Free Chloe by Cleveland McLeish Page B

echoes through her like an old familiar
song, coaxing strange feelings to the surface, like something from a dream.
Patrick lets her go. At present, she is not sure she wanted him to do that.
    “Chloe?!” she hears someone shout from a distance. James is
looking for her.
    Chloe probably scared him half to death back in the chapel.
Chloe glances towards the entrance of the alleyway, then turns to face Patrick.
He is no longer there. Chloe assumes a perplexed pout. There are no doors, no other
entrances or exits leading out of the deadended alley, but he is gone. Gone. James appears at the entrance to the alleyway and breathes a sigh of relief at
the sight of her.
    James goes to Chloe.
    “What’s going on?” he wants to know as he catches his breath.
    “I have to take a rain check on dinner,” she states. Chloe
once again leaves James in the dust, standing alone in the alleyway to juggle
his own vexation.
    •
    James’ house is a roomy one story closer to the suburban
district. The smell of baked chicken is the first thing to greet him when he
walks in the door. He wanders over the tile and into the kitchen where his
mother, Kathleen, is busy cooking. She is boiling potatoes and sliding a cake
into the oven when James walks in.
    Kathleen looks up, setting the oven mitts aside on the
granite countertop and wiping her hands on her apron.
    When she notices that he is alone, she frowns curiously,
glancing about. She asks the obvious, and the last thing James wants to hear at
the moment, no matter how good her intentions are. “Where’s Chloe?”
    James drags his feet to the kitchen table where he drags out
a chair and takes a seat, visibly sulking. “Not coming.”
    Kathleen deflates, but only just. Chloe has canceled on them
before, many times. The girl is often unreliable in that regard. She should
have known. She looks over the quantity of food she is preparing, feeling a
little cheated. The woman sighs, regaining her serene smile.
    “Hope you are really hungry,” she mentions optimistically.
Although, she can tell James is more disappointed and sad than hungry. He
should be. Kathleen decides not to inquire as to Chloe’s reasons. “I’m sorry
honey. I know how you feel about her.”
    James laughs mirthlessly, propping his chin on his folded
arms, nestled into his own pity and self-doubt. He picks at one of the
placemats. “My feelings are not the problem.” He stares at the tabletop
expressionlessly.
    Kathleen gently pats his back as she passes him by to close
the blinds. “Only someone you love can hurt you, baby.” The words throw James’
emotions into sharp relief. “Maybe you need to tell her how you feel.”
    “She’s smart,” he mumbles. Oftentimes, Chloe is too smart.
“I think she knows.” He knows she knows. James cannot help but fear that
Chloe’s heart is not as entrenched as he is. He cannot help but fall farther
than he can afford to every time he sees her. While James probably only has a
piece of her heart, she has all of his—hook, line, and sinker.
    Kathleen pins him in place with a scolding look and a
lopsided smirk. “She may assume,” she reminds him, “but she can’t know unless
you tell her.” Kathleen finds it funny that, when it comes to the relationship
between her son and Chloe, Chloe is the clueless one. In her experience, it is
typically the other way around. “You don’t want to know you missed something
beautiful because you chose to be silent.” That is Kathleen’s biggest fear.
That is why she became a pastor in the first place.
    She cannot be silent.
    It is her duty to spread the word and the love of God.
    Kathleen’s cell phone, laying on the island, starts to ring
to the tune of When the Saints Go Marching In . She crosses the kitchen
and picks it up. She looks at the caller id and pushes the phone aside,
ignoring it. Kathleen returns to the stove.
    James watches her, noting the shadows of anger that float
across her face. Only half-interested, “Who are