Dirty Scoundrel(40)

Just the thought makes my eyes sting. Fuck. I stare up at the ceiling  even as people file into the parlor and start murmurin' condolences to  each other. Gage sits next to me, a beer in his hands-Seth's favorite  beer. For the first time in the last week, he isn't tippin' a bottle  back to his mouth. He's just holdin' it, empty.

Think he's the one that's takin' this harder than all of us. I'm tore  up, but Gage . . . he's broken. He and Seth were closest out of all of  us-both in age and in friendship.

"I'm the one that nagged him to go back to work," Gage says suddenly.

"Huh?" I look over at him.

Gage stares at his beer, expression hollow. "I told him that Boone  wanted him to show his stuff. That he needed to make us proud. Everyone  did their turn on a rig, you know? Didn't matter that we had money. It  was a pride thing. That's what Price brothers do. We roughneck. And he  didn't wanna go." He rolls the bottle back and forth in his hands. "I  talked him into it."

"You didn't know," I tell him, the knot back in my throat. Seems  permanently lodged there lately. "It was a freak accident. Equipment  slipped. It happens." I wiggle my toes in my boot, because every time  there's a rig accident, I think about mine and what it cost me.

Cost Seth his life.

"I should have known," Gage says bitterly. "Seth was such a dumbass, you  know? Never paid attention. That's why his rig had an accident-he  always got distracted. The others won't say whose fault it was that the  pipe got loose, but you and I both know he was a lazy little fuck." He  gets up and suddenly flings the beer bottle across the room.         

     



 

It crashes against the wall, leaving a wet splat, and the wake goes silent.

"Can't stay here," Gage says, and storms out of the room.

Natalie comes in a moment later, eyes wide. Her gaze goes to the stain  on the wall. "I'll get some towels." She races away and comes back a  short time later, shooing Ivy away from cleaning it up. She's got it.

She's takin' care of all of us, I think. Nat hates seein' people hurt. She just wants to make it better.

I don't deserve her. She's too good.

I watch, aching, as she picks up glass and then hurries off to dispose  of it. I worry I've fucked things up between us. That night, I know I  hurt her feelings. She came back anyhow, and I cried on her shoulder,  but ever since then, I know I've been distant and preoccupied. It's like  everything that happens this week is another stab in the gut. Meetings  with shareholders to determine what's going to happen to Seth's share of  Price Brothers Oil. Meetings with lawyers to determine how his estate  will be settled. Meetings with employees to fill out work reports.  Meetings with the funeral home. It's a never-ending parade of reminders  that my little brother, who had his entire life ahead of him, lost it  all on a simple rig accident.

And I haven't been dealin' with it too well. I haven't touched Nat in  days. I've wanted to. God, have I wanted to. But it feels wrong to touch  her and be happy to have her in my arms when Seth's gone. I feel guilty  for the contentment I feel when I wake up with her in bed, curled up  next to me. I don't know how to handle it.

So I don't, and I suspect that just makes things worse.

Nat hasn't said anything to me, but she has to be imagining the worst.  How can she not? I haven't been the man she deserves. Not lately.

Someone comes and sits down next to me. I straighten, about to tell them  to fuck off, when I realize it's a heavily pregnant blonde woman. Ivy.  She settles in the chair next to me and then rests a hand on the top of  her belly, a handkerchief clutched in her fingers. "Mind if I sit for a  few? Baby's feeling a little heavy today."

"Course not," I tell her. I put a smile on my face because she looks so  tired and worn. She's due in about two weeks and she looks exhausted.  This hasn't been easy on any of us, but I know Boone's takin' things  real hard because he feels like a father figure to all of us. Fuck, who  am I kiddin'? We're all wrecked. But I feel like I need to be  lighthearted so Ivy doesn't worry. "Junior there sittin' on your  bladder?"

"Not Junior," she tells me, as we launch into our familiar game.

I take up the reins. "I've been thinkin' you should go with somethin' close to Boone's name. Like Bud. Or Bo."

Ivy looks over at me and just gives me this sweet, content smile. "We  decided on a name last night, you know. It's going to be Seth." She rubs  a hand down the swell of her belly. "I think he'd like that."

"He'd fuckin' love it," I tell her hoarsely. My vision blurs and  doubles. Fuck. I'm gonna bawl like a baby right in front of Ivy. Goddamn  it, but I miss my little brother. I miss him so much.

Wordlessly, Ivy offers me her handkerchief.

I take it and blow my nose loudly. "Thanks." As I do, Nat sails past,  another dish in her hands. She's talking animatedly to a couple that  have come in, showing them around the house. Distant cousins, I think,  judging by their clothes. Or employees of PBO that worked on a rig with  Seth. Dunno. There's a strange mix at this wake-some of the folks are  dressed in Armani suits and wearing gold jewelry. Some are just wearin'  their best Sunday shirt and jeans, 'cause that's all they've got that's  proper. All that matters is they're here to show respect, and I like  that Nat treats 'em all like close personal friends of the family, even  Seth's stoner buddies that show up and huddle in the corner.

"She's been such a big help this week," Ivy says in a soft voice. "She  knows we're struggling and she's been doing whatever she can to help  out. I'd have been lost without her." She looks over and smiles at me  weakly. "Wynonna wasn't much help. Finals and all that."

I nod slowly. "She's got a real soft heart. Hates seein' us hurtin'."

"She's wonderful, Clay."

"I know."

My sister-in-law reaches over and pats my hand. "Just making sure you  do. I know you paid her to be your girlfriend, but I can tell that you  care for her. You just make sure you tell her that at some point, okay?  Girls like to be told that sort of thing. I know you boys all think it's  just implied, but it's not."         

     



 

I nod.

"I just don't want you to let her get away." Ivy rubs her hand slowly up  and down her belly again. "Boone told me about the past, when you two  broke up. You deserve happiness. Just don't let it slip between your  fingers." She gives me a self-deprecating little smile. "Look at me,  lecturing you like I'm the great love expert or something. I just like  her and I'd like a sister-in-law at some point. And I think she's good  for you."

I kinda think she's good for me, too. "I'll tell her. I promise."



Natalie

I'm exhausted after the wake. Hours after the guests have gone, I'm with  the kitchen staff, cleaning up the endless piles of dishes. Ivy's  upstairs sleeping-she's far too pregnant to be helping clean up. The  brothers are all upstairs playing cards and sharing memories of Seth. He  loved poker, Clay told me last night, and so they wanted to play a few  hands in his honor after his funeral. I totally understand, and I'm  keeping busy while Clay gets the grief out of his system. There's a  mounting list of chores to be done, and I'm used to cleaning until late,  thanks to my one-woman show at Dad's museum. So I find the vacuum in  Ivy's enormous house and clean while the others occupy themselves with  their grief. I'm not good with it, I don't think. My mother died when I  was young, and my father's side of my family was pretty much dead and  gone by the time I showed up. I've never had a big extended family,  never had siblings. There's been stepmothers, of course, but I didn't  cry when they left. I can't imagine the grief that Clay is going through  right now.

So I do what I can to help out.

I hate seeing him hurting so much. Every night, he doesn't want to make  love. He just pulls me close and holds me for hours on end. He doesn't  say anything. Doesn't cry. Doesn't get angry at the world that took his  brother from him. But he needs my touch. Even when I wake up in the  morning, he's still wrapped around me, as if he's terrified I'm going to  leave him.

But I'm not doing that. I'm never leaving my sweet Clay again. The other  night was a wake-up call for me. I realized how easy it is for me to  retreat into my hurt and just walk away when I'm upset. I can't do that  anymore. It cost me seven years of happiness and I'll be damned if I'll  let it cost me seven more. When I'm unhappy, I need to communicate it  better. And I'm going to have a long, long talk with Clay about shutting  me out when he's hurting.

Now's not the time, though. It can all wait a few more days.

I finish vacuuming and wrap up the cord. A moment later, an arm goes  around my waist and Clay buries his face against my neck, inhaling deep.

"All finished?" I ask softly.

"For now. Played a million hands and shared stories about Seth. Still  didn't bring him back." His words are unhappy and softly slurred. He's  had several beers, probably to try and drown his feelings. Poor thing.