Page 47 of Running Risk
CLAYTON: NOW
Grabbing my keys from the kitchen counter, I walk out the front door and jump in my truck. The engine purrs to life as my phone rings in my pocket. Pulling it out, I immediately answer, seeing Mr. Thompson’s name.
“Hello?”
“Hey, son. I was wondering if you had a minute to come by?”
My hand thrums on the steering wheel. “Yeah. I’m leaving my house now. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Great. Janet will have breakfast waiting for you.” He doesn’t wait for a reply before he hangs up.
I’ve always valued their relationship and am thankful they don’t treat me differently, no matter the status of the relationship I have with their daughter.
I’d drop anything and everything to be there for them if they call.
In minutes, I pull into their driveway. The house is exactly as I remember the first time my parents took me here for dinner all those years ago.
Janet’s garden of flowers has expanded, but it’s barely changed beyond that.
After parking, I walk to their front door, and I don’t have to knock before Mrs. Thompson swings the door open.
A smile already stretches across her face.
“Clayton, I’m glad you could make it. I hope we aren’t keeping you from too much work. I know how hard the business is to run.” She stands aside, allowing me room to enter after I scuff the bottom of my boots on their mat outside, not wanting to track in dirt.
“It’s no problem.” I follow her into the dining room, where Mr. Thompson already sits at the head of the table.
I sit on the side, across from Mrs. Thompson, like I have every other time when Rylee isn’t here.
When she lived here, we sat across from each other, and Mrs. Thompson sat at the other end of the table.
Mr. Thompson grabs the platter in front of him and extends it to me.
Sitting on it are large fluffy pancakes and bacon, and there’s another platter with fried eggs and seasoned potatoes.
My stomach growls at the spread before me.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been here to eat, and each time, I leave with a full stomach.
“I know you’re probably wondering why I asked you here.” Mr. Thompson says, after placing food onto his plate.
I glance at him while forking my own food onto my plate, waiting for him to explain. I never mind stopping by, but it is unusual for him to ask me to come last minute like this.
“One of the reasons is that I wanted to see how the new designer is working out. Is she helping as much as you were hoping? I want to make sure you’re getting the business you deserve.” He pours syrup onto his pancakes before passing me the bottle.
I nod. “Marge has been an exceptional worker. We have been able to bring in more business than before since she’s breaking down exactly what the options are for the customers. The customers have also been requesting specific changes, and she’s been able to provide those for them to approve.”
Mrs. Thompson smiles. “That’s wonderful, Clayton.”
I nod. Marge has helped around the office way more than I expected.
Even days like today, I told her I’d be a little late, and she already had everything taken care of, also stating that Avery had the crew getting started with their work.
My desk isn’t covered in paperwork anymore, and the emails are all read and replied to.
She has gone above and beyond. I’m considering giving her a raise since she’s doing more than I expected and has made my life easier.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Mr. Thompson places his elbows on the table as he folds his hands in front of his mouth. “The other reason I wanted to see you is about Rylee.”
The fork filled with eggs on its way to my mouth pauses, and I turn to face him, placing the fork back on my plate. I know that for him to bring up Rylee, it’s going to be serious. Mrs. Thompson goes more quiet and stops eating. My eyes bounce between them, waiting for them to continue.
“Rylee is a force to be reckoned with.”
He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know.
“What Mike is trying to say.” Mrs. Thompson looks at her husband before turning to me. “She was sick a week ago when we had that terrible thunderstorm.”
I nod, knowing she was sick. That was the last time I saw her, even though I’ve been wanting to check on her ever since. I’ve kept my distance to give her space.
“My husband isn’t as young as he used to be.”
I furrow my eyebrows listening to her. The man before me is in amazing health, and he’s one of the strongest men I know. I wouldn’t consider him getting up in age.
“What she’s saying is that Rylee had a large tree fall on her driveway, and it needs to be removed.”
I have to keep myself from chuckling because I saw this man remove one of his own trees only a few weeks ago, so I know they are only doing this to get me around Rylee. I nod, not needing them to say anything else. “I’ll get it taken care of.”
“Oh, you really are the son I’ve always wanted.” Mrs. Thompson beams at me, and I shake my head. I’d do anything for the people at this table, and they wouldn’t even have to give me a reason.
Deciding that an entire day of tree chopping will go better if I get an early start, I waste the rest of the day stressing about how Rylee will react to unasked-for help.
Hoping for the best, I show up as soon as the sun provides enough light to get the job done—although it’s already way hotter than should be allowed at eight a.m. The sun’s already beating down on me.
Grabbing my chainsaw from the bed of my truck, I put it next to Rylee’s tree that’s blocking her driveway.
Her truck’s tire marks are in the grass going around it, and I’m not sure how long it would have taken her to get someone to come out.
I haven’t seen her since I pulled up about five minutes ago, but I don’t think it will take long once I start the chainsaw.
Yanking my shirt over my head, I catch my hat before it falls and put it back on, tossing the shirt into the cab of my truck.
I yank on the pull cord and the chainsaw roars to life, and I begin cutting up the tree into sections that I’ll chop into smaller pieces later with my axe.
“Tennessee Whiskey” by Chris Stapleton plays in my earbuds, and I get lost in the music while working in the blazing sun.
Once I finish my fourth cut, long legs stand in my peripheral vision. I glance up and find Rylee standing there in jean shorts and a black tank top. Her hair is in two braids as she stares me down. Turning off the saw, I pause my music and pull out my earphones.
“What are you doing?” Her tone is made more serious with her hands firmly on her hips.
I glance at the stumps in front of me that I still need to make into smaller pieces for firewood, and look back at her. “Cutting down a tree.”
She huffs out a breath like this is exhausting her. “And why do you think you can cut down my tree?”
“Your dad.” I wipe the beads of sweat off my forehead. “Feeling better?”
Her mouth opens only to snap closed, and I walk around her, grabbing my water bottle and chugging half of it. Her eyes don’t leave me, but she doesn’t say anything either. I stand mere inches away from her. Her eyes narrow before finally saying, “Yes.”
“Great. Can I finish?”
She huffs out a breath before whirling around, grabbing her phone from her back pocket as she walks back into her house. She’s probably calling her dad, but I pick up the chainsaw again and return to sawing the other half of the tree.
Picking up my axe, I swing against the largest stump.
I have to put all my weight into each swing to get it to crack.
Once I get the wood into smaller pieces, I stack them in the bed of my truck.
The sweat rolls down my body without a cloud in the sky.
Once the job is done, I jump in the truck and pull it around the side of her house where she keeps her firewood and begin stacking it.
As I put the last few pieces in place, Rylee comes out with a glass of sweet tea, and my mouth waters at the sight. I nod once she places it in my hand and gulp down the contents.
“Thank you.” I motion toward the wood. “All of it is there, and now you can drive down your driveway.”
There’s a small smile on her lips as she looks toward the ground. “Thank you, Clay.”
“It’s no problem.”
She shakes her head. “No, you really didn’t have to do this for me. ”
I take a step forward, making her look at me. “I’d do anything for you.”
Her eyes lower as her shoulders slump. “I just can’t, Clay.” She turns and walks away, her footsteps less determined as she drags herself back to her house.
I watch her and see the sadness apparent in every muscle in her body. This is really affecting her just as much as it is me, and I hate to see her this way. She wants to forgive me and trust me again, but she doesn’t know how. I can’t blame her, but I wish I knew how to fix it.