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It's two in the morning when Arthur gets the call. He wakes up with a gasp, whole body surging forward as he takes in the familiar darkness of his room and listens to the obnoxious sound of the telephone ringing downstairs. He puts his sandals on and tries to calm his racing heart, making his way downstairs as slow as he can, still drowsy.
"Hello?"
He tries to keep the annoyance off his tone when he answers the phone but it's hard when he had so much trouble falling asleep and is now being woken up in the middle of the night. It doesn't help that the person on the other side doesn't say anything, he hears nothing on the other end of the line. Arthur swears if this is a stupid prank, he will–
Shit. The phone nearly falls from his hand when he tries to pull it away as fast as possible to avoid the unbearable sound of the phone shrilling like whoever is calling is making way too much noise for the earpiece to function properly. It's so loud Arthur can still hear it even without holding the phone to his ear. Arthur stares with wide eyes.
Slowly, after much hesitation, he puts his ear to the earpiece once again and tries to understand what this is about. It takes a few seconds for him to realize the sound he's hearing now isn't the phone malfunctioning but rather the high pitched, hoarse sound of someone sobbing on the other side. Arthur blinks in confusion, creeped out by this whole situation.
"Hello? Can- Can I help you?"
The sobbing continues for a moment but soon Arthur realizes it's changing, going from someone crying desperately to what sounds like an unhinged laugh, loud as the person who called wheezes. It still takes a moment for Arthur to get what this is but as the laughter goes on, becoming louder and clearer, he gets who's calling.
"Clay," he mumbles in a disappointed voice.
This only serves to make him laugh even harder, sounding like he might actually be out of breath now. So much so he's almost unable to talk.
"The- The way you- The way you sound!" Clay croaks out as he laughs like this is the funniest joke ever. "Did you- Did you- Did you-"
He can't finish his question because he won't stop laughing. Arthur is awake now, fully awake. He can feel a headache coming, just by listening to his son's voice. Groaning, he grips the phone tighter and waits for Clay to be done with whatever he wants to say. Hoping it won't take too long. He's tired. He just wants to go to sleep.
"Did you think it was Orel?" Clay asks, voice mocking. "No, Orel- Orel's asleep! He's out like a light, that one. Whenever I give him the old belt."
And he laughs again, because this is funny to him. Arthur shouldn't find it surprising but he feels for his grandson. He can't imagine what he must have done this time to warrant such an extreme reaction. But then again, in Clay's mind this is not an extreme reaction at all. He probably thinks he's doing Orel a favor.
Hitting his son with a belt to him is a sign that he cares, that he's doing his best as a father. Arthur can't comprehend it entirely, it's always hard for him to make sense of what goes through his son's mind. Even as a child, he had a misguided way of seeing things. But instead of helping him, of trying to understand, Arthur...
You're not even worth it.
Arthur has goosebumps just to think about it. Clay had been right to think part of him did expect it to be Orel, even if it made no sense for him to be calling so late. His grandson had been calling him a lot lately to talk to him about anything, just to be able to have someone to talk to. Arthur cherishes those talks, they're precious to him.
And he had been hoping it would be him. But then again, he would take a phone call from anyone that isn't Clay. As much as it shames him to admit it, he loathes hearing from Clay and having to talk to him. Not because he hates his son but because he can't stand to look at what he's become, all because of him. Maybe not all because of him.
But a big damn part of it, he's sure comes from the way he treated him. Arthur wouldn't want to say that he's a coward but he has to admit to himself that, when it comes to Clay, he might be. Maybe because he doesn't know how to fix the situation with his son, maybe because he's ashamed of making it seem like he knew what to do before.
When Clay had needed him most, he gave him hope. He made it seem like there was a chance for closure for the two of them, that maybe they could reconnect and find a way to forgive one another for everything that happened between them. He wishes he knew how to start. But he doesn't. And Clay won't be the one to make the first move.
He's too stubborn for that. In a way, he reminds Arthur of himself when he was younger.
"I was thinking," Clay says, slurring his words. "And I realized that you don't believe in God! You're one of those sketicals. Skecicles? Is that how you call it?"
He can tell just by the way Clay is speaking that he's drunker than he has ever seen him. Of course, Clay has never been sober since before his marriage, since Arthur drove away and left him behind in Moralton with the ghost of his mother. He still blames himself for this. Had he been there for Clay, maybe he wouldn't need to turn to drinking.
But it's no use thinking of the hypotheticals. This is the situation they're in now and it's their fate, it's what's happening in the present and dwelling on the past won't do them any favors. So he focuses on Clay's question and decides to allow himself to discuss this with him, even though it's pointless. He knows for a fact that it is.
People in Moralton lack any critical thinking. They believe what they're told to believe and they use God as both an excuse and a shield for anything. It's no use arguing with anyone from Moralton about religion, about God and Jesus and all of that. Arthur could argue it's no use arguing with them about anything, much less religious matters.
He often ignores the topic of religion when he talks to his grandson, smiles and nods when Orel mentions going to church or talks about God, his personal hero, Jesus, those gosh darned lost commandments. All of that, he can handle. He respects his grandson's faith because he knows it comes from a place of love rather than religious fanaticism.
But it's different, with his son. Arthur doesn't know where he's trying to get with this but he has a growing suspicion he won't like where he's headed.
"So I was thinking if you- well, you don't believe in God. Right? You need proof or whatever it is you g-godless, faithless bastards always say."
Arthur takes a deep breath, urges himself to be patient. It's easy to be patient when it concerns Orel but his first instinct with Clay is never to just see it through. It takes some effort. Like all the fatherly instincts he never had with Clay are suddenly there for Orel, he can't help but be patient with him, can't help but want to spend time with him.
"Yep. I need proof. Like those faithless, godless bastards. What exactly are you trying to get at, son?"
Once again, Arthur has to distance his ear from the phone's earpiece when he hears a deafening thud. The sound of something hitting something, loud. He puts his ear back on the earpiece again just in time to hear Clay shout:
"I told you not to call me that!"
From the other side, he can only hear Clay's breathing and then the occasional cuss word. Overhears a "son of a bitch" and a "shit, goddamn it" and then nothing. Arthur's heart is racing in his chest, just like when he got woken up from his sleep. Something about the rage in Clay's voice made him feel unsafe, even in his farm, miles away from him.
Imagine how Orel must feel, in the same house as this man.
"Anyway," Clay continues in a soft tone, like his brief outburst was inconsequential. "I was just curious. Since you don't believe in God, how do you even- I mean, how can you even stop yourself from doing disgusting, sinful things?"
Arthur doesn't know what Clay means by disgusting, sinful things. He doesn't think he wants to know. Whatever is going on inside Clay's mind, especially his drunken mind in the middle of the night, Arthur wants nothing to do with it. But not answering won't help, he can hear the expectancy on Clay's breathing on the other side of the phone.
"I only ask because you- you just looove acting like you're so much better than me."
It's too late for a conversation like this. Arthur can't help but sigh, he's so tired.
"I don't think I'm better than you, Clay," he mutters calmly. "I know I am."
He regrets the words almost the second they come out of his mouth. Because as much as he does believe he's better than Clay at this point, he recognizes his past mistakes and he has been working to do better and his son is incapable of the same change, he still doesn't think it'll do him any good to hear that. He might stop him from seeing Orel again.
And Arthur has been terribly lonely in the past years. His life got so much better over the last few weeks since he started talking to his grandson again. He only visited once and that was far from an entirely smooth visit but it still brought him the utmost joy to see him. Not to mention, he has been getting constant phone calls from Orel.
The kid shared everything with him, from his confusion at a woman in town who apparently likes eggs a bit too much to his newfound crush on a girl who just moved in. Listening to the world of Moralton in Orel's eyes felt like the only way he could listen to those absurdities without losing his cool. His grandson has such a positive way to see the life he lives.
Arthur wants that to last. He doesn't want to see the broken, tired gaze of someone who knows just how vile and wretched this world can be in his grandson's shining eyes. But he finds it harder and harder to manage to find a way to protect him, to shield him from the crushing disappointment of growing up enough to understand your reality.
The unfortunate truth is that all he does is pointless if in the end, the people who are handling his grandson daily, the ones who are meant to care for and protect him, do nothing of the sort. If they're often the ones who he needs to be protected from, from his mom's emotional distance and his dad's messed up idea of love, his misguided violence. That Arthur is directly responsible for.
"You could be better than me, Clay," he says, almost imploringly. "You know if you made any effort to change, maybe if you stopped drinking so much-"
"I hope I never do."
Arthur takes a deep breath and wonders if this is even worth anything, he had told Clay it was but it was a spur of the moment thing. He really believed things would be easier, maybe better. But the short moment of peace between him and his son didn't last much. Clay isn't interested in becoming better. He suspects he doesn't even want his love.
Or anyone's love, for that matter. Maybe Clay doesn't want to be loved because if Arthur ever taught him anything, it's that he isn't worth loving. But he can be worth hating and he clings to that notion like a child clinging to their mother's leg in an attempt to stop them from leaving them behind. Nothing stopped Angela from leaving.
Nothing stopped Arthur for blaming him for it and now he has a feeling all that he sees is his son trying to do the same thing he did as a child, trying to provoke him into giving him something he knows he deserves. Not love, attention. Not affection, violence. Clay wants to invoke a feeling of infuriation on Arthur, until he believes he's worth hating again.
"I hope I keep drinking until I die."
The idea of that is too unsettling for Arthur to stop and actually think about it. It's too much, he can't bear the thought that Clay is doing this on purpose. To self destruct, to tear himself apart and poison his insides. Until they feel as poisonous as every word that comes out of his mouth. Maybe he drinks so much to be able to justify all the horrible things that he is.
Arthur sighs, "Why did you call me, Clay?"
It's too late for this conversation. Arthur should be in bed right now, not listening to this. He needs to find a way to put a stop to it.
"Who knows why I do anything at this point?" Clay says hopelessly. "I was go- was gonna call Danielle but..."
He recognizes Danielle as the name his son said in his sleep once when he was staying at his place. In a way, he's almost happy he has someone to call. Danielle, whoever that is, probably a woman he was cheating on his wife with. Maybe them getting caught was the reason she decided to get a divorce after so long. He doubts that, for some reason.
"I wish I was like you sometimes," Clay admits, sounding unnervingly sincere. "Wish I could stop caring about things like sin and God and Jesus and just... do what would make me happy."
It occurs to Arthur that this is the most honesty he will ever get out of his son and that makes him feel like he can see Clay, vulnerable and lonely, right in front of him. He wonders if he took any possibility of his son being happy away from him or if that was the alcohol. Or if it was Angela's death, if nothing after that ever counted for anything.
"I don't see why you can't, Clay."
He wants his son to do what will make him happy. Orel's best chance at having a better life is having a father who's not so dedicated to destroying himself he'll destroy everything that stands on his way to get to that, even his own son. If Clay being happy will do anyone any good other than Clay himself, it's Orel. He will benefit the most from it.
But Clay sounds almost disgusted when he says, like he just sobered up enough to remember who he's talking to. A godless, faithless bastard, in his own words.
"Of course you don't," he spits out.
And before Arthur can say anything else, he hangs up.
Arthur thinks no one should be allowed to call anyone after midnight. Especially when they're drunk. To go even further, he doesn't think his son should be allowed to call anyone this late.
He tries to go back to bed but the easy, peaceful sleep he had before doesn't come anymore.