13. Cliff
Chapter 13
Cliff
I pace the house, trailing down the hallway, with my phone in hand. My fingers hover over the numbers, but I don’t press them. I dread this call.
I pass Emily’s room. The door is shut, as it’s been all afternoon, with a lined piece of paper taped crookedly on the front. Written in block lettering with a black Sharpie is a mishmash of pretty, angry poetry. Probably song lyrics discreetly implying go away .
I descend the stairs. Carol sits on the couch in the living room. Brittany leans her head on her shoulder in rainbow pajamas, her hair wet from a shower. They’re watching two grown men fake punch in a ring, like they do every Monday night.
I sit at the wooden table in the kitchen, absentmindedly moving around the frilly place mat before standing once more. Inhaling, exhaling, I finally dial Tracy’s number.
It rings once, twice …
“Hello?”
“Trace. Hi.”
“Cliff?” Her voice already sounds tired. “Is there a problem?”
I scratch behind my head. “I don’t only call when there’s a problem.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Right. Well …” I clear my throat and pocket my hand, pacing to and from the sink before fiddling with the faucet. “Thought I’d update you on some things.”
“What did Emily do this time?” It’s not a question.
My chest feels itchy at the insinuation. I’m irritated, and we’re less than a minute into the conversation.
“Well”—I force out a laugh—“she didn’t kill someone or jump off a tall building.”
“Then, why are you calling? Does Brittany need something?”
Her words always snap at my insides like rubber bands, stinging when they land and leaving bruises in their wake.
“No,” I say, dragging out the word. “But your firstborn has a boyfriend.”
The exhale through the phone whistles in my ear. “Are you serious right now?”
“Wish I weren’t, but …” I kick the rug, then fix it back after, biting my lip and staring at the ceiling. I can’t stand still. “She skipped school to see him.”
“Cliff, you’re joking me.”
“Hey, she’s a headstrong kid,” I say with a laugh. “Like her parents.”
Tracy sighs, and it’s a breath, punctuated with a growl. I never know if what I’m saying is the right thing or if it makes her any less annoyed with me, but I’m guessing by that reaction that it was a check mark in the bad column.
She sighs again. “We’re gonna have a teen pregnancy on our hands if we’re not careful.”
“Emily’s smart.”
“Well, I should hope so. Is that all?”
“Yeah. Thought you’d want to hear it from me instead of Brittany. Kid talks about everything,” I say with a chuckle.
“Well, thanks.” She sighs. “This boy isn’t going to be around Brittany though, is he?”
I bark out a laugh, but she doesn’t return it. I can feel heat rising up my neck and to my cheeks.
I lower my voice and walk to the window. “Emily isn’t a delinquent—you know that, right? She’s a kid. And he’s just some teen guy. He works at the video store, Trace. Brittany is fine.”
“I worry about Emily,” she admits. “We had no idea what we were doing.”
“They’re both being raised right. Both of them,” I emphasize.
“I’m sorry. Yes. I …” She groans.
The girl I once knew—the perky blonde cheerleader with the sunny smile and cheeky eye rolls—feels so distant now. Sure, Tracy wasn’t bound to be that girl forever. She became a woman. Protective of her children. Strong. Bold. But, God, it only made me love her more. As parents, we had so many sleepless nights, school events, arguments on how to raise them together. Sure, we got into fights, but what couple doesn’t?
Then, it’s like everything got turned on its head all at once. This idea of a perfect home, a perfect family, a perfect life. Our marriage wasn’t perfect, but it was us. I loved us. I loved her.
“Emily brought home a report card,” I say. “She got all A’s.”
“Really?”
“Better than you or I ever did, huh?” I respond with a laugh.
She sniffs dismissively. I hear bangles rattling in the background. She always wore stacks of them on her arms before going out. She must be getting ready. I look at the clock—nine p.m.
“Is that boy still bothering Brittany?” she asks.
“I’ve got him buried six feet underground so?—”
“Clifford.”
“I called his parents. They grounded Luke for eternity. Kids do dumb stuff. It happens.”
Keys rattle in the background.
“Where are you headed to this late?” I ask.
“There’s a work dinner in Chelsea.”
“Chelsea. She sounds fun,” I joke.
“It’s a place, Cliff.”
I mouth to myself, I know , because saying it aloud isn’t worth the fight.
“Well, that sounds fun,” I say. “Have a great time.”
She scoffs. “Okay, well, you don’t have to sound pissed about it.”
“I’m not—” I shut my eyes. “I’m not pissed, Trace.”
Tracy doesn’t respond to me, and the longer she doesn’t speak, the more I realize she’s playing chicken with me. She wants me to speak first. But what is there to even say? What can I say that won’t be taken the wrong way?
I glance out the kitchen window at Bird & Breakfast. Across the dark yard and over the white fence is Michelle’s bedroom. I wonder if she fought with her ex like this. The idea of Allen —I roll my eyes—saying anything snappy to Michelle makes my fingers twitchy. I don’t like it.
Michelle has walls. A lot of them. And I don’t know when they were built—whether it was with Birdie or her ex—but they’ve closed her off to everyone. They’ve made her tough though. Confident. And I kinda like her screw everyone attitude.
But she’s also funny. Kind. Gentle even. More generous than she lets on or probably wants anyone to see. I don’t want to remove her walls because that’d destroy her strength, but I’d kill for more peeks into the other side.
I blink at the darkened bedroom when, suddenly, it lights up. Behind the sheer white curtains walks a silhouette. Michelle’s silhouette.
She’s a shadow, delicately floating across the room. Her arms rise up with small fingers, releasing her hair from its ponytail hold. The thick locks cascade over her shoulders, swaying side to side as she runs fingers through it, shaking it out like she’s relieving the stress from the day.
Michelle’s been stressed a lot. Hell, she’s been stressed since she arrived in Copper Run. I’m sure I’m not helping either. Not even a little. I barge into her house, make her eat lunch with me, and run into video stores like a caveman, ready to wring the neck of some teenage boy with her having to hold me back. It wasn’t until after Michelle rushed away with barely a goodbye that I realized how overbearing I’d been.
Though, selfishly, it’s been nice, hanging out with her recently. I’ve been happier. Like my smiles aren’t as forced as usual. It’s become a game to see how often I can make her laugh. Michelle won’t laugh out of pity, so when I do get one, I know it’s real. I know I’ve cracked through yet another brick in her wall.
She clicks on a lamp before turning off the overhead light. She’s now a partial blur in a dim orange glow, an outline a narrow waist and long legs. I swallow. I’ve noticed the length of them before, but it isn’t until I see her now that I see exactly how far those slender legs stretch.
Michelle moves around, doing indiscernible things. Maybe picking up a book. Moving the pillows. Pushing back the sheets. But then her shadowy palms reach across her waist, and the fabric of her shirt slinks up, up, up?—
I turn on my heel and stride away from the window.
Shit.
I’m not that kind of guy. I’m not gonna peep on the woman next door like that.
“Cliff?” Tracy asks.
I jump, my hand tightening on the phone. I forgot we were talking, and my ex’s voice is like a bucket of ice water dumping over my head.
“Sorry. Yes?”
“I asked if you had anything else to say. I’ve really got somewhere to be.”
“Yeah, no, sure,” I say quickly, running my palm over my hair. “That makes sense.”
There’s an awkward silence before she asks, “Are you okay? You’re acting weird.”
I chuckle. “I’m always weird.”
Tracy hums in agreement, which I knew she might. My self-deprecating humor is her favorite type of humor.
“I’ll talk to the girls tomorrow,” she says.
I don’t miss the implication of, Don’t call me before then.
I nod to myself. “Yeah. Talk then, Trace.”
I don’t get a goodbye, but I don’t care. I set down the phone after the dull dial tone blares, walking back to the window. Michelle’s bedroom is darkened once more.
Good.
I shouldn’t have been looking at anything anyway.