Chapter Fourteen
CALLIE
Clem didn’t hear me when I waltzed inside the kitchen. Truth be told, she probably wouldn’t have heard me even if I’d banged two of her cast-iron pots together at the back of her head. How the surround sound could pump music out at that volume without combusting was beyond my understanding of technology.
With her back to me, she scrubbed at the line of grout around the sink as if she were a surgeon fighting for a life.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and hollered, “Clem!”
She continued her task, her elbow sawing back and forth to the beat of whatever supercharged Carrie Underwood song trilled overhead, and I took in the sparkly kitchen. She’d given up her mom strike a few days ago, which meant that, for the last seventy-two hours, Clem had trekked around the house like an old-fashioned gunslinger—except her holsters weren’t filled with pistols. They were filled with spray bottles containing homemade essential-oil solutions smelling of lemongrass, cloves, eucalyptus, and frankincense.
And heaven forbid you used the wrong one. “They are labeled for a reason, Callie!” The kids had pretty much lived at the neighbors’ pool all week. I couldn’t blame them.
I picked up a spray bottle labeled “Water Only” and hoped her system was up to date.
Aiming for that patch of skin right between her bobbed ponytail and T-shirt collar, I pulled the trigger.
Bull’s-eye.
She screamed, whirled, and tossed the Brillo Pad at the center of my chest, leaving a soppy wet spot on my neckline. I tossed it back into the sink.
“Ugh! Callie!” her lips mouthed—the music drowning out her voice.
“What?” I mouthed back, pointing to my ear. “Can’t hear you.”
Chest heaving, she wiped damp fingers down her yoga pants and punched a code into her phone on the counter, muting the volume.
The instant silence made my ears crackle.
“You could have given me a heart attack!” she said.
I blew the imaginary smoke from my spray-bottle pistol and smiled. “I’m pretty sure that’s a myth.”
She swiped at the back of her neck. “I really hope that was only water.”
I gave her the all-teeth grin I’d been giving her since childhood and hopped up on the island counter, crossed my legs, and stole an apple from her perfectly stocked fruit bowl. “It was. You’ll be happy to note I read the label.”
With her rear resting against the edge of the farm-style sink opposite me, she screwed her face into a sour pucker. “You are so not normal.”
At her feigned angry expression, I started to giggle.
“I’m serious.” She actually pressed her palms to her cheeks, as if that gesture alone would somehow prove her seriousness.
It didn’t.
“You’re gonna make me choke on this apple if you keep making that fish face.”
She threw a dish towel at me, and I blocked the flying cloth. “Remember that time when you came home from some dance at school—”
“Homecoming.”
“Yeah.” I snorted, recalling the memory. “With that guy you dated before Chris . . . what was his name?”
“Herbert.”
I belted out a laugh. “That’s right! Herbie Clarkson. And right when he was about to kiss you, I jumped out from behind the door.”
“I could have killed you that night.” Clem shook her head, her half grin transforming into reluctant chuckle.
“I think you would have if Mom hadn’t come running.” My cheeks actually hurt from smiling so wide. I gestured to the knotted cleaning bandanna on her head. “Old Herbie missed out. Big-time. I mean, your hair wrap is . . . something.”
With the hem of her T-shirt pinched between her fingers, she curtsied. “Yes, I know. I’m a rare beauty.”
“You are.” I took a bite of the crisp apple, the tartness causing my eyes to water. “Which is only one of the reasons why Chris worships you like a queen.”
Amusement dimmed from her eyes, the same way it had every time I’d mentioned Chris this summer.
I lowered the apple to my lap and straightened. This was it—my chance to broach the one subject she seemed determined to avoid.
“Hey, Clem,” I said, using the same tenderness I usually reserved for timid children. “What’s going on between you two? I mean, it seems like whenever I bring him up, you—”
“Whoa,” she said, stepping closer, examining my shoulders.
“What?”
“I thought it was just the lighting in here, but”—she pressed the pad of her thumb into the top of my bicep—“you’re sunburned. Like, you’re two shades darker than my garden strawberries.”
I glanced at my arms, turning them this way and that in the light. “I am? I wasn’t even out that long.”
“You didn’t use sunscreen?” She rolled her eyes at me. “I told you last week that I bought some great all-natural stuff—it’s in my bathroom cabinet upstairs.”
“It’s not like I planned on sightseeing today. But after the library reading and then ice cream with Davis, I just figured I should take the opportunity to look around, peek in all the cool shops downtown and—”
“Wait—Davis?” Her voice hitched. “You two went out for ice cream together? Like on a date?”
“No, like two people eating ice cream together at a park. And anyway, I don’t want to talk about him. Or my sunburn. I want to talk about you and—”
“How serious is this thing with him getting?”
“Serious?” I laughed. “Clem, Davis is the last guy in the world who’d be interested in someone like me. We’re just . . . friends. Believe me, he’s as traditional as they come.”
She gave me a look that said she wasn’t so sure. “And yet you went to his place nearly every night last week.”
“To visit the dog. You remember? The one you wouldn’t let me keep here.”
“That must be some stray.”
“He is, actually. Kosher is going to make some family very happy someday.”
She narrowed her eyes at me.
“Stop doing that.”
“Be careful, Callie.” Big sister Clem had returned.
“With what?”
“You know with what. He’s a single dad.”
“I know he is. And he also happens to be a nice guy who offered to take care of a rescue dog I found under my porch. That’s it.” But was it? The question battled against my instincts.
“Listen,” she started, “I don’t know a ton about his personal life, only what I’ve managed to pick up at school functions and Brandon and Collin’s exchanges here, but he isn’t like the other guys you’ve gone out with.”
The muscles in my back tensed. “I’ve already said he’s not my type. And I know I’m not his either. So you can stop mothering me about it.”
“After all Davis has been through, he doesn’t need to be led on.”
I was about to accuse her of avoiding my questions about Chris, but her tone piqued my curiosity. “All he’s been through? What, with his divorce, you mean?”
“He isn’t divorced, Callie. His wife died.”
Died? The word whooshed in my ears.
Davis wasn’t a divorcee? He was a . . . widower?
And yet, somehow, the revelation seemed to fit in ways my first assumption had not. There were moments Davis had seemed so much older than his thirty-two years. And not because he looked older, but because his eyes seemed to reflect a history his age did not. While I’d flitted from place to place, living life without any attachments weighing me down . . . Davis had buried a wife.
“How did she die?” A question that felt as delicate as it did sacred.
Clem squished her lips to one side, thinking. “Hmm. I think it was a heart condition of some kind? But I’m not sure.”
“Wow.” The near-breathless word escaped me as I tried to reconcile everything I knew about Davis Carter.
“Exactly, so he deserves more than to be Callie-charmed.”
“Excuse me?”
She crossed her arms. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“Uh, no, actually I don’t. I don’t charm anyone.”
She held up her hand and ticked off her fingers. “Greg. Darren. Michael. Kyle. Bobby. Andrew—”
“For the record”—I shot out a finger of my own—“I never actually dated Andrew. Besides, I’ve stayed friends with all of them.”
“That’s my point.” She folded her arms over her chest. “You cast a spell on every man you meet—charm them into overlooking the flight risk stamped across your forehead.”
“That is so not true. Every man I’ve dated has known from the start that I’m not looking for anything long term. Our splits are always mutual and amicable.”
“Callie.” Bewilderment crossed her face. “Maintaining friendship status with every man you’ve been involved with romantically is a big fat red flag as far as I’m concerned. How can you not see that?”
My skin began to prickle, my blood heating. “Perhaps I’m more evolved than you give me credit for.”
“Not evolved. You’re afraid.”
This conversation had entered an entirely new territory. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
“No? Then how come every time you end a relationship and call to tell me about it, it’s always the same story? Over and over again. On repeat. You meet, have fun, play games, flirt and kiss, and you move on. Usually literally. A new town. A new job. A new romance. A whole new you. Rinse. Lather. Repeat.”
Her judgment was a slap in my face.
“How I start and end my relationships is my choice.”
“News flash: relationships aren’t only about you.” All kindness had leaked from her voice. “Whether you like it or not, your choices affect other people.” She thrust her finger at me. “Love is more than flirty feelings and fun dates. It’s about what lives underneath the surface. The commitment you keep even when life gets hard and all the fuzzy feelings fade.” Her vibrant blue eyes flickered with emotion as if she’d realized her slip. She might be an expert in the art of diversion, but she couldn’t redirect our conversation this time.
“What’s going on between you and Chris, Clem? And don’t tell me everything is fine. It’s not. I might be your baby sister, but I’m not blind to the signs.”
She paused, as if debating how much she should reveal.
“We’ve been struggling. For nearly a year.”
Struggling. For nearly a year.
Everything inside me thrashed against the thought of Chris and Clementine working through real marital problems. They weren’t like other couples. They weren’t like those petty cliché spouses who fought over household chores or forgotten garbage bills. Truth was, I couldn’t recall a single moment when their marriage had appeared anything less than happy and content. They were two perfectly designed puzzle pieces—Chris the sturdy corner piece, grounding them in the framework, and Clem the inside connector, the one all of us snapped into.
“But what happened? Did you two have an argument? Are you fighting over something specific?”
When her gaze dragged back to mine, her weary glazed-over eyes made my chest ache. “We stopped arguing months ago. It’s hard to fight with someone when you’re never in the same room.”
The apple I’d eaten seemed to churn in my belly at the thought of them at odds for so long. And even worse, my wheelhouse for marital words of wisdom was barren. I had no at-the-ready encouragement for seeing tough times through or sticking it out. I was the polar opposite of a stick-it-outer. No wonder she’d kept it from me all this time.
Still, I couldn’t let this go.
“But there must be something that happened—something that started all this.” Solid relationships didn’t just break one day, did they? When she didn’t respond for several seconds, I took the liberty of filling in the blanks. “Is it money? Are you two having financial issues?”
A simple shake of her head.
I gripped the edges of the counter so hard my knuckles throbbed. “He hasn’t been . . . I mean, neither of you have . . .” But I couldn’t even bring myself to say it, much less think it.
“No.” The clear conviction in her voice eased the stiffness in my spine. “Neither of us have been unfaithful.”
“Then what?”
She shook her head, as if trying to figure out how to attach words to her pain. “I’m mourning the life we had. The life we took for granted.”
She rotated on her heels, half turning away from me as she braced a hand against the porcelain sink. I waited, but she didn’t answer my question. If Chris and Clementine couldn’t make it, then . . .
“Tell me something I can do—anything at all—to help the two of you fix this.”
She twisted around. “You can pray for us.”
Pray? That was her big solution to their marriage crisis?
I could barely restrain my eye roll. It had been so long since I’d relied on God for guidance, so long since I believed He provided tangible answers to real-life issues. And the truth was, my wireless signal to God had never been as strong as my sister’s. I would be better off waving Corrianna’s princess wand around in the air and clicking my heels together three times.
Before I could press her any further, she glanced at the clock on the oven, swiped under her eyes, and transformed back into Mom Clem. “Would you mind getting the kids from the neighbor’s house for me? They need to finish up their chores before dinner.”
“Sure . . . I can do that.” It was really all I could do. Legs stiff, I slid down from the kitchen island while Clem turned back to the sink. Back to the scrubbing. Back to our unspoken roles of big and little sister.
I was only a few steps away from the front door when a shadow veiled the welcome window.
A shadow much too tall for Collin.
And then, even without Corrie’s magical wand in hand, the door handle turned, and the hinges creaked. My brother-in-law stepped into the entryway.
“Chris?” It wasn’t meant to be a question, yet the swoop of my voice took the word into the soprano range. Light-chestnut-colored hair stuck up at odd angles, as if he’d recently woken up from a restless sleep. His wrinkled dress shirt was untucked from his pants, and his fancy loafers were both untied. In the fifteen years I’d know him, I’d never seen him look quite so . . . disheveled.
“Hi, Callie. It’s good to see you,” he said in a lifeless monotone that had me stuttering to secure my voice.
“Yeah . . . you, too.” Mechanically, I moved in for a hug but halted the second his focus shifted to the woman rounding the corner.
At his weighty intake of air, my own lungs squeezed.
My sister froze, her eyes unblinking, her face uncertain. “You told the kids another three weeks . . . they circled it on the calendar.”
He took a tentative step toward her. “I left early—took a red-eye flight to Portland and then drove straight home.”
She shook her head, moisture dancing in her eyes. “But why?”
“You know why, Clem.” The rasp in his voice matched the wrought emotion in his face. He stopped short and then glanced at me as if just now remembering I was still in the room. “Sorry, Callie.” He swiped a hand down his face. “I’m being rude—”
But I was already shaking my head, already slinking toward the open front door. “No, no, you’re fine. I’m . . . I was just on my way out to get the kids.” I gripped the doorknob, my pulse a slippery cadence. This was the last conversation on earth I wanted to hear. “I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss, so we’ll just stay out of your way for a while. Don’t worry about a thing.”
I didn’t even wait for a response.
After pulling the door closed behind me, I shut my eyes, working to breathe the tension away before the darkness clamped its cold hands around my heart and taunted me with the memories I wished I could forget.
No matter how many years had passed since I’d chased my father’s car down that gravel driveway, I’d never be able to un-feel the loss of being left behind.
Whatever Chris and Clem needed to fix their broken marriage, I would make sure they had it.
Because I wouldn’t—couldn’t—stand by and watch my family dissolve in front of me.
Not again.