No Goin' Home(Valerie Allen) No Goin' Home
by
Valerie Allen


“Sex is a wonderful thing Clayton,” Callie said as he approached. She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked across the yard. She eyed the blond sitting in the long-bed, 4 x 4. “You better milk that cow while she's for free.”
Clayton straightened his shoulders. He squinted his eyes and rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin.
Callie got up from the wicker chair on the porch. She tamped her boots on the wooden boards creating a small cloud of dust and dirt. She gathered her long dark hair in one hand and tossed it behind her shoulder.
Clayton stopped for a moment and stared deep into her eyes. His voice took on a sharp edge. “You're a hard woman, Callie.” He shook his head and stepped onto the wooden porch. “You haven't changed a bit.”
She shrugged, her five-foot-one-inch frame not reaching to his shoulder. “Just trying to give you some free advice.”
Clayton ignored her and looked from one end of the narrow porch to the other. A clay pot of geraniums on the top step almost covered a hole where a plank had split. The porch needed painting, as did the clapboard house. He narrowed his eyes, turned his head, and spit out into the yard. “I'll come by and do some fixin' up around here when I get time.” He tugged his Stetson down so it shaded his eyes.
Callie perched on the porch railing. “Oh, no bother Clayton. I know you don't have time for this ol' place.” She tilted her head to one side. “'Course, you never did.”
He glared at her. “Don't start Callie.” His voice was gruff. “I was just tryin' to be nice.”
She picked at a strip of old paint and rolled it between her fingers. “Nice? Oh, it's way too late for nice, Clayton.”
He bent forward and rested his two calloused hands on the rail a few inches from her. “Just tryin' to fix things up around here, is all.”
She turned and looked him in the eyes. “I'm just sayin' there's nothing you can fix, so no need to try.”
He straightened and hooked his thumbs onto his belt. “You know what I mean. The place needs a man's hand.”
She swatted at a fly buzzing around her face. “I don't think it'll be too hard for me to find a man interested in coming around—to fix things.” She raised her eyebrows. “I'm sure you know what I mean.”
Clayton worked his lips up and down, the muscles in his jaw bulging in and out, trying to hold back his words. He booted a clod of dirt and sent it sailing from the porch onto the ground.
Callie eased off the porch railing, hands on hips, and raised her chin.
He turned away and looked toward the open yard. “Every time I come to pick up the boys, you start with me. You never give me half a chance.”
“Half a chance?” She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Why, Clayton Oakley, I gave you a chance and a half. There's no need for you to come sniffin' 'round me, 'cause it ain't never gonna' happen between us again.”
“I ain't looking for nothin' to happen,” he said sharply. He jerked his head toward the truck. “I got all I need and then some.”
She smiled. “Hmm, so I see. Well, I always knew you liked those big gals—just bursting with good health and all.”
He reached up and grabbed onto one of the wooden posts. “See, this is why I don't come around for the boys. You're always in a mood to make trouble.”
“Me?” She put her hand to her chest. “I'm so bad. I've kept you from seeing your sons—let me think, for how long? Three months or maybe it's been six months. It gets so confusin' to keep track when you keep changin' your visitation and then not showin' up.”
He looked down at his boots and rubbed one hand around the back of his neck. “I've got a life to live too, you know.”
She nodded. “I do know. I think you should go on and enjoy it while you still can, ol' man.”
Clayton clenched both fists and fought to control the anger in his voice. “Callie, I tried to be good to you and them boys and you know it! There's just no pleasin' you.”
She looked at him, her breathing coming in short, fast bursts. “I know you never could find your way home.” Her eyes widened, her nostrils flared. “I know me and them boys were always alone—Saturday, Sunday, nights, and holidays—that's what I know.”
“You'll never understand.” He pulled his dusty Stetson from his head and smacked it against the porch railing. “A man just needs some time away.”
She breathed deeply, raised one shoulder, and walked past him. “Well you should be real happy now, 'cause you can be away all you want.” She raised her chin in his direction and smiled. “Don't have to bring home your paycheck, don't have to remember birthdays, don't have to visit my folks, don't have to do nothin' around the house, and you can drink yourself silly whenever you want.”
“That's not the way it was!” he shouted.
“And no need for you to put up with the boys, except when you feel like it.”
“See what I mean?” He looked skyward. “Woman, you're always pushing me.”
“Seems to me you have everything you ever wanted. I think you ought to go on and have a good time.”
She turned her back to him and opened the screen door. The hinges squealed like a grunting pig. “Boys, your daddy's here! Time to get goin',” she called into the house.
Two blond, freckled-faced youngsters raced through the living room, ran out the screen door, and pushed past her. The stomp and scuff of their boots sounded like horse-hoofs coming over a wooden bridge.
“Daddy!” they yelled at once and jumped into his arms.
Clayton knelt and embraced them, his powerful arms crushing them into his chest. The Stetson fell off his head and blew into the yard. The boys jumped off the porch step, pushing and shoving each other in a race to grab it. They rolled and tumbled in the dusty yard snatching the hat from one another laughing as they did so.
Clayton let out a long high-pitched whistle. “Hey, toss that hat over here.” The Stetson sailed toward Clayton. He reached out, caught it, and then slapped it against his knees. “Go on to the truck you two, I'll be right there.”
Callie lifted two small, tan duffel bags by the straps and handed them to Clayton, careful their hands didn't touch. She avoided eye contact and slowly turned her back toward him and watched as her boys ran across the yard. She stood on the top porch step, leaned into the sunlight, and threw a kiss to each of her sons. A brown dust cloud trailed behind the boys as they dashed across the yard toward the truck.
“You boys do what your daddy says,” she called after them. She turned to Clayton. “Not as he does,” she said quietly.
Clayton, jaw set, slowly shook his head. Their eyes locked. His chest heaved and he tugged the Stetson tight onto his brow. Without a word he stepped off the porch, clutching the two tote bags. The short walk through the yard felt like a long, sun-scorched mile. He could feel Callie's eyes on his back.
“Bye, boys,” Callie called and blew them another kiss.

Clayton yanked the door handle on the driver's side, jumped into the truck, and slammed the door. He tossed the tote bags into the back seat.
“What took you so long?” whined the ample woman sitting next to him. “It's so hot my mascara is about to melt.” She pushed at her hair with her fingers, trying not to snare her newly painted nails.
He said nothing but stared through the windshield at the old house.
“These boys of yours are hootin' and hollerin', got their dirty shoes all over the seat. My brother's gonna blow his top when he sees what you let these kids do to his truck.”
“I'll take care of it,” Clayton said.
She glared at him. “I don't know why you want me to come with you when you get your boys.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to him. “How're we gonna party with these two kids around?”
Clayton glared at her and jammed the truck into gear. He circled it away from the house and headed down the long driveway.
“Come on Dad, let's kick up some dust,” the older boy shouted.
“Yeah, Dad what's the matter? Let's giddy yap,” the younger boy said.
Clayton slowed the truck and twisted around toward the back seat. “You boys settle down and buckle those seat belts.” He turned around and looked in the rear-view mirror. He watched Callie step off the porch. She pushed up her sleeves, lifted a metal bucket, and walked toward a rusty spigot in the weed-filled garden. Clayton yanked the gear shift, muttering to himself. “Nothing fancy about that woman. No makeup, skinny as a twig, hair like a rat's nest, and mean as a half-run-over dog.”
“What are you grumblin' about?” the woman asked.
“Yeah, Dad who are you talking to?” his oldest son asked.
Clayton stopped the truck, turned in his seat, and looked from one boy to the other. He studied them carefully. “I'm talkin' to the two of you.” His face softened. “I'm tellin' you something important.”
“What's that?” the younger boy asked.
Clayton pushed his Stetson up on his forehead. “You boys need to listen to your momma,” he said, a quiver in his voice.
“Why's that?” the older boy asked.
Clayton took a deep breath and spoke in a whisper. “'Cause she knows what's right.”


# # #

Thank you for taking the time to read
"No Goin' Home"
If you enjoyed it,
please consider telling your friends
and posting a review on Amazon.com
or other online sites.
Word-of-mouth referrals are
an author's best friend
and much appreciated.

No Goin' Home

by

Valerie Allen

Copyright 2014
by
Valerie Allen
All rights reserved

For more Information, please contact:
Valerie Allen

VAllenWriter@gmail.com
ValerieAllenWriter.com
Amazon.com/author/valerieallen
Amazon.com/dp/B00JFANQ4S

No Goin' Home
by
Valerie Allen


This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, or events, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this story may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or electronically.

Short Stories
by

Valerie Allen

A Good Thing on a Bad Day
A License to Practice
A Marriage of Convenience
A Mother's Love
A Tooth for a Tooth
Best Wishes
Brotherly Love
Conditional Love
Doggie Tales
Father's Day
Fire Engine Red
Fit for Life
Future Plans
Holiday Traditions
Home for the Holidays
I Remember Momma
Just Be Cos
Ladies in Waiting
Leisureville
Love is in the Air
Match-maker
Mother Knows Best
Potty Talk
Puppy Love
No Goin' Home
Second Chance
Small Steps
Split Second Timing
Thank You, Mr. Jackson!
The Garden of Love
The Lonely Life of Amanda Miller
The Penalty Box
Words of Wisdom
Valentine's Day
Visiting Day
~ ~ ~

---