Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)

Once Izzie starts talking her ear off, I crouch down in front of Clay and place my pointer finger and thumb on his chin, capturing his gaze. His gray eyes hold so much sadness that it almost knocks me over.

Planting my feet firmly on the ground, I clear my throat. “What’s the matter, Clay?”

He’s silent for several seconds, his gaze moving from mine before coming back, his eyes misting over.

“I wish Mom was here to see this.”

My stomach dips and I’m stumped, not knowing what I should or shouldn’t say; yet again.

“Well…” I look up and catch Amelia’s gaze. She smiles sadly and crouches down beside me, taking Clay’s hands in hers.

“She’s watching over you, Clay. She sees everything you do,” she says softly.

My chest deflates and I mouth “thank you” to her.

“Really?” he asks, his gaze going back and forth between the both of ours.

“Really,” she answers, nodding and giving his hands a small squeeze.

He smiles sadly before looking up at the sky and then back at me. “I still wish that she was here.”

“I know,” I say, my voice breaking. “I do too, bud.”

I hold my arms out wide and Amelia lets go of his hands, standing up before I pull him into my chest and close my eyes. We stay like that for a moment; I think I need it just as much as he does.

“Want to see what I made?” he asks softly, pulling away slightly and looking behind me toward the studio.

My head whips around, noticing that everyone has gone inside. “Yeah, I do!” I grin wide and stand up, placing my arm around his shoulders and walking inside, thankful for the subject change.

He leads me around, showing me all of the different places. Telling me where everything normally is, but as it’s gallery night, most of it has been moved elsewhere to allow for all of the people that are attending.

There’s all kinds of people here: parents with their children, couples laughing and drinking wine, and an old man who is studying some paintings. He looks down at someone and my gaze follows his movement. My lips can’t help but quirk up at the corner as I see Izzie explaining something to him.

My thoughts drift back to Natalia the longer I’m in here. I know she’d have loved all of the art they made, she’d have hung it all up around the house. The thought makes me smile.

“I made a sculpture.” Clay’s excited face has me shaking the thoughts from my head as I follow him to the other side of the studio.

“Daddy!” Izzie joins us, barreling into my legs but I see her coming so I brace myself, lifting her up into my arms and tickling her, her giggles surrounding us.

I place her on the floor and we walk past a staircase; I can’t help but dip my head to see if I can see where it leads. There’s no rope there; nothing to say it’s off limits.

I tear my eyes away, stepping toward where Clay is standing, but my eyes wander back of their own accord to the stairs; something is pulling me to them and I can’t understand what.

Clay picks up his sculpture, turning around and holding it up, his face beaming with pride.

My eyes widen at the sight of it and I take it from his offered hand, twisting it this way and that as I study all of the small details he added.

“Is it a candleholder?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he whispers, his voice unsure.

“Wow!” Mom says as she comes up behind us, clapping her hands. “That’s so good, Clay! Did you do that all by yourself?”

“I did,” he answers.

I continue to turn it around and marveling at all of his sculpture work, along with the bright colors that he’s used.

“It’s really good,” I say, handing it back to him and crouching down. “I’m so proud of you.” His cheeks heat and he looks away, but I don’t move, not taking my eyes off his. He needs this, I need this. We all need to know that no matter what happens, we have each other.