The Correspondent, page 6
part #1 of Emerson Pass Contemporaries, Book Four Series
My sister caught sight of me and hurried over to give me a hug. “Hey, big brother.” She peered at me like a jackhammer breaking up concrete. “How are you feeling? You good today?”
“I’m fine.” Why was she asking me that? Had she heard about Brad somehow? No, I decided. She always looked at me this way now. Instead of the admiring way she used to look at me, she now vacillated between pity and fear. Anyway, she was the one who had seemed on the verge of a mental breakdown last Christmas. Josie had suffered a bad breakup at the end of the year and had cried through most of her school break. Crying was good for her, our mother had said. “It’s healthy to let yourself grieve.”
Whatever. I was perfectly good. Holding it together. By the skin of my teeth maybe, but together all the same.
“This is Stormi,” I said to my sister. “She’s the photographer at the paper and came to document Dad’s release and signing today.”
“Huck, really? Stormi and I have met many times.” Josie squeezed Stormi’s shoulder. “Nice to see you. Thanks for being here.” Her brown hair hung down her back in waves, and her eyes were shining. I was glad to see she seemed to have returned to her cheery self.
“My pleasure,” Stormi said. “I’m a big fan of your dad’s books.”
Josie grinned. “And Dad says he doesn’t have any readers under sixty.” As appearances go, my sister was the feminine version of me. We both favored our father, with dark complexions and hair. She was extremely pretty, even though half the time I wanted to send her to her room for showing too much skin. It wasn’t just her. All her friends seemed to think it wasn’t necessary to keep any inch of themselves under clothing. Much like today, I noted, taking in her black cocktail dress that barely covered her bottom. The dress was tight against her abdomen, where her belly button piercing created a bump under the fabric.
“Good to see you,” Josie said to Stormi, giving her one of the Clifton charming smiles. She got that from my dad, too. “Tiffany’s just been telling me you two have booked a lot of weddings this coming summer. I’m glad to hear that things seem to be returning to normal.”
Thus ensued a few minutes of small talk, including my sister’s impending graduation from college and what it was like to live in Boulder. Josie had majored in library science. Like the original Josephine, who opened the first library in Emerson Pass, my sister was strong-willed and smart but also compassionate and kind. Whatever she wanted to do, she could. As a profession, library science didn’t seem terribly ambitious. She was smart enough to be whatever she wanted. However, she was less likely to suffer the horrors of reality in a library, so it was fine with me. If I could, I’d have kept her between the walls of our local library for the rest of her life. It was safe there, just like inside the pages of a book.
On the other side of the room, Tiffany and Breck were talking in a corner, oblivious to the rest of us in their cocoon of love. Tiffany had that glow about her, which warmed my cold heart, if I were to be honest. She was a woman who had been through a lot and come out the other side engaged to Breck Stokes, one of the best men I’d ever known. Unflappably optimistic and kind, he made me feel a little ashamed of myself most days.
I left Stormi and my sister talking about books and wandered over to my parents. I’d not yet congratulated Dad on his new release. I’d seen earlier that Mystery at Icicle Lake had already climbed the best-seller charts on the major retailers. He had a hit. Yet again.
Mom wore a dark pink sheath dress that took advantage of her slim figure. The woman ate almost nothing to remain the same size she’d been when she and my dad first met. That and walking miles and miles a day did the trick. Looking at her in a designer dress and with her perfectly highlighted tresses, no one would guess where she’d come from or how much she’d had to deal with as a kid. A surge of pride overwhelmed me. She and Dad had been deep in conversation with Lionel but stood to greet me.
“Son, thanks for being here.” Dad held out his hand, and we shook while giving each other one of those half hugs men like us do.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I hugged Mom and told her how nice she looked.
“Thank you. Your father picked out this dress.”
“Good job, Dad.” I shook Lionel’s hand and immediately wanted to wipe my palm clean or punch him, whichever impulse came first. He wore a tweed jacket and slacks. I suspected he dressed this way because he thought they were appropriate for a literary agent, emphasis on literary. These publishing people were pretentious, perhaps making up for the fact that they latched onto authors and then gaslighted them into believing they couldn’t live without their agents and editors. Such a crock. The authors were the ones with talent.
“Huck, your dad tells me you bought the town’s little paper.” Lionel’s bald head shone under the light, like a pig’s underbelly on a sunny afternoon. “Must be quite a change for you.”
Little paper. This guy was so passive-aggressive. He was self-aware enough to know I didn’t like him and loved to get little digs in whenever he could.
“Yep,” I said, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of engagement.
“Ignore Lionel,” Dad said quietly in my ear before we took our seats at the table. “He’s an idiot most of the time.”
“You think?” I asked.
“I’ve been with him for twenty years, you know. It would be impossible to start over with someone else.”
“It’s not been twenty years,” Mom said from behind me. “Seventeen years and forty books.”
“Is that right?” Dad asked.
In addition, he could certainly start over with someone else. Any agent in the country would see him as the dream client, almost as good as winning the lottery.
“I can’t keep numbers in my head.” Dad winked at my mom, and she leaned close to kiss him on his temple.
My dad had a heart of gold and had been a great father to me and my sister. But the man couldn’t keep an actual fact for more than a minute. He was so often in the clouds planning out his stories or thinking about characters that I wondered sometimes if he missed too much of his real life. I guess it didn’t matter. He was happy. My mom, too. So I left it alone. Still, every once in a while, it bugged me.
Everyone joined us around the long table. Mom had put place cards out so we knew where to sit. No detail ever went unnoticed with her. I got that from her. Stormi and I were seated together, with Josie on my other side. Breck and Tiffany were across from us. His mother, who had slipped in at the last minute, was next to her son. Our retired veterinarian, Breck’s mother, Camille, was like a third parent to me. I’d spent as much time at their house growing up as I had my own. After I lost my house in the fire, she’d convinced me to take one of her extra bedrooms. I’d lived there over a year. Although I hated to admit it, living with them had helped me considerably. Now that I was back in my own house, life seemed emptier than ever.
Camille and my dad were the best of friends, going back all the way to high school. Even if Breck hadn’t been one of my favorite people, we would have been forced into friendship because of our parents. Breck had to put up with me. So, basically, I got the good end of the deal.
The servers brought champagne in buckets of ice. Everyone was poured a glass, and then Dad made a toast, thanking stupid Lionel and my mother. After that we enjoyed cups of clam chowder with soft, warm bread. The food did me good. Stormi had been right about that part. However, I ordered a bourbon on the rocks the minute that soup was in my stomach.
Everything went on around me, but I was lost inside my head. Brad. All I could think of was Brad. Why hadn’t he reached out? We’d promised each other that if the thoughts got bad we would reach out to the other. I’d talked to him just last week. He’d sounded good. Maybe too good. Had he already decided?
“You all right?” Stormi asked in my ear.
“A little distracted, but yeah.” A total lie.
She picked up her glass of champagne and took a dainty sip. Next to me my sister was holding her empty glass up to get the server to pour her another one. The room had a festive, celebratory feel. Lively and fun, like those sparklers on July Fourth. For me, however, the bourbon had dimmed everything.
The rest of the dinner passed by in a blur. All of my predictions from earlier proved to be true. There was copious amounts of champagne followed by wine. My mother and father both made teary speeches. Camille, as reticent as my parents were effusive, toasted my dad with surprising emotion in her voice. “Forty books. My goodness, Garrett, who knew you had so much to say. Certainly not me in high school. I swear he spoke no more than three words a day back then.”
“I was saving up,” Dad bellowed from the other end of the table, and everyone cheered.
Stormi, who as much as I disliked her had never seemed like the type to participate in drunken revelry, got into the mood and was cheering as loudly as everyone else. She was a good sport, actually, coming along for my family’s self-congratulatory party.
To my surprise, Breck got up to make a speech. With one hand on Tiffany’s shoulder and the other holding his glass, he thanked my mother for including them for this special dinner.
“You’re family,” Mom called out.
“Amen,” Josie said.
“When my dad died, you were there for us,” Breck said. “Mom and I never forgot your kindness or compassion. As much as we missed him, we knew he could rest easy with Garrett and Sally Clifton around to look after us. No one has been more pleased than we are to see your success, Garrett. I don’t know any other authors, but I can’t imagine any are as deserving as you. Thank you for sharing your work with us and for being a role model for all the kids who grew up slamming your screen door as we went in and out.”
More glass clinking. My dad’s eyes were red from happy tears by then. Mom wore her tipsy smile like a good lipstick.
Josie said a few words, crying through the whole thing, and going on about how lucky we were to have parents like them. All true, of course.
After she finished, it was obvious to everyone that it was my turn. If I waited a few seconds too long, the moment would pass. No such luck. Stormi nudged me with her elbow.
Actually nudged me in the ribs. What right did she have to prompt me? She wasn’t family. Or even a friend. Regardless, I got up to speak. It wasn’t until I was standing that I realized how drunk I was. Swaying slightly, I scrambled to find words to express my admiration and love.
The room had grown still. Probably all holding their breath for whatever asinine thing I might say.
“Dad, you are a good writer and a fine man. If it weren’t for you and the rest of the people in this room, I might not have had the will to keep on after what I saw over there.” I paused to get my emotions under control. “All the words I didn’t write. You know, all the stuff I never said.” My voice cracked. I reached into space, hoping to find the back of my chair. Instead, I found Stormi’s narrow shoulder. Before I could remove my hand, she covered it briefly with hers, small and warm. “Anyway, congratulations on a long and prosperous career.”
I looked across the table and caught Tiffany’s gaze. Over the last few months we’d been working together on her memoir about growing up in a cult. The horrors she’d lived through made me silently weep a thousand times a day. Now, in her eyes, I saw that she understood. I’ve been to hell and back. I know, she seemed to say.
That was enough. I withdrew my hand from Stormi’s shoulder and sank back into my chair. All the gazes currently directed at me would look away at any second, I told myself. No such luck. The awkward silence continued. My mother’s smile was gone, replaced by a wrinkled brow and worried eyes. Dad, shoulders slumped, stared into the remnants of the chocolate cake they’d served for dessert. Teleport me anywhere but here, I begged God silently before chastising myself. Good job, genius. You’ve ruined the whole damn night.
“I got this,” Stormi whispered in my ear before standing and raising her glass. “Thank you for allowing me to be here tonight. Growing up the way I did, I never thought it would be possible to actually know someone who used their talents and gifts to actually make a sustainable career. Not only do you create beautiful stories, but you’re also an example for me and anyone else with dreams that they can come true. I’d like to humbly request permission to represent your readers tonight, who have spent so many hours escaping their troubles by immersing themselves in your stories. Never forget that they’re out there, silently cheering you on and very thankful for what you’ve done with your life. To you, Garrett Clifton.”
I couldn’t stop staring at her as she spoke, astounded by her eloquence and the poignancy of her words. When she was finished, the table burst into applause, whether for her speech or my dad’s accomplishments, I wasn’t sure. Regardless, everyone had forgotten my lame and obviously troubled words.
“Thanks for that,” I whispered in her ear when she returned to her chair.
“Any time,” she whispered back.
6
Stormi
After dinner, Breck and Tiffany asked Huck and me if we wanted to join them for a nightcap over in the hotel bar. I figured Huck had already had his share, but he seemed eager, so I agreed as well.
The entire night had stirred up more feelings for me than I cared to have. Confusing ones. Mostly about Huck Clifton. He was a puzzling mess of a man. That said, I’d seen a whole new side to him tonight—a wounded, tortured man who loved his family. At the same time, he seemed emotionally removed and unable to express his deep love. Not tonight, anyway.
The entire room had felt for him during his heartbreaking speech. I’d caught Breck’s teary glance afterward. He and Tiffany seemed to understand how much pain he was in but were without answers. Being unable to help those you love is as helpless as one can be. I should know.
We ended up in a booth at the bar in the hotel. The atmosphere was relaxed with blue pendant lights over each table casting a comforting glow. We ordered a round of drinks before Tiffany touched her foot to mine under the table. “Bathroom?”
I nodded, and we excused ourselves.
We hadn’t had a chance to talk at dinner, and I was sure she was curious how it was going with Huck. I’d texted her earlier that day to tell her I’d be here but had left it at that.
We used the restroom, then huddled together in the lounge area of the women’s bathroom. Over the last year, Tiffany and I had become close. She was completely opposite of me, quiet and sweet and much more innocent despite having spent her first sixteen years in a misogynist cult. Since she and Breck had fallen in love, she’d blossomed. It did my bitter heart good to see her so happy.
As quickly as I could, I told her about Huck’s friend’s death. “He got the news this afternoon. I found him two whiskeys in,” I concluded at the end.
“How awful,” Tiffany said. “The poor man must have been in a really bad place.”
“I can’t stop thinking about his wife and kids.”
“Poor Huck.” Tiffany gazed at the ceiling for a second, obviously taking in what I’d told her. “No wonder he’s so mixed up. What do you think they saw over there that messed them up this badly?”
I shook my head, unable to even venture a guess. “I don’t know, but he’s not all right.” It begged the question, however, what it was about me that he disliked so much. Did I remind him of someone from his past? Never mind. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t about me. I couldn’t help him. Soon, I wouldn’t even see him much.
“I don’t know if he’ll talk to Breck about all of it,” I said. “But will you let Breck know to keep a good watch over him? He seems…” I trailed off. What was the word? “Fragile. He seems fragile.”
“We all are in our own way,” Tiffany said softly.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
She gave me a quick hug. “What was that for?” I asked, giving her my weight for a few seconds. It felt good to have someone wrapping their arms around me.
“I don’t know. Breck’s rubbing off on me. He’s always hugging everyone.”
“Hugs are good. From the right people.”
“True. Come on, we should get back.” She bobbed her head in the direction of the bar.
The men were in the middle of a heated discussion about hockey. Huck seemed all right, not as drunk as I’d feared. When we were seated, Huck gestured toward me. “Did you guys know Stormi’s leaving me?”
“We know,” Breck said. “We’re pleased for her.”
“Hey, what’s that mean?” Huck asked, grumpily.
“I mean, we’re pleased she’s been asked to run the new gallery. It suits her. Or, I mean, it suits you.” Breck raised his beer bottle and clinked against the side of my wineglass.
We talked for a while about Jennie and Crystal’s vision for the gallery. “They’re going to eventually give me more decision-making power about who we display and stuff, but for now I’m a glorified assistant.”
“You have to start somewhere,” Tiffany said. “As long as you have time for our weddings, then I’m not going to worry.”
“I’ll have time,” I said. “Especially since it’s slow during the cooler months. The weddings will fill in the gaps nicely.” I sighed before taking a sip from my glass of wine. It wasn’t nearly as good as the wine from dinner. “Who will I be without money problems, though? You guys won’t recognize me.”
“You’ll be free.” Tiffany tipped her head to rest her cheek against Breck’s shoulder. “The best kind of free.”
Our conversation halted as the cover band returned to the small stage in the corner of the bar. Given the number of people in here, I guessed they were getting a lot of spillover from the earlier book event. As the band started to play a country ballad, people wandered onto the small dance floor. Tiffany and Breck got up to partake, leaving me alone with Huck.
