Chapter 12

[Mavis]

“Clay?” His name comes out as a breathless surprise as I’d been in a rush to pick up Dutton. Running late from the hospital sounds silly considering I work a shift schedule but getting back into the groove of working is taking a toll.

My part-time gig at the hospital includes three days on for eight hours, followed by four days off. I was fortunate my former director of nurses had an immediate opening. The hospital has been desperate for nursing staff.

My next steps toward a better future are to sell the property and put Dutton in school, but I can only address one thing at a time.

Day one was done.

Entering The She Shed with a flourish, Clay’s presence in front of the customer counter shocks me. Not only am I attracted to his appearance, but his sweetness has taken my libido from zero to sixty-nine.

“Do you have a lunch?” Earlier this morning, the question surprised me.

Clay then stood from the table and opened his fridge. Quickly scanning the contents, he pulled out a jar of jelly and set it on the countertop. “How do you feel about peanut butter and jelly?”

“Who isn’t a fan?” I’d countered, although it wasn’t my first choice for a midday meal.

But who can deny a man offering to make you a sandwich for your first day of work?

Peanut butter and jelly it was.

And when my lunch break rolled around, nothing had ever tasted so good.

“Hi, butterfly.” His slow smile unfurls like a flower, and I can’t help my own lips from mirroring his.

“What are you doing here?” I’m doubtful he’s shopping for specialty yarn. Hopefully, he isn’t here for a novelty toy from Meredith’s other business.

My gracious childcare provider is standing behind the counter watching the interaction between a town favorite and me.

“Thought I’d get off work early and take you and Dutton somewhere.” Clay glances down at Dutton and I notice how close they stand to one another.

“Where?” The question comes out quick and terse, almost accusatory instead of gracious. My hackles rise despite knowing Clay is not my enemy. He isn’t trying to hide Dutton and I away somewhere, and he proves it by what he says next.

“Sylver Seed & Soil sponsors the Harvest Fest each year. The entire town is invited out to the property where farmers sell their final stock and winter wares, and artisans share their crafts. We have pumpkin decorating contests, pumpkins for sale, Halloween-themed games and prizes for kids. Children are encouraged to dress in their costumes to get more than one use out of them. It’s a real family affair.”

Clay glances down at Dutton and winks, like they’ve already discussed this tradition. I’d taken Dutton to the fest when he was younger as a way to pass a beautiful autumn day, but I’d stopped going when Wesley attended once and accused me of having an affair with Clay Sylver because we innocently smiled at one another.

I didn’t want to bring unwarranted attention to Clay because of Wesley’s nonsense.

“Also, my sister-in-law, Halle and brother Knox host a Halloween party at their house. It’s a new tradition for them.”

My lips firmly press together as I recall who Knox and Halle are. Halle Reynolds inherited the house across the street from mine when I lived here before, and while we’d never officially met, she was always polite, waving at me from across the boulevard. Her mother, who’d died last summer, had been friendly enough, but a bit nosy as a neighbor. Knox had been the firefighter who rescued Dutton and me from the flames that eventually engulfed my home and burned the house and my relationship beyond repair.

“I’d like to invite you and Dutton to come to the Fest as my special guests, and the party.”

“Like a date?” Dutton asks, his question innocent enough. However, it wouldn’t be a date with the three of us. Just a generous offer.

“I don’t know,” I admit, as my gaze drifts to Meredith a second. The seventy-year-old woman’s solid white hair is cut in a short, sharp bob, and a teasing gleam exists in her eyes as she glances back at me. An unmistakable curiosity about Clay’s connection to me glitters in her gaze.

However, other than Meredith, I’m skittish about seeing people who might recall my story. Returning to the hospital had been difficult enough. The nurses who remembered me had questions.

Where had I been? Was I okay? What happened to Wesley?

I’d had to plaster on a smile and pretend I was doing well, which wasn’t much of a stretch, but explaining Wesley had been the harder part. To keep things simple, I told people we’d divorced, and I’d gone to stay with my parents for a while. Too often people praised my mother and father for their generosity because they didn’t know the whole story. So many lies I told, and half the time, I believed them myself.

“Can we, Mama?” Dutton turns toward me. His eyes are eager, wide, and pleading. His shaggy hair needs a cut.

Saying no to him is difficult when he rarely asks for anything. The only thing he’d wanted was for us to leave Wesley, and I hadn’t done it until it was almost too late.

“Okay.” The answer was half-hearted at best. I didn’t understand why Clay would consider us special guests at a public event or why he’d want to bring us to a private family affair. But Dutton was suddenly beaming up at Clay with a smile I hadn’t seen in a long time. My heart cracked a little, like a chip chinked into a favorite bowl. One you won’t part with despite the imperfection because the item has too much sentimental value.

“Yes.” Dutton pumps his arm at his side before Clay holds out his fist to bump it against Dutton’s smaller hand.

“So back to answering your question,” Clay continues. “We’re headed to a pop-up Halloween shop in Huntington.” The larger city was roughly forty minutes away and had all the superstores and popular chain merchandisers that Sterling Falls lacked.

“I thought we’d ride together. Grab dinner.” Clay’s smile continues, one side of his mouth curling higher than the other and that damn dimple peeks out.

With the hopeful grin on Dutton’s face, how could I say no?

+ + +

An hour later, Dutton’s frustration hits a new level.

Inside the Halloween pop-up store, we quickly found the spot where a pink Power Princess costume should have been but was sold out. I was slightly relieved as the sixty-dollar price tag was much more than my meager budget allowed for a one-time use costume. For years, we’d made do with things around the house for the autumn holiday. Dutton’s first year he was a pumpkin, something easily made with an orange sweatshirt and some black felt cutouts sewn on to create a jack-o-lantern face. Another year, he was a cow. Not necessarily his favorite costume, but he was still adorable in a white sweatsuit covered in hand-drawn fabric paint spots and some makeup on his face.

Last year at my parents’ place, my father refused to let Dutton dress in anything feminine, so Dutton was an unhappy turtle made by wearing all green attire and a brown backpack on his back that I tried to doctor up by drawing what looked like the outer shell of a turtle on the canvas.

This year, Dutton had it in his head that he’d be his beloved princess and he didn’t want a homemade costume but the real deal. Only, with the item sold out, Dutton pouts.

“It’s been one of our most popular items this year,” the salesclerk told us. Then added the final kicker. “We don’t anticipate receiving more before Halloween with it only being a couple weeks away.”

Clay tried to help. “How about a pirate? Or a football player? Maybe Batman?”

Dutton shook his head at every suggestion, his irritation growing with each recommendation that had a traditionally male connotation to them.

On Dutton’s behalf, I’m equally frustrated and disappointed. I’d thought Clay accepted Dutton when he bought pink ice cream and watched Princess Power with him. But I’d clearly been wrong in assuming Clay was cool with Dutton being who he is. He wanted the pink Power Princess outfit and wasn’t going to settle for something considered boyish. He wasn’t going to conform to constructs because of his biology. He wanted what he wanted, and I was trying to honor that.

I reminded myself it’s what Cecilia would have wanted. My sister refused to follow the ideals of my parents. The misogynistic beliefs of the culture we’d been raised in. She wanted more for herself. More for me. More for our future children. Unfortunately, her strong independence cost her in the end.

However, my own agitation with Dutton grew when he refused to accept any alternative costume.

“How about Moana?” He’d wanted to be the Hawaiian princess last year.

“No.” With an added foot stomp from Dutton, I turned to Clay.

“We’re done here.” I wasn’t going to let Dutton have a public tantrum over a Halloween costume.

Clay looked bewildered.

And sensing I couldn’t handle an argument with Dutton, he shifted his attention to me. “We need a costume for you.”

I shook my head. “I have something.” Amid my meager belongings was something special that I brought out each year to wear for Halloween, knowing I didn’t have any other occasion to wear such a treasured item. My grandmother had given it to me with sage advice.

Be who you want to be, my Mavis. Not a mold of others, but unique. Colorful. Beautiful . Carefree.

She delicately waved her hand through the air, emphasizing the freedom of floating about in a breeze, like a butterfly.

The irony of Clay suddenly calling me such a beautiful creature was not lost on me, and startling, as he didn’t know the love I had for my wonderful grandmother. Nor that she called me the same nickname.

“Let’s just go have dinner.” The anticipation of the surprise evening was now dampened a bit by Dutton’s behavior. However, I hadn’t wanted to spoil anything for Clay, who looked a little crestfallen when no costumes were purchased.

Dinner was at a local eatery, popular in the mountains around us, and a quick meal which had us back on the road for a silent return journey to Clay’s home.

Once we return to the house, Dutton instantly heads for the front door, but I am not letting his sourpuss exit the night without a final request. “What do you say to Clay for taking us out to dinner?”

“Thank you,” Dutton mumbles, not offering his eyes to Clay, and lacking sincerity in his gratitude.

“Anytime, buddy,” Clay answers, the response stilted. He presses in the code to open his home and pushes at the door to swing inward for us to enter. Once inside, I tell Dutton it’s time for a bath and he heads to the guest room without a glance back at us.

“I failed, didn’t I?” Clay says from behind me.

I spin to face him. “It’s the thought that counts. Besides, you couldn’t help that the store was sold out.”

Clay shakes his head, cupping the back of his neck. “It wasn’t that. I’d been making all those suggestions. Coming up with things I thought a boy would like but he . . .”

My lips tighten, twisting a bit, before I fill in the blank. “He doesn’t like those things.”

“Gotta respect a kid who knows what he wants,” Clay sheepishly adds. “I’ve just had a different upbringing.”

I stare at him, understanding what he means.

“My dad was a man’s man, so to speak.” Clay narrows his eyes and turns his gaze toward the wall of windows. “But how much of a man are you if you belittle your kids and knock around a few of them?”

My mouth falls open, shock running through me. Not Clay . Not his family. They seem so well-adjusted, so loyal to one another. But no one knows better than me, ghosts can live in everyone’s history. Specters we don’t openly admit haunt more than our dreams.

“What happened to you?” I whisper.

Clay shakes his head. “Another day. I want to make sure Dutton is okay.”

I sigh, hanging my head. “I just want him to be accepted for who he is. No matter who that is.”

“Don’t we all want that?” Clay counters, not really questioning the thought but stating a fact.

And who are you, Clay Sylver? Because there’s certainly more than meets the eye about him. And maybe he understands us a little better than I think.

The following day, when a package is delivered for Dutton, my faith in Clay is fully restored with the arrival of a pink Power Princess costume.