Light in the Shadows

she was throwing my way that I needed to make myself scarce. 
                    Clay’s expression had been bordering on panic and I could only grimace in return as I followed my mom into the kitchen.  “Do you think it’s smart leaving those two alone?” I had asked my mom, casting nervous looks down the hallway toward the living room.  I could hear the nondescript murmur of their voices but nothing else. 
                    My mom had gone about getting things together for tea.  She pulled out a box of peanut butter cookies and put them on a plate.  “Your dad needs to talk to Clay, Maggie.  I think it’s best to let them speak privately for a moment.”  That had made my stomach flutter nervously.
                    My mom had given me a reassuring hug.  “He’s not going to threaten him with a shot gun.  But there are things he needs to say.  Things Clay needs to hear.  If you plan on having a relationship with him, then your father and I are going to make certain things very clear.”  I had felt the overwhelming urge to throw up and then run into the living room and whisk Clay out of the house.  What the hell had I been thinking in bringing him here?  I wasn’t so sure Clay was emotionally ready to deal with whatever my dad decided to dish out. 
                    Five minutes (that actually felt like five hours) later, we took the cups of tea and plate of cookies back into the living room.  I felt the tension as soon as we entered the room and my eyes fastened on Clay in apprehension.  I had been surprised to see that he looked…well…okay.  Both he and my dad looked up when we placed the stuff on the coffee table.  I chanced a glance at my dad and he seemed rigid but at least he wasn’t angry.
                    I had been dying to know what was said, but I figured I’d have to wait until later.  For the time being, conversation had drifted into how Ruby’s shop was doing.  Whether it had been hard for Clay readjusting to life in a small town.  My parents had asked him questions about Florida without outright demanding information concerning the facility where he had lived for three months.
                    Their questions instead consisted of that sneaky, underhanded method of information gathering that they had recently adopted.  Because Clay began to offer up tidbits about his time at the Grayson Center that he hadn’t even told me.  He shared about how difficult it had been to keep up with school, having only two hours a day to cram it all in.  He talked a bit about the people he met there, speaking at length about his roommate Tyler, who had been there for heroine abuse and paranoid schizophrenia. 
                  I tried not to sit there with my mouth hanging open.  Here we were, two months after Clay had returned to Davidson and I barely knew a thing about Grayson or the people he had befriended there.  I had felt like the world’s worst girlfriend.  But my parents respectfully listened and asked their own questions. 
                    “I’m glad Maggie is seeing your therapist.  That was a wonderful thing to suggest,” my mom had said, again flooring me with her understanding.  Clay had smiled at me, a soft look on his face as he answered my mother.
                    “I’m completely invested in making this work.  I want Maggie and I to have the kind of relationship that is built totally on trust and support for each other.  I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure I’m the best person I can be for her.  And for me.”  My parents seemed to appreciate his words, though I noticed they still watched the two of us closely.
                    When it was time for Clay to leave, my mother hugged him and my dad had patted his shoulder.  “We’ll see you soon,” Dad had said as I walked Clay out to his car. 
                    “Yes, sir.  And thank you, for everything,” Clay told my dad who only nodded.  I waited until my parents closed the front door and we were walking down the front path to his car before asking him about his earlier conversation with my dad.
                    Clay had laughed.  “That was killing, you wasn’t it?”  I had playfully punched him in the shoulder.
                    “Tell me!  Please!” I whined, making Clay laugh harder.