"I always have time for you." She yearned to reach out and touch his arm, but her hand remained by her side. "What's going on?"
Gray Cloud stared at the cottonwood. "It is my grandson," he said without any introduction.
Megan's knees buckled and it felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. Clay Jackson appeared in her mind as clearly as if he stood in front of her. He wore his long, black hair in a ponytail tied with a red leather cord. Dark eyes lured women to him. His well-toned chestnut-colored chest glistening with sweat made it difficult to remember why she did not like him. Then it hit her like being bucked off a horse and she returned her focus to Gray Cloud. "Why does Clay worry you?" she asked, the name sticking to her tongue.
"It is not Clay. It is his brother, Colby."
"Clay has a brother?" she stuttered, shocked by the news. "This is the first I've ever heard of him. Where is he?"
"Colby lives in Florida, running an ad agency, while disregarding his heritage and family. He refuses to visit, and phone calls and letters are rare and brief. I cannot begin to describe the burden my wife carries in her heart. Her life revolves around family; like the earth needs the sun my wife needs her children and grandchildren. Without family what does one have?" He paused for a moment, his eyes taking on a reflective state.
"For years I let my grandson live his life his way, with the belief he would one day return to us," Gray Cloud said. He looked into the sky. "The wind is blowing right for his arrival. Yet I fear he has forgotten how to read the wind."
As Gray Cloud talked, Megan's heart twitched. Lyricism crept through his words and put a song in her soul. Only this tune she did not recognize. "Why did Colby leave and where do his parents live?" she asked.
"My grandson finds our heritage too limiting," Gray Cloud said, now looking at Megan. "My daughter and son-in-law moved to Oregon many years ago for better job opportunities. We do talk, but have not seen them in years. My wife and I are too old to travel, and they are too busy. What a crazy world we have created." He shook his head as his gaze returned to the tree. He ran his crooked fingers over it, touching each groove. Minutes passed before he spoke. "Thank you for listening, my child. We'll talk again." His sluggish stride and hunched shoulders showed he carried many burdens.