Chapter Twenty-Two
CALLIE
“You’ve never had an indoor picnic during a rainstorm?” I asked, gathering supplies from Davis’s kitchen. “How is that even possible when you spent your childhood in this rainy town?”
“I was deprived.” He leaned his elbows on the countertop, apparently content to watch me at work. “Good thing you’re here to enlighten me.”
“Yes, it’s a good thing indeed,” I shot back, not missing the way his gaze trailed down my figure when I pulled out the cutting board to slice the apples. “Hey—stop slacking. You’re the official sandwich assembler—make sure to cut them into pie fourths. Like an X.”
“Into pie fourths?”
I turned at his confused tone. “Yes—you cut them like that because, well . . . hmm.” Rumpling my face, I tried to recall the reasoning behind the rule before finally loosing a laugh. “I guess I don’t actually know why Clem always cut them that way, but that’s how we always ate them.”
“Well, consider it done. I wouldn’t dare mess with your sister’s indoor picnic methods.”
I tossed another glance over my shoulder at him, struck anew at the lopsided grin that had appeared during a brutally long game of Monopoly—a game in which Collin and Brandon had bankrupted us all, causing Corrie to blink back tears when she lost her coveted Park Place.
“You’re awfully cheerful today.”
Though he didn’t reply, his eyes told me what I’d known since the moment I walked into his house. He, too, had been thinking about the kiss we’d shared in my studio two nights ago. While the kids had argued about whose turn it was, or who had more money and deeds, we’d been distracted, stealing secretive glances at one another every chance we could.
We shared a blooming grin that made me want to clutch at my heart and swoon like a boy-crazy teenager. Who was this giddy woman I was becoming?
By the time I finished chopping, my apple wedges were so thin they were nearly translucent.
“Okay.” Needing to redirect the fluttering of energy inside me, I gave a quick clap of my hands. “The last thing we need for our picnic is some good ol’ ants on a log. That’s Corrie’s favorite: celery, peanut butter, and raisins.”
“I love those!” Corrie hollered from somewhere unseen.
I tipped my head to the side in a see? gesture.
“I keep the peanut butter in the cupboard at your shoulder there, and the raisins are on the third shelf in the pantry,” he said, pointing to the walk-in storage closet to the right of the fridge.
Eyeing him, I stepped inside the cramped space. Marveling at organizational skills that would earn him major brownie points with my sister, I searched for the standard white container with purple lettering near his cereal stock. No luck.
“I’m not seeing it in here,” I called out, placing the step stool on the floor to get a better view of the fourth shelf. “Of course, I’m used to a pantry a fifth of this size so . . .”
“Is this your official damsel-in-distress call?”
His voice at my back sent my pulse into an arrhythmic stutter. Though he hadn’t touched me, I could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of my blouse. Whatever low-threat distress signal I had sent out prior to this unexpected shift in proximity had just ratcheted up to a level nine.
“Am I only allowed one?” I asked. “Because I’m not sure it’s wise to use that calling card on a missing box of raisins. What happens if I’m ever in real danger?”
“What kind of danger?” His words, whispered into my hair, spread goose bumps down the back of my neck. I fought to balance on the step stool while staring straight ahead at a box of Honey Nut Cheerios as if it were a Rembrandt.
“Uh . . .” Think, brain. Think! “You know, like if I’m ever stalked by a mountain lion . . . or chased by a grizzly bear.”
He chuckled and clamped a firm hand onto my hip, steadying me as he reached around my shoulder and scooted a box of instant oatmeal aside to reveal the AWOL raisin container.
“Oh” was my brilliant and somewhat breathy response.
And then, as if my feet were no longer under my control, I rotated to face him.
“Your instincts will tell you to run.” My spine prickled as he slid his arm around the curve of my waist. “But that’s the opposite of what you should do.”
Were we still talking about mountain lions and grizzlies?
I watched his throat constrict as he swallowed, and my entire body flushed.
“So I shouldn’t run, then.” Strangely, the raspy words felt more natural than they should for a woman who ran more than she stayed. Anywhere. With anyone.
His gaze made a slow, deliberate trail from my eyes to my mouth. “No, you shouldn’t.”
Our breath mingled for less than a heartbeat before I smoothed my hands over his chest and looped my arms around his neck. Leaning into his eager embrace, I found his lips and we settled into an unhurried exploration. A rhythm of testing and tasting. Starts and stops. Sighs and surrender. There were no thoughts of running as my elbow knocked a box of spaghetti noodles to the floor. No plans of escape as his fingers grazed the bare flesh at the waist of my jeans. No awareness of anything other than his hands and his lips and this kiss—oh, this kiss!
“Aunt Callie?”
The shock of Corrianna’s voice catapulted us apart, each of us staking claim to our own corners of the pantry like boxers in a too-small ring.
So much for a secret romance with Davis Carter.
I dipped my brush into a perfect blue and spread it swiftly across the canvas. First there was nothing, and then sky. Working with watercolors never failed to offer me the serenity and peace I craved. The scent of rain, mixed with the scent of my sister’s herb garden just outside my studio window, didn’t hurt either. I let my imagination soar over the field of white, swirling colors into something enchanting and unexpected.
Much like this evening.
And this summer.
After Corrie’s giggly pronouncement to the boys of the indiscretion she’d witnessed a few hours ago—complete with dramatic smacking sounds against the back of her hand—I’d been certain my indoor picnic idea would be short-lived. But strangely enough, the only reactions from Collin and Brandon were a few awkward shrugs, followed by blatant avoidance of eye contact at any and all mentions of topics involving kisses and pantries.
Still, I’d mouthed the words “maybe we should go” to Davis no less than ten times, to which he shook his head and told me he’d deal with it later. Whatever that meant in man terms, I couldn’t be sure, but eventually Corrie let the subject die and asked to play another board game.
We gladly obliged her.
Standing back now from my painting, I heaved a contented sigh, dropped my brush into the murky water for the last time, and untied my smock. If I didn’t make myself go to bed now, I wouldn’t be much good at Mabel’s tomorrow.
I stepped out of my studio and secured the door behind me. But as I turned toward my little abode, my brother-in-law’s voice swept the span of darkness between his open screen door and my front porch steps. His rushed words and succinct footsteps down hardwood stairs froze me in my tracks.
“Then at least let me be the one to take the couch tonight. I’ll wake up before the kids so they won’t see the blankets.”
A light flicked on in the dining room, and I quickly latched onto the closest tree, pressing my spine into the bark while a slow panic seized my insides.
“I’m fine sleeping on the couch. I’m comfortable down here.”
Wait—has she been sleeping on the couch every night?
“Clem . . . please.” The painful way he spoke her name caused me to clutch at my shirt. I knew I should leave, give them the privacy they deserved . . . yet I was unable to move away. “Can’t we stop all this polite tiptoeing around each other? The last thing I want is more space.”
“Funny how the space didn’t seem to bother you much until now. Of course, those shiny company car keys probably helped with that, as did that huge signing bonus and the increased percentage on your commission checks.”
“I hoped the promotion would do something great for our family, Clem. For our future.”
“And look where we are, Chris.” Hurt squeaked from Clem’s throat. “Look what that future has cost us. We’re practically strangers.”
“Don’t say that,” Chris choked out. “You and I will never be strangers.”
I peered around the tree trunk, their dark silhouettes like figurines in a dollhouse.
“You were the one who chose to leave.” Resentment simmered in my sister’s voice.
“And yet never once did you ask me to stay.”
“Because I refuse to be my mother! I shouldn’t have to beg for you to want me!”
I stopped breathing, stunned at what I’d just heard. That was it—what my sister had been hiding from me. All this time, all these years, I’d believed I was the only one who struggled with our parents’ divorce. Who feared their dysfunction. Hot tears teetered on the edge of my lash line as an image of our mother surfaced without permission. Her bloodshot eyes as she begged my dad to choose her.
The slam of a door on the opposite end of the house rattled my teeth, and for a moment, I could almost taste the exhaust from my father’s Buick as he sputtered down the road, leaving me sobbing in our driveway—
Another hard thud from the front of the house had me turning again. Chris was back, striding through the front door with something in his hand, something he must have gone to retrieve from his car. I squinted to make it out through the window. A wallet, maybe? He unfolded it and took out a piece of paper. Handed it to her.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked.
Unmoving, Clem stared at whatever he’d placed in her palm.
“Open it. Please.” His voice shook with emotion.
“Are these . . . our vows? You kept them?”
“I’ve transferred them from wallet to wallet since our wedding rehearsal. Because I wanted the reminder. The visual of how our vastly different handwritings had scripted out the same promise to one another. A promise to love and respect you, but most importantly”—he tapped his finger to the paper—“a promise to always put your desires above my own.”
Slowly, he bridged the space between them and reached for her face. It was the first intimate touch I’d seen from them since he’d been home. She didn’t pull away.
“I want you, Clementine Quinn Taylor. More than I did when I asked you to marry me. More than I did on our wedding day. And more than I did on the days you made me a father for the first and second time. So if you ever feel like you have to beg to be seen or heard by me . . . then I need to be reminded of these vows. Because you, Clem, are the best gift I have in this life. Not my job. Or my paycheck. Or anything else. Forgive me, please, for losing sight of us.”
My sister dropped her face to his chest . . . and wept. “I prayed . . . for this . . .”
He wrapped her tighter, rocking her gently side to side and kissing her temple.
Emotionally spent, I crept across the damp grass and up my porch steps, rehashing their words again and again in my mind. For so many years, I’d thought they were immune to marital problems, but they hadn’t been immune at all. They’d simply been committed to seeing them through.
After shedding my clothes and snuggling under the covers of my bed, I blinked up at the stars and wondered about a life unlike the one I’d chosen.
A life lived in one place. And a love promised to one man.