Heart of Clay Read Free

fathom how he created such a mess making
something as simple as soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.
    Unfortunately, Callan and Clay rarely ate a
meal together. When they did, it more often than not involved them
sitting in separate chairs in front of the television with Clay
watching sports or hunting programs while Callan quietly seethed
that he always controlled the remote.
    She would spend the remainder of her evening
in her home office, working to get her own business off the ground.
At bedtime, she’d return to the kitchen expecting Clay to have done
the dishes. Disappointment always washed over her to find them
still piled on the counter, covered in dried-on food.
    Instead of addressing the issue, she’d say
nothing and start loading plates into the dishwasher. Clay would
wander into the kitchen and ask if she needed help. Rather than
responding, she’d send him a heated glare that would have fried
lesser men and continue slamming dishes. Clay wouldn’t say
anything, retreating to their bedroom. By the time Callan climbed
into bed, she would be in a snit because he always left the dishes
for her to do. She was the one who cleaned house, purchased
groceries, paid the bills, and did all the laundry. She didn't
think it was such a big deal for him to take responsibility for the
dishes. Especially when she worked two jobs and wasn’t home most
nights.
    In addition to her full-time job at the
convention center, Callan ran her own event planning business. The
board at the convention center fully approved of her second job
because it brought in a respectable amount of additional revenue.
Callan always suggested the meeting space there to her clients who
searched for a place to hold an event. Too bad Clay didn’t
appreciate it as much as her employers did.
    When she started the event planning business
four years ago, Clay half-heartedly agreed to her trying it. It was
the ideal career for her. She loved to socialize, was known for her
attention to detail and organization skills, and she possessed a
unique creative flair. Event planning was her passion.
    Callan attended some small business classes,
put together a business plan, took out a loan, and started her
business. She ran it out of her home office and spent any free
moments during her evenings and weekends meeting with clients and
organizing their events. She dreamed of growing the business to the
point she could do event planning full-time and quit her job at the
convention center.
    The first few years in business had been
rough as she sought to establish herself and gain a client base.
The business was like a, “black hole of debt, sucking money left
and right,” or so Clay said in one particularly unpleasant
conversation.
    He didn’t want to incur any debt and instead
thought it better to borrow the money from his parents to start her
business. Callan refused. They had never borrowed money from
relatives and she wouldn’t start just because Clay acted
hardheaded. Clay quickly went from offering unenthusiastic support
to being actively annoyed at any mention of her business, Elegant
Events. They finally agreed not to discuss it at all.
    Due to that fact, he was unaware that her
business had recently experienced remarkable growth or that she had
made a sizeable dent in the debt. If the growth continued like it
had for the past two years, she should be debt free in another
eighteen months.
    Callan pulled her car into the parking space
she had used for the past eight years. It was hard to believe she’d
been at the convention center that long, but she did enjoy her job.
The only fly in the ointment was the general manager the board
hired to replace the last in a long line of incompetent general
managers.
    Arty Bierwagen was in his late sixties,
short, overweight, and a prime candidate for a study on the early
stages of dementia. He took a daily bath in cologne that smelled
like a cheap motel’s lounge and walked as if his hips might come
unhinged at any moment. A