The Clay Lion (14 page)

“
S’up
Chuck,” he
laughed, not taking his eyes off me.  “Is this her?”

Charlie rolled his eyes and punched him
back.  “Marshall, this is Brooke.  Brooke… Marshall.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, extending my free hand
towards Marshall.

“You too,” he replied, grasping my hand and
shaking it vigorously.  Without letting go he added, to Charlie, “You’re
right Bro, she’s hot.”

The heat from the fire was nothing compared to
the crimson that spread across my cheeks.  Unable to look at either of
them, I quickly focused my attention on my shoes.  Charlie Johnson told
someone I was hot.  It was more than I could allow myself to believe.

“What’s everybody doing?” asked Charlie in an
attempt to recover, his voice strained with embarrassment.

“Bill has his guitar.  Taylor brought fried
chicken and
s’mores
stuff I think.  Courtney and
Travis just went for a
walk
around the lake, so I doubt we’ll see them
for a while.  The rest of us are just hanging.  Carson was just
telling everyone about the brand new SUV his dad’s promised him for his
birthday, but I think he’s full of it.  Come on, you have to introduce
your girl around,” Marshall added as he grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the
small crowd of people sitting opposite the lake.

I smiled at Charlie as Marshall whisked me
away,
giving him a look that I hoped conveyed I was fine
with Marshall’s enthusiasm.  Charlie shook his head pitifully and rolled
his eyes, like a parent saddled with an unruly toddler, and fell in step behind
us.

True to his word, I had a wonderful time with
Charlie’s friends and even found I could tolerate Carson, despite the very
large chip he wore on his shoulder.  We made
s’mores
and I ended up a sticky mess, as I was unable to perfect the art of toasting a
marshmallow without catching it on fire.  Marshall and Charlie delighted
in watching me burn dozens of marshmallows into charred crisps unfit for human
consumption.  Bill took requests on his guitar and we sang and danced
together well into the night.

Courtney and Travis did eventually return from
their evening stroll and Courtney seemed delighted that Charlie had invited me
to join everyone. 

“Charlie and I met in second grade,” Courtney
told me as we sat together on a log in front of the fire.  “We were in the
same classes all through elementary school and even managed to take some of the
same classes in middle school.  But don’t worry,” she added, giving me a
conspiratorial wink, “Charlie is like a brother to me.  I’ve tried over
the years to set him up with some of my friends and I’ve watched him venture
out on his own.  But honestly, there’s never been a single girl Charlie’s
really been interested in. You’d think
,
looking like
he does, that the girls would be lining up to date him, but Charlie has been
surprisingly unlucky in love.” 

I don’t know what compelled Courtney to share her
secrets about Charlie, but it was reassuring to know that Charlie and I were
kindred spirits with regard to love.  She hugged me warmly at the end of
the evening, whispering that she thought I was perfect for Charlie and she
looked forward to hanging out again.

Charlie chatted enthusiastically on the ride back
to my house.  Perhaps it was the relief that his friends had accepted me
or that I had enjoyed myself, but it seemed as though a weight had been lifted
from him since our first drive together earlier in the evening.  However,
as we approached my house, he suddenly became quiet.  For several moments,
we sat in my driveway with the engine running, ensuring that the heater would
continue to blow.  Neither one of us spoke for a minute or so as I fumbled
awkwardly with the zipper of my coat.  As I finally pulled it up, I felt
Charlie’s fingers timidly touching my cheek.  I closed my eyes, believing
that I was certainly dreaming.  Gently, he placed his hand under my chin
and turned my face so that we were only inches apart.  I opened my eyes
and saw my joy reflected in his.

“Brooke,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Thanks for coming with me tonight.”

“You’re welcome,” I replied, although I felt
immediately that I should have been thanking him instead.

“Do you think you’d like to go out again
sometime?” he asked, he voice wavering as he finished.

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

My mind raced.  “Tomorrow is Sunday. 
We have church and family dinner.”  I paused, and before I realized what I
was saying continued, “Do you want to come over for dinner?”

“With your family?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Yes,” he replied, sounding surprised at his own
response.

“Okay.  We eat at two.  I think Mom’s
making pot roast.  Do you like pot roast?” I asked.

“I do now,” he replied. 
“And
Brooke?”

“Yes?”

He quickly closed the space between us and
instinctively I met his lips with my own.  The electricity of his touch paled
in comparison to the magic that I felt as the softness of his lips pressed
against mine.  The rest of the world melted away.  No Mother. 
No Father.  No Branson. 
Just Charlie and me in a
car in my driveway.

And then, a fleeting thought passed through my
mind and the moment was over.  If Branson had never died, I would have
never taken my trip, and I would have never even met Charlie.  The kiss
between us would never have occurred.  Lost within my own contemplations,
I pulled away.  Charlie opened his eyes.

“I’m sorry.  Are you okay?” He asked.

“No.  Yes.  I’m fine,” I answered,
“it’s just…”

“Too much, too soon,” he finished.

“No!  Not at all!  It’s just… it’s
complicated.”

“Is there someone else?” he asked, immediately
dejected.

“No, of course not.”
  I paused, considering my words
carefully.  “It’s complicated because I guess I feel like I don’t belong
here.  It’s kind of a gift that I’ve even gotten to meet you.  I’m
feeling humbled. 
And blessed.”
  I looked
into his face, searching for something in his eyes that he understood.

He was silent for a moment.  Finally he
spoke, cradling my face in his hands. “Who says that?” he asked, laughter
playing in his voice.

“Who says what?”

“Who says they feel ‘blessed’ to be with
someone?” he explained smiling broadly.

I pulled away, turning from him, unable to
continue the exchange knowing he was mocking me.

“I have to go,” I said shortly, reaching for the
door handle.

In an instant, his hand was on my shoulder. 
“No, Brooke, wait.  I’m not making fun you.  I’m… amazed. 
Impressed.
  Blessed,” he added.

Still gripping the handle, I turned again to look
at him.  Genuine sincerity painted his face.

“It’s just that I’ve never met someone who would
say that about me.  It’s… refreshing,” he added.  “There’s something special
about you Brooke.  I knew the minute I saw you from across the vacant lot
yesterday running around with Melody.  You’re different from the other
girls.  It’s almost as if you are this young, carefree person with an old
soul trapped inside.  How does that happen?” he wondered aloud, brushing a
lock of hair from in front of my eyes.

In the few hours he had known me, Charlie Johnson
already had me pegged.  It was as if he knew that something was wrong with
me.  That I did not belong there, in that place and time.  My soul
was
old there.  I had already lived that portion of my life twice
before.  Could he feel that what was transpiring between us was not what
was meant to be?  That perhaps we were never to have met at all?

In that moment, I wanted desperately to tell
Charlie everything. 
About Branson’s death.
 
About my trips.
  About my ultimate purpose for
being there and how the happiness I was finding with him felt stolen.  But
knowing fully the ramification of what would happen if I did, I chose to remain
silent.  After some time, I spoke.

“Things have happened to me. 
In my past.
  I’ve lived through some stuff. 
Hard things.
  And I know about pain. 
A lot about pain.
  So when I find joy, I have just
learned to hold on to it, you know? 
Because it can go
away fast.”
  I paused, watching for him to react.  He waited
for me to continue.  “I don’t want to talk about it.  I can’t
really.  But I think it’s all going to be okay now and well, I’m glad you
are here,” I finished solemnly.

“Me too,” he said.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow, here, at two?” I
asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he replied.

Charlie removed his hands from my face and sat
back in his seat.  I pulled on the handle and the door swung slowly
open.  I stepped out into the bitter cold and it startled me, as if I was
waking from a dream.  I turned before closing the door and leaned my head
back into the interior of the car.

“Bye Charlie,” I said.

“See
ya
,” he said,
smiling warmly.

I closed the door and ran down the driveway,
across the sidewalk to the back kitchen door.  The exterior light was on
and the glow of the light from above the kitchen table alerted me to the fact
that someone was still awake inside.  I turned again to the car in the
driveway, still idling, waiting.  I realized that he was watching to make
sure I was able to get into the house safely.  I opened the door and waved
to let him know I was in.  Now it was my turn to linger as I watched him
carefully back out of the driveway and disappear into the night.

Once inside, I peeled off the layers that had
protected me from the cold of the night and tiptoed into the family room toward
the stairs.  My mother was asleep on the sofa, draped in an afghan my
grandmother had knitted decades before.  Sensing my arrival, she stirred,
and then, smiling, motioned for me to sit beside her.

“I tried to wait up.  Guess I’m not as young
as I used to be,” she laughed, pulling at the corners of her eyes.  “How
was your night?”

“It was nice.  He’s great Mom.  I
invited him to dinner tomorrow.  I hope that’s okay.”

“He must be really nice,” she teased.  She
patted me on the leg, “Sure honey, of course, he can come.  But now, you
need to get to bed, and I do too.  I’ll see you in the morning… we’ll go
to late church,” she said winking.

“Okay. 
Night Mom.
 
Love you.”

“Love you too my Babbling Brooke.”

It had been ages since she had called me
that.  I had earned the moniker as a toddler.  One who never shut
up.
  Everyone called me “Babbling Brooke” for many
years, but now, the right was reserved solely for my mother.  I smiled and
headed up the stairs, contemplating the beauty that was my life.

As I readied myself for bed, I heard a knocking
sound.  As we shared a common bedroom wall, Branson and I would often use
code, a series of taps and pauses, to communicate back and forth as
children.  Tonight the tapping alerted me to the fact that he was still
awake.  I tapped back to let him know he was welcome to come in.

Branson appeared at my door and happily flung
himself across my bed.  As usual, he was dressed for the night in a pair
of flannel pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt.  He was also wearing
heavy socks.  I had never seen him go to bed without them on, even in the
summer.

“Well?” he said, hands folded under his chin and
eyelashes fluttering in an attempt at coyness.

“Well what, Mr. Nosey?” I replied.

“Come on Sis!  It’s a big deal!  How
many boys have you turned down over the years?  Then this guy comes along
out of nowhere and BAM,
it’s
love at first sight?”

“Hardly,” I responded.  “There haven’t been
that
many guys who’ve asked me out and I’d hardly say this is love at first
sight.  You are an egregious exaggerator,” I said shaking my finger at
him.

“Really Sis?
  Were you not in the same room I was in when he came to pick you
up tonight?  Did you not see how he lit up like the
flippin
’
Fourth of July when you came downstairs?”

The blush that spread across my cheeks was
irrepressible.  Had Branson been watching us from the top of the stairs?

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I said
quietly.

“Don’t be that way,” Branson said, sitting
himself
up on the edge of the bed beside me.  “I’m glad
you met this guy.  He seems nice.  You seem happy.”

“I feel happy,” I replied, acknowledging the
reality of the statement.  “You think he likes me for real?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s coming to dinner tomorrow after church.”

“Seriously?”
Branson asked, his head tilted skeptically.

“Seriously.”