamorphosized into the Incredible Hulk. To say he was angry was an understatement. He threw his backpack across our stats class when he couldn’t find his assignment and kicked a trashcan over in the dining hall when they didn’t have his favorite cereal. As he lashed out at innocent bystanders across campus, I knew the person he was really angry with was Sam, but of course Sam wasn’t available to receive the brunt of his fury.

  Kara wept. And wept. She couldn’t make it through meals or her classes or even movie night without having to excuse herself to the restroom, where she would cry and reapply her mascara, as if her shaky composure wasn’t enough to give her emotional instability away.

  Known for being the strong, silent type, suddenly Tyree wouldn’t shut up. He droned on endles
sly while we played video games about honoring Sam and his life with our words and our actions. About making his life “mean something” so Sam’s death wouldn’t be “in vain.” He began working to set up a scholarship foundation in Sam’s honor and started a petition to have his jersey number retired. Tyree was a force of nature.

  Lesley was her typical moody self. She moped around and threw visual daggers at anyone who crossed her. The change in her demeanor after the accident was subtle, but it was there. I caught her staring at a picture of her and Sam together on her phone and wasn’t surprised when she snapped at me to leave her alone when she realized I was watching.

  For my part, I did what I always did, which amounted to throwing myself into my schoolwork and taking comfort in the things I could control, like completing assignments and showing up to debate team. And while I didn’t understand my friends’ reactions, it was comforting to know they were working through their pain in their own way just like I was.

  And then there was Nate.

  He didn’t react to Sam’s death using any of the coping mechanisms the rest of us subscribed to. There was no anger or aggression. No crying or call to make the world a better place.

  He just checked out. Of everything.

  “We’re all going out for burgers. You coming?” I asked, tossing his jacket beside him on the sofa where he spent most of his waking hours.

  He didn’t look away from the TV. “No.”

  “No?” I said, shoving his legs to the side so I could sit down on the couch. “Why not?”

  His eyes flicked in my direction. “Because I don’t want to go out for burgers.”

  I punched him playfully on the arm. “You love burgers,” I said. “Burgers are your favorite. In fact… wait! Do you hear that? I think it’s a burger calling your name!! ‘Nate! Come eat me!’” I called.

  He turned his attention back to the TV. “I’m not going, Mel. You’re welcome to head out though. Don’t let me stop you.”