Authors: Fha User
toothbrush still hung in its holder over the bathroom sink. Gripping the sink,
Clayton squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the sense of loss that seemed to
assail him at the oddest times. This is how Vi found him.
53
EIGHT
Using the key Clayton gave her before they left to pick up breakfast, Vi
opened the apartment door. While Clarence retrieved the bigger boxes from
the car, she’d taken breakfast and a few smaller boxes in her arms. Entering
the apartment with her arms full, Vi called out to Clay as she closed the door
with her foot. When he didn’t answer, she set her burden down on the living
room coffee table and walked down the hall looking for him.
“Clayton? They were all out of bagels, so Clarence went over to
McDonalds to get breakfast sandwiches and coffee,” her words trailed off as
she came upon him in the bathroom.
It was a bachelor’s bathroom. Masculine colors dominated the walls and
the scent of cologne and shaving cream permeated the air. But those things
paled in comparison to what she encountered as she got closer to the open
bathroom door.
Clayton was in front of the bathroom mirror, slumped over the sink. He
was unaware of her presence, and she took in his drooping shoulders and
watched as they shook slightly. Vi looked at his reflection in the mirror, his
head was down but she could see tears running freely down his face. His
solitary sadness touched her deeply. Approaching him from behind, she
slipped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek between his shoulder
blades, holding him in comfort. He’d never gotten around to buttoning the
shirt he donned earlier and her fingers came in contact with his bare chest,
where his shirt lay open.
When she touched him, he sucked in a sharp breath and his arms fell to his
sides. Clay squeezed his eyes closed as she held him like this, and neither of
them said a word. Outside of their breathing, the only other sound in the
room was a bird singing outside the bathroom window. Finally, he drew in a
fortifying breath, expelling it with a harsh shudder. “You know, I don’t think
I realized it until yesterday. I loved him like a brother, but I never told him.”
“Clayton, he knew it and I know he felt the same way.”
“But I never told him, ya’ know?”
“You told him in so many countless ways,” she told him reassuringly. “I
can’t count how many times he told me you worked on his car, or covered
his shift so he could get away for the weekend.” When he didn’t respond,
she continued to try and convince him. “And how many times did you wash
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his car just because you were out there in that parking lot washing your own?
Believe me, he knew it.”
“Yeah, but… but I never told him. I’ve never been good with these
things.”
This last statement escaped his throat in a ragged whisper and her mother’s
heart wrenched at his desolate admission. It was unbearable to think that
love had been so absent in his childhood. Removing her arms from around
him, she grabbed his shoulders and turned him around to face her. “Think
about it. Did he ever say it to you?” When he didn’t say anything, she
looked into his eyes. Searching his face, she spoke earnestly, trying to
ensure he would hear and understand what she was about to say. “Clay,
even brothers by blood have a hard time saying they care about one another,”
she reasoned. “Most men are uncomfortable expressing their feelings—it’s
normal. Trust me when I say to you, Craig felt the same way about you. I
can remember several times he came over for dinner and refused to take
leftovers home unless I had enough left for you too.”
“Yeah, but...”
“No buts. Since the two of you moved in together, not one holiday
celebration went by without Craig making sure you were invited. He’d say,
‘
Mom, don’t forget to invite Clay. If he’s not on duty, he’ll spend the holiday
alone, if we let him.’”
Searching his face to ensure he really understood,
“So, stop beating yourself up?” she implored, touching his strong chin with
the tip of her fingers.
In that moment, the air in the room seemed to heat up noticeably. Clayton
felt as if his nerve endings were tingling from some unseen electrical current
in the room. They stared into each other’s eyes, for what seemed like
forever. Was she aware of this change? This awareness, this shift in the
atmosphere? If she was, she quickly hid it behind a nervous smile, chucking
him on the chin with her fist playfully.
“Now, do you feel better?” she asked him encouragingly.
He couldn’t have uttered a word if he’d wanted to. Suddenly his throat
clogged up and every muscle in his body tensed in reaction. When he
nodded, she stepped back, giving his shoulders a quick squeeze for good
measure before releasing him.
A short time later, they rejoined Clarence and sat at the kitchen table to eat
McDonald’s and talk about the arrangements made earlier that day.
“Oh, by the way Clayton, the funeral home mentioned we needed
pallbearers.” Vi searched his face when she said, “We were wondering if
you could talk with the officers that were close to Craig at the station, and
see if they would be willing.”
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Clay cut off her inquiry and quickly offered. “Of course, I’d be glad to.
I’m sure Stokes and Piterrelli would be more than willing.”
“Good. And what about you Clayton, would you also consider being a
pallbearer?”
He looked at her seated across from him at his small, oak kitchen table and
said. “I’d have been insulted if you hadn’t included me Mrs. Simpson. I’d
be honored.”
She smiled and grasped his hand across the table. Clarence smiled his
gratitude also. After they finished eating, Vi cleared the table. Looking
around the kitchen, she discovered odd plates and cups from her house that
Craig had brought to his apartment. They formed a mismatched table
assortment of cups, plates, forks and knives in this kitchen. She did notice
that all the dishes, however, were sparkling clean and neatly put away in the
cabinet. Circling the cooking area, she ran her hand over the countertop. It
was also clean.
She entered the living room where Clayton and Clarence were working
together, filling up small boxes and taping them closed. Straightening her
shoulders, she announced, “I guess I might as well tackle his room next.”
Rising, Clayton moved ahead of her down the hall. He opened the door to
Craig’s room, then stepped aside to allow her to enter. Vi looked around.
“It’s so neat and clean,” she said in surprise.
“Yeah, Craig knew I was a bit of a clean freak when he moved in here
because of my past. He told me that was not a problem because while he
lived at home you ran a tight ship.” Clayton smiled faintly before he
confided. “He said something about your Saturday morning cleaning
requirements before anyone was allowed out with their friends.”
She moved over to the dresser where some of her son’s personal
belongings were laid out. His holster and gun lay in a chair next to the bed.
A brush and more bottles of cologne sat on top of the dresser. Moving into
the room behind her, Clayton handed her several white envelopes.
“I’ve paid all the apartment-related bills, but these are personal ones that I
thought you should have,” he said, handing her the envelopes.
She took the envelopes from him and began looking through them. “This
is his credit card account. I guess I’ll have to call and cancel these.” Sighing
heavily, she continued studying the envelopes in her hands until her vision
blurred, making the address information waver before her eyes. “Oh,
God….oh, God, I’m so tired of crying,” she whispered desperately.
Without hesitation Clay moved over to where she stood and took her in his
arms. She went willingly, his strong arms lending her a measure of comfort.
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Although his eyes were dry now, his heart beat along with hers, chest to
chest in their shared misery. Holding her in the security of his arms, it
occurred to him how often he’d held this woman in the past 24 hours. Past
relationships aside, he’d held her closer and longer than any woman in a very
long time. While it made him feel good that she seemed to rely on him, it
also felt very foreign to him. Besides the fact that he let very few people get
close to him, Clayton didn’t quite know how to deal with this type of loss.
No one close to him had ever died before.
The closest relationship he’d ever had was with his baby sister, Sabrina.
When Sabrina ran away at fifteen, he had no one. He knew from the
postcards he received every few years that she had five kids now and the man
she’d run away with was incarcerated. Clayton left home soon after Sabrina
did, and hadn’t had any contact with his parents since. He knew in his heart
that if his parents died tomorrow, he would not shed one tear.
Clayton released Vi when Clarence walked into the bedroom, holding
Craig’s Mets shirt. The gift from his grandfather had Craig’s name stitched
on the back. Vi shared with Clay their plans to lay Craig to rest in the shirt.
He listened intently to her and Clarence explain the funeral arrangement
changes they’d made and he seemed to be pleased, much to Vi’s surprise.
As the day wore on, the boxes they packed began to pile up in Clayton’s
living room. Most were marked for Goodwill, but a few had Janae’s and
Tony’s name on them. Vi brushed her hands on the worn jeans she had on
and looked over at Clayton as a thought occurred to her.
“Clayton, before you say ‘No,’ you should know I will not take ‘No’ for an
answer this time.” Taping up the last box, he paused and gave her a
questioning look. Vi waited until she had his full attention, then she politely
informed him. “You’re coming back with us tonight. I can make up the
spare room or the sofa for you, so go grab a few things.”
He was slightly amused by the ring of authority in her voice and deeply
touched by her generosity, but he couldn’t. When he started to decline, she
quickly cut him off. Smiling at him to take some of the bite out of her next
words, Vi calmly told him. “Didn’t I just say I wasn’t taking ‘No’ for an
answer? Besides, what else do you have to do tonight except wander around
in this empty apartment?”
“I couldn’t.” Stalling for time, Clay pounced on the first thing that came to
mind. “I have to pick up my new truck before the dealership closes tonight.”
There, that was at least partially true. The dealership had called all day
yesterday when he didn’t show up to finalize the paperwork.
Apparently that was only a minor concern to Vivian Simpson. He watched
her pick up her handbag and stride over to the front door, calling out
instructions to him as she left through the front door. “Then come over as
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soon as you pick it up. Pack a bag and Clarence and I will see you later,
alright?” She turned around right before the closing the door. Her eyes bore
into him, willing him to concede.
“Okay,” he agreed, out of excuses.
She gave him a satisfied smile, right before the door closed.
58
NINE
A short while after Clarence and Vi left his apartment, Clayton drove to the
car dealership. Finalizing the paperwork didn’t take long and, within the
hour, Clayton was leaving the apartment, carrying a small overnight bag in
one hand and the keys to his new truck in the other.
It was a quiet evening, normal in everyway, signifying that the world had
moved on. The occupants in cars next to him on the freeway were not aware
he’d just lost a best friend or knew the degree of turmoil coursing through
him. Besides the questions he had surrounding Craig’s death, Clay’s mind
was suddenly preoccupied with thoughts of Vivian Simpson. Trying to
block this train of thought, he focused on the details of the shooting,
rehashing what they knew, searching for clues. After a time, he gave up
trying to concentrate as she crept into his thoughts again and again. Giving
his mind free reign to focus on just her, the visions that ran through his mind
were troubling, to say the least. They crowded in on him—disturbing
thoughts of Vi Simpson in his arms, Vi Simpson standing behind him,