Chapter Twenty-Three

Abby

We sit in a booth at the one of the few diners that remains from our high school days the next morning. Something is bothering me about something he'd said the night before and I want to know more. He's hesitant to tell me at first, but eventually, he lays out the whole story about my father. Specifically, about what my father said to him that precipitated him leaving Sheridan Falls.

“He really told you that?” I ask, feeling my jaw fall to the table. “I'm so sorry, Caleb. My father could be so protective of me, but that's ridiculous. You deserve better than that.”

Caleb stares at his coffee cup for a long time. “He was right, Abby,” he says, looking up at me. “He was only trying to protect you from me, and he was right. I'm not a good guy.”

“Bullshit,” I say, shaking my head. “You're not your father. Nothing like him.”

“Yeah? Well I've never been in a relationship long enough to find out for sure,” he says. “And some might say I'm no different than my mom – except I'm not breaking up marriages while I'm whoring around.”

“That's a lot different,” I say. Though the idea of him whoring around bothers me a bit, I push that out of my head and smile at him from across the table. “My father was wrong, Caleb. I mean, look at you. You made something of yourself – you served our country. You're a Marine and you got out of Sheridan Falls. Things my father would never have imagined.”

The waitress comes over to refill our coffees and to tell us our food will be right out. Which, of course, derails the conversation entirely.

“Do you remember,” Caleb says, grinning from ear-to-ear behind that bushy beard he's sporting, “when we'd come here after games. You, me, a few of the other guys and their girlfriends?”

“I do,” I say. “We drove the wait staff crazy. We were obnoxious back then, weren't we?”

“Nah, we were just kids,” he says, playing with the empty sugar packet in front of him. “But those were the days alright.”

“Yes, they were,” I say, feeling the wave of nostalgia wash over me. “Not much has changed here either. It still looks pretty much the same – except for the new booths.”

“The old ones were getting pretty ratty,” he says, looking over at the corner booth we used to sit at. Pointing at it, he asks, “How about that time I got a little handsy and you smacked the shit out of me? Right over there, wasn't it?”

“Oh God,” I say, covering my face. “I forgot about that. You tried to grope me with our friends right there, and I was so embarrassed. But wanna know something? I secretly liked it.”

“Oh, I know,” he laughs. “I knew you wanted my hands all over you. You were just too shy and scared.”

The waitress brings us our food, and as I look over, I realize Caleb ordered the exact same thing he used to always order.

“Not too much has changed apparently,” I say.

“Yeah, well, at least I'm not trying to grope you this time.” He winks at me as he loads his hash browns up with ketchup. Just like old times.

“Well, even if you did,” I say. “I wouldn't slap the shit out of you this time. Probably.”

We dig into our meals. Like always, I get the pancakes with a side of bacon. And just like the old days, Caleb reaches over and steals a bite of my pancakes and gives me a piece of his sausage in return. I smile, taking a bite of the sausage. It all feels so normal, so natural. Almost like nothing had ever happened and no time has passed. It's as if we were preserved in time and finally released back into our daily lives.

Except, this time, I know it's trap.

“So, when are you heading back to Cali?” I ask.

Caleb cringes. “People hate when it's called Cali,” he says with a laugh.

“Fine,” I groan, “California. When are you heading back to California?”

To be an ass, I enunciate every syllable, sounding it out slowly to make a point.

“I don't know,” he says, giving a half-smile as he piled a forkful of hash browns in his mouth. “I'm thinking I might stick around a bit longer than I'd originally planned. It's been nice getting back up here, and God knows when I'll make it back again. Maybe never.”

That last bit stings, but I force a smile. “A few more days then?”

“Maybe?” he shrugs. “Or maybe a couple weeks. Who knows? That's the nice thing about what I do – I can make my own schedule, work wherever I want.”

Which reminds me – I know very little about his life at the moment. “So, what is it you do exactly? Now, that you're not a Marine and all.”

“I'm uhhh,” he scratches his beard. “I'm a PI. Not the most glamorous of gigs, I know. But it pays the bills.”

“So, what does that mean? You follow cheating husbands around? Catch them in the act and send proof back to the wives?”

He laughs. “Pretty much,” he says. “Infidelity is one of my biggest money makers.”

“Sounds like the two of us could work together,” I say. “Being a marriage counselor and all.”

“Oh yeah? I knew you were a counselor, but didn't know what type.”

“Yeah, I help repair people's marriages. But couldn't even salvage my own,” I say. “Ironic, huh?”

I give him a weak smile as I pick at my pancakes, suddenly finding myself not very hungry.

Caleb reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I have no doubt that if you'd wanted to repair that relationship, you could have. But some things are just not meant to be.”

Yeah, like him and me, I think. I push my plate away, losing my appetite altogether.