Finding Home

25. Caleb

Chapter 25

Caleb

A banner hangs above the front door of my house, imprinted, in all caps, with: “CONGRATULATIONS, CALEB!” Strings of white lights twinkle above our heads. Outdoor speakers I installed last week are currently pumping out a playlist of Aubrey’s pop favorites at low volume. Most of which, I’ve honestly learned to like. It’s my “rehab is my bitch!” party on my new deck, attended by the people I now consider my family: Aubrey, her parents, my sister, and Raine.

After eating a dinner that was cooked to perfection on my new barbeque, we’re now sitting at the patio table I picked up in Billings the other day, finishing up the delicious dessert—apple pie with homemade vanilla ice cream—made by Barbara. And every single time I look around the table at the chatty, happy faces around me, I can’t stop thinking the same thing on a running loop: Man, I love these people.

“It sounds straight out of a Hallmark movie,” my sister says, referring to Prairie Springs’ Summer Festival. At my sister’s urging, Barbara’s been telling Miranda all about the festival for the past several minutes.

“That’s a perfect description,” Barbara agrees. “That’s what everyone loves about it. We keep it simple and old fashioned and lean into our small-town vibe.”

“What, exactly, happens at this adorable festival?” Miranda persists, placing her elbow onto the table. “Are there, like, events and games, or . . .?”

“Oh, yes,” Barbara says. “We have all kinds of fun stuff, culminating in a live auction at the end that raises money for the school and various local causes.”

My sister nudges me. “You’ve donated to the auction already, right?”

“I’m going to. I haven’t figured out my exact donation yet.”

“There’s still plenty of time,” Barbara assures me with a wink.

“Come on, you loser-procrastinator,” Miranda says. “Let’s figure out your donation now, so Barbara can run with it.” She taps a manicured finger onto the wooden table. “Four tickets to your next show with backstage passes? That’s a no-brainer. Also, a bunch of signed merch.” She drums her fingers. “What else? It needs to be something people can’t get on the open market.”

I shift in my seat. “The thing is, my band doesn’t know when we’ll be playing next. We had to cancel our tour when I . . . messed up in New York.” I glance at Aubrey and she smiles sympathetically. I’ve already told her about how I epically trashed my hotel suite in New York after finding out about my mother’s passing three thousand miles away.

“How about a one-on-one drum lesson taught by you, here in Prairie Springs?” Miranda suggests. “I bet that would bring in big money. ”

I shift in my seat again. Doesn’t Miranda realize I can’t commit to anything, especially not in Prairie Springs, until I know the outcome of the fucking custody hearing? The closer it gets, the more nervous I become that the judge is going to destroy the happiness I’ve found with Aubrey and Raine. Have I done enough to win custody, or is my entire life about to get decimated in that courtroom in LA? My insomnia has been coming back to haunt me the past few nights, as the custody hearing draws ever closer.

“Maybe,” I say vaguely, just as the latest song on Aubrey’s playlist ends, and Aloha Carmichael’s female-empowerment anthem, “Pretty Girl,” begins.

At the sound of her favorite song, Raine slides off her chair and starts dancing for the group on the deck, much to everyone’s delight.

“She’s doing the dance from the music video,” Aubrey explains to Miranda with a chuckle.

“I know that dance!” Miranda shouts excitedly. “I’ll do it with you, Rainey!”

“My Aubbey!” Raine shrieks, pointing at Aubrey. And in short order, both women—my sister and the woman I can’t get enough of—are standing on either side of my baby girl, performing the choreography as a trio. Sort of. Truthfully, Raine is a shit show, in terms of her ability to keep up with the dance. But she’s damned cute while trying.

Of course, Joe, Barb, and I cheer the performance enthusiastically. But midway through the song, Raine points at me and shouts, “Dadda dance!”

My eyes find Aubrey’s. She’s smiling. Egging me on.

“You heard your daughter,” Aubrey teases.

“Come on, Caleb,” Miranda adds. “Dance, Dadda. ”

Fuck it. I’m so fucking happy these days, I’ll do pretty much anything to make my daughter smile. I rise from the table, scoop up my baby girl, and dance around the deck with her in my arms to the beat of the song, while Raine laughs like a hyena in my arms.

When the song ends, Raine throws her head back and belly laughs, making me do the same. And when she tilts her head back up, she does something amazing. Something she’s never done before. Something that rocks my fucking world. She grips both sides of my beard in her tiny hands, kisses me square on the mouth, and says, “I luh you, Dadda!”

My heart explodes. “I love you, too, Shortcake,” I choke out. “So, so much.”

Euphoria. Relief. They’re slamming into me like a hurricane. Making me physically dizzy.

For weeks, I’ve worried I haven’t been doing enough to win Raine over—to impress the judge when the time comes and prove I’m a fit father. For weeks, I’ve worried the unthinkable might happen. That the judge might award Raine to Ralph Beaumont, instead of me. In fact, I’ve started having nightmares about that scenario.

But now that I know Raine loves me, and that she’ll likely tell the social worker that, I feel invincible. Like nothing and nobody can stop me now. This little girl is mine, and I’m hers. And nobody will ever break that bond, ever again. Not even me and my usual self-sabotaging bullshit. I’m done being unreliable and selfish. I’m done being a dumbass. From this moment forward, as long as I live, I’m going to be the best father to Raine, as humanly possible.

I pull my baby girl close and squeeze her tight, feeling like my heart is going to physically burst and splatter all over my newly finished, pristine deck. But after a moment, I realize our embrace is missing something essential. Someone essential. Aubrey .

Wiping my eyes, I find her beautiful face over Raine’s head and beckon to her; and when she joins our family hug, the words I love you, Aubrey crash into me, unbidden.

As we break apart, I avert my eyes from Aubrey, so she won’t detect the truth in my eyes. Paula told me Ralph’s lawyer will probably ask me about my relationship with Aubrey in court, in an effort to prove I’ve improperly influenced her testimony. When that happens, Paula said, I’ll need to be ready to answer with a straight face, “Aubrey Capshaw is my nanny and friend; also, Raine’s beloved auntie.” So, I can’t tell Aubrey the depths of my feelings for her now. But the minute all the bullshit with the hearing is behind us, however, I swear I’ll say everything that needs to be said, without holding anything back.

I put Raine down, and she immediately begins twirling and dancing to the next song on Aubrey’s playlist. When my hands are free, Miranda steps up and wraps me in a warm hug.

“I’m so happy for you,” she murmurs.

“I wish Mom were here to see this,” I choke out.

“She’s watching right now and smiling.”

After one more tight squeeze and an exchange of “I love you’s” with my sister, we decide the time has come to scatter my mother’s ashes on the lake, as planned. Due to my tantrum in New York and subsequent, court-ordered trip to rehab, we never got the chance to properly mourn our mother together. So, this evening, we’re finally going to give Adele Hayes Baumgarten the memorial she deserves.

I call to Aubrey, “Would it be okay if we take Raine with us on the rowboat for the ashes thing?” True, Raine’s my kid, so I don’t technically need Aubrey’s permission to take her anywhere, especially now that I'm free of all those pesky rehab requirements. But by now, I trust Aubrey’s judgment. Not only about what’s best for our sweet girl, but also about what’s best for me. For all of us. In fact, I think it’s fair to say, just this fast, Aubrey’s become my North Star. My moral compass. My guiding light.

“If Rainey wants to go, and as long as you bundle her up and she wears a life jacket, I think it’s a great idea.” She calls to Raine who’s still twirling and dancing. “Rainey, do you want to go on a rowboat with Auntie Miranda and Daddy to say goodbye to their mommy in heaven?”

Raine stops twirling. “Me, too?”

Every adult exchanges an apprehensive look.

“No, not to you, honey,” Aubrey says gently. “Your daddy is never going to say goodbye to you.”

“Not ever,” I add quickly.

Raine looks puzzled. “ Me, too ?” she repeats. “I say bye-bye to my mommy in da heaven, too?”

This time, every adult collectively wilts for the poor kid. Aubrey told me they had a small memorial for Claudia here in Prairie Springs, a few days after she and Raine arrived. But I can’t imagine Raine remembers that or even understood what it meant at the time. Surely, only the passage of time and the continued absence of her beloved mommy have helped her begin to comprehend the absolutism of it all. The hard, cold reality that Mommy’s not at work. Mommy’s not at the store. Mommy is simply gone, forever.

I touch Raine’s soft head. “Of course, you can say goodbye to your mommy in heaven, while Auntie Miranda and I say goodbye to ours. I think that’s a great idea.”

“And den Mommy come back?” Raine asks hopefully, looking up at me.

My shoulders droop, along with my spirit. “No, my love. Your mommy and mine are both in heaven, forever. But they still love us and watch over us, all the time. ”

“Oh,” Raine says sadly, bowing her little head.

“You know what I think?” Aubrey interjects. “I think your mommy and Daddy’s mommy are having fun together in heaven. I think they have tea parties together, and they feed ducks and play barn all the time. But only when they’re not busy watching over you from a cloud and giggling about how much fun you’re having down here.”

Raine contemplates that briefly, before murmuring softly, “I luh Mommy.”

The comment isn’t accompanied by tears. It’s not the catalyst for a meltdown. It’s a simple, and heartbreaking, statement of fact.

“I love your mommy, too,” Aubrey says. “So, so much.”

“So do I,” I say. “We all do.” I’ve never thought that before, let alone said it. But suddenly, I realize something big: if Raine loves someone, then I do, too. It’s as simple as that.

The sound of tires traversing nearby gravel attracts everyone’s attention; and when I turn my head, I clap my palms in celebration. The sparkling new truck I ordered from Billings has arrived with a sedan trailing behind, and now it’s coming to a stop alongside the house.

As I head over to Joe at the table and grip the top of his shoulder, everyone around me, including Joe, says some version of “Who’s that?”

“You like that new truck, Joe?” I ask. “It’s pretty cool, eh?”

“Looks like Big Betty’s great grandchild.”

“It is. The exact same make and model, only new and shiny, with all the bells and whistles.”

“You’ve got good taste. You’re gonna love driving it.”

“Oh, it’s not for me,” I say with a smirk. “It’s for you, Pop-Pop. ”

Joe’s jaw drops. “ What ?”

“To thank you for helping me with the deck.”

Joe shakes his head, flabbergasted. “Caleb, no .”

“I won’t take no for an answer. You wouldn’t take my money, so you’re getting a brand-new truck, and that’s that.”

“I can’t—I can’t accept it.”

“Shoot. I guess I’ll have to donate it to a charity, then, because I can’t return it and I certainly don’t want it.” I chuckle at the tortured expression on Joe’s face. “Come on, Joe. Let’s go check it out, at least. You can do that for me, right?”

Joe looks at his wife, and she moves her head as if to say, “Go on.”

As Joe gets situated on his crutches, I say, “I wouldn’t have finished the deck without you. And even more importantly, I wouldn’t have known how to be a good father to Raine, if it wasn’t for you. The way I see it, a new truck was the least I could do.”

“Aw, Caleb.” Joe’s eyes have filled with tears. He motions to me like a toddler begging to be picked up, and I give him a bear hug, taking care not to topple him over on his crutches.

“Thank you so much,” Joe says into my shoulder. “But I’ll only accept the truck, if you agree to take Big Betty in exchange. Aubrey told me you love driving her.”

He’s not wrong about that. I love driving that big, old truck. It makes me feel like a real Montana Man, just like my grandpa. “I tell you what,” I say. “If I wind up keeping this place, then I’ll absolutely take Big Betty off your hands. Come on now. Let’s go check out your new wheels.” I call to Aubrey. “A-Bomb, will you do me a favor and bundle up Raine for the boat? This will only take a couple minutes. ”

Aubrey looks a bit deflated, and I’m not sure why. But when her father speaks, I think I understand.

“You still haven’t decided to keep this place, huh?” Joe asks, as we slowly make our way toward the truck. “I’m surprised. Seems like you’re right at home here.”

The comment shocks me. But one look at Aubrey, and I can tell she shares her father’s sentiment. Barbara, too.

Seriously? I don’t have the heart to tell any of them this, but even if I keep the lake house after the custody hearing, it’d only be a second home. A vacation retreat from my real life in LA. How could this place ever be anything else, considering what I do for a living? “I’m waiting till after the custody hearing to make any firm decisions about my future,” I reply to Joe, just as Aubrey bustles Raine into the house.

“I guess that makes sense,” Joe says.

“Yeah, I don’t feel like I can make any decisions about anything other than my pursuit of Raine till then.”

“Gotcha.”

Truthfully, I don’t know what I’ll do if winning at the hearing somehow causes me to lose Aubrey. For instance, if Aubrey decides moving to LA for good to be with Raine and me isn’t in the cards for her. I’ve been assuming that’s what Aubrey would do, if the judge grants me full custody. I’ve taken it for granted Aubrey would set everything aside to move to my city—Raine’s new home with me. But the look Aubrey flashed me before heading into the house? Yeah, it’s calling my assumptions into question. Reminding me of the old adage about what happens when you assume . And now, suddenly, I’m scared shitless that the price of me becoming the father Raine deserves will be me losing the woman who’s made that possible.