Chapter 8 - Michael
My cell was vibrating off the edge of the nightstand. I'd turned off the ringer so I could try to get some rest. I was a mess. I could still taste the acrid remnants of vomit, and the orange juice I found in the dorm fridge didn't help. The phone vibrated again, and I grabbed it, knowing it was yet another friend calling to "let me know."
"Hello!" I was angry, and it was obvious in my voice.
"Michael?"
I froze. "Callie?"
"Michael, I'm sorry to bother you, but I don't know who else to call. I'm in trouble, Michael. Will you come and get me?"
"Where are you? Where's Clayton?"
"Just come, please?" She gave me the address.
"On my way," I answered. "Stay right there, and don't answer the door for anyone until I get there.
My hands were shaking as I pulled on my socks and sneakers. I slid my wallet into the back pocket of my cargo shorts and tucked in my shirt. Keys in hand, I slammed my way out of the dorm and within minutes was pulling into the parking lot of the motel where Callie was staying. I found her room and knocked.
"Callie, it's me. Let me in."
"Michael? Oh, Michael?" I heard the chain slapping the door as she tried to slide it out of its channel. The door handle turned and then she was standing there, her hair a wild mass of platinum curls and tears streaming from her huge eyes. I couldn't help myself; I bent forward and picked her up, holding her hard against my chest.
I stood there, rocking her side to side; I was so happy to hold her again. It felt like it had just been minutes since I last held her. She was shaking from crying so hard. I put her down and stepped into the bathroom, grabbing a clean washcloth from the rack and wetting it with cold water.
I wiped her face with it and pulled her down to the bed to sit, facing me. "Shh... calm down now. I'm here, and nothing's going to happen to you. Here, wipe your face and tell me what's going on."
I waited a few minutes as she calmed herself, and then she threw herself against my chest. "Michael, it's all such a mess. I've missed you so much and I'm not ashamed to tell you. I loved you when you left, and I love you now."
I took her hands, and while I held them, I pushed her back. "Callie, you know deep down how I feel about you, but I can't say that to you. Not with you having married Clayton."
She just stared at me, tears streaming over her cheeks.
"Callie, I know what happened. Buddy told me."
She cocked her head. "Told you what? What did Buddy tell you?"
I scratched the back of my head, searching for the words. I had to tell her the whole truth; trust was critical at this point.
"Clayton came to see me last weekend. He got drunk, we got into it, and I left him standing in the parking lot. He was really pissed, and he gets mean. I guess he decided he would ruin things between you and me."
"What was there to ruin? You left me, Michael. You left for college and other girls and a new life that didn't include me."
"I know, I know... and I'm an ass. But let me finish. Clayton set it all up. He spiked your drinks at the wedding, and then I guess he took you to dinner and put something in your drinks there. Buddy said he took you for a ride and you fell asleep. Or unconscious, whatever. He paid the justice of the peace to marry you and took you to that motel. You know the rest. It wasn't your fault, Callie. He drugged you."
She continued to stare at me. I thought I would see some relief, some kind of anger... something other than tears and stares.
"Where is that son-of-a-bitch, anyway? I'm going to bash his head in."
Her face became blank and she said, "A tree already beat you to it, Michael. I just called his phone and his mother answered. Clayton got drunk and hit a tree last night. He's dead."
I couldn't move. All I could do was stare. Callie took a deep breath and said again, "I said, he's dead, Michael."
"I heard you! What the fuck!!! Jesus, for the love of God, how can this be happening? Oh my God! He was my best friend. I've known him almost all my life. He can't be dead! No, it's not true!"
Callie frowned. "I'm trying very hard to be sensitive here, but a few minutes ago you wanted to kill him and now he's the best friend you ever had? Do you hear yourself, Michael? He kidnapped me! Drugged me! Married me, for God's sake! Where do I fit in all this? He's now the hallowed one? We can't speak ill of the dead? Legally speaking, Michael, I'm his widow! Is this getting through to you?"
"He... is... dead, Callie. Is that enough justice for you?"
"What? Now it's my fault that he drank himself into a tree? Wait just a minute here. You came here when I called, all ready to defend my honor. You picked me up and held me, told me everything would be okay and that you'd see to it I was okay. Now I've somehow become the bad guy in all this? What the hell? Get out, Michael. Take your women and your football and your law career and your dead best friend and get out of here! I'll find another ride home, thank you."
I couldn't believe what she was saying. This wasn't the soft, loving girl I knew. She'd turned along the way, and I no longer recognized her.
But I did as she said. I stood up and walked out of the room and drove back to my dorm. The next morning, I got up and went to practice and then to class. I forgot about Clayton, his funeral, and everything else. I forgot about Callie.
I had to. It was the only way I could remain sane.