Page 79 of Sterling Clay

And we start the race all over again.

Chapter 26

[Clay]

When Mavis next works, I take Dutton on the special day I promised him. Before we head to the horse stables, which Mavis approved, and thought Dutton would thoroughly enjoy, we stop at a Walmart between Sterling Falls and Huntington.

“I want you to pick out anything you’d like to make your room feel more like your room.”

After our night together, Mavis moved her things into my bedroom where I’d made space in the dresser. I already had more than enough space in my closet as my wardrobe is mainly Seed & Soil t-shirts and button-ups with an occasional flannel tossed in, and jeans.

Dutton and I wandered the bedding aisles where there were almost too many choices for a kid to make a decision. While standing among the sheets and comforters, a man with shoulder length hair, wearing a leather jacket and heavy riding boots enters the same aisle. A nasty-looking scar mars his face. He stands a few feet away staring at the same set of sheets long enough, I wonder if he’s really looking for kid’s bedding at all.

When Dutton finally points to white bedding with polka dots in light pastel colors, I ask, “Are you sure?” The question is only meant to prompt him to be firm in his decision. My nieces and nephew have taught me kids can be fickle and I want Dutton to be positive about his choice.

Dutton nods and I reach for the bed set.

“You’re a boy, son,” the man states, his voice gruff like he’s a smoker. I’ve been accused that my voice sounds similar, but this man wears the scent of cigarettes on him like a badge of honor. He’s also surprisingly closer to us than he first was, and I notice that his dark hair is peppered with strands of gray. His face is weathered, and I’d put him roughly ten years older than me.

“Hey man,” I counter. “The boy can have what he wants.”

The man eyes Dutton up and down, taking in his pink nails and green t-shirt, something rather non-descript compared to some of Dutton’s other clothing.

The lingering look makes me extra protective of Dutton and I place my hand on his shoulder, both to reassure Dutton his choice is fine and let the stranger know he’s close enough. The contact also brings me comfort, making a statement to this rude man. My kid, my business.

“What about the blue set with planets on it?” The guy ignores me, reaching for the bed set he’s recommending and pulling it off the shelf.

Dutton only blinks at the package held toward him before looking up at me.

“We’re getting the polka dots,” I insist, addressing Dutton to reassure him and defend his choice. This stranger is pissing me off by even talking to Dutton. I’m one breath away from telling him to fuck off, which isn’t typically my nature.

The man continues to stare at Dutton before taking a second glance at the planet bedding in his hand. He grunts, tosses the set back onto the shelf, and spins on his heels. Dutton and I both watch him walk away.

Once he exits the aisle, I squat and spin Dutton so he focuses on me.

“Dutton, I want you to listen to me. Sometimes, old people can be ignorant. Hell, young people can be, too. It isn’t age that defines stupidity, it’s lack of knowledge and compassion.”

Dutton stares at me. My explanation might be over his head.

Placing my hands on his hips, I jostle him a little bit. “I want you to know that I think you are perfect. You’re smart and kind. You are loved by your mama and me.” Admitting such a thing out loud should surprise me, but the words flow easily. “People who love you, respect you, and that’s all that’s important. Which means you can be who you want to be and have what you want to have.”

I clutch the bedding package and hold it up.

“A stranger’s comments do not matter.”

Dutton weakly smiles, eyes lowered to the cement flooring.

“And I’m not going to let anyone ever tell you to be different than who you are meant to be. I’ll never let anything happen to you. Or your mama. That’s a promise.”

Dutton doesn’t speak but he reaches out for the buttons on my shirt, fiddling with the plastic circles a second.

“We should have a handshake for that promise,” Dutton finally states.

I extend my hand for a traditional handshake, but Dutton shakes his head. “A special, secret one.”

“A secret one, huh?” I purse my lips. “Got one in mind? Or do we invent our own?”

Dutton holds out his small hand. “First we slap.” He holds up my hand to imitate what I need to do for my part.