Chapter Forty-Two
CALVIN
In two days, Jamie’s arriving in Missoula with my grandma. And I’m pretty sure she’s still upset about Halloween because we haven’t talked more than a handful of times in the past few weeks. She’s been busy or tired or any number of other excuses that haven’t sat right with me.
It’s time to jump. Go big. Show her my whole fucking heart. She needs to know that the only thing I fear now is not being with her.
But first, I need a little moral support.
While Maren and Will dig into their Chinese takeout, I set my phone on the counter between them. I’ve pulled up an old article about the fire that took my family’s lives.
“What are we looking at?” Maren asks, wiping her mouth.
Taking a deep breath, I push past the tightness in my chest. Opening up has never been easy, but Maren and Will are family to me. It’s time I trust them. “I wasn’t raised by wolves. And I wasn’t abused. I was orphaned after my parents and my sister died in this fire. It’s why I became a firefighter. It’s why I’ve avoided close relationships.”
Will’s eyes narrow at the article briefly before glancing up at me. “I’m sorry, man.”
I shrug. “I don’t need anyone to feel sorry for me.”
“Can I ask why you’re showing this to us now?” Maren asks.
“Because Jamie knows.”
Maren returns a sad smile, or maybe it’s a sincere one. “What are you going to do, Fitz?”
I pull the ring from my pocket and slide it onto the counter.
Maren’s eyes widen as she gasps and covers her mouth. It only takes one blink for her to cry. One blink for her to stand and throw her arms around me. “I love you, Calvin Fitzgerald. I’m thrilled for you.”
Will smirks. He’s not crying, but I imagine the expression on his face is the same as my father’s would have been if he were still alive.
Pride.
Love.
And maybe a little relief that I am, in fact, not broken.
Will shakes his head at Maren when she releases me and plops back into her chair.
“What? You are a heartless, emotionless man, William Landry.”
He bear-hugs her until she wriggles out of his hold. “I’m emotionally stable. That’s all.”
“ Pfft. When are you proposing, Fitz?”
I tuck the ring back into my pocket. “On Thanksgiving, in front of my grandma. I’m not expecting Jamie to abandon her dreams of traveling. And I’m not going to stop jumping out of planes. But at some point, when she’s ready to put down real roots, I want them to be with me.”
“Do you think she’ll say yes?” Will scratches his chin.
“Shut up, Will.” Maren elbows him; he bobbles his chopsticks. “Of course she’ll say yes. But seriously, Fitz, you better have a long spiel of romantic things to say first. And don’t think getting down on one knee is too cliché. It’s timeless. In her heart, every girl wants her man to get down on one knee.”
“It’s symbolic of the rest of your life, buddy. She will break you like a horse. And you will be brought to your knees.”
I chuckle at Will. Jaymes has already brought me to my knees. She’s broken me. But she’s also put me back together. She is the best I’ve ever had—the best there ever will be. And I’m clueless about what this means.
Marriage.
Commitment.
Accountability.
Yet I’m not nervous. No second thoughts. I trust her. Wherever she leads, I will follow.
My two favorite ladies.
I grin.
Grandma putters her way toward me at the airport with Jaymes several steps behind, pulling both roller bags. “Calvin.”
I hug my grandma and kiss her cheek. “Did you have a good flight?”
“It was fine, dear.”
I release her, and Jamie smiles, zipping her white jacket. She’s painfully reserved. My hand slides along her neck until my fingers graze her tattoo.
She flinches.
I narrow my eyes for a second before bending to kiss her. When our lips touch, she stiffens. I’ve sorely underestimated how upset she was on Halloween. I’d hoped she’d be over it by now. Maybe it will make the proposal even more meaningful. It will be the ultimate apology.
“You good?” I narrow my eyes.
“Mm-hmm.” A smile has never looked so fabricated. She averts her gaze.
I bite my tongue because this isn’t the place to push her on it. So I take the suitcases and lead the way to the parking lot.
When we arrive at the house, I help my grandma out of the truck while Jamie retrieves the suitcases.
“I’ll get those, Jaymes.”
“I’ve got them.” She wheels them toward the front door.
Grandma holds my proffered arm while I escort her into the house. “I never thought I’d get to see your place.”
“It’s Will’s place, but it feels like mine with him and Maren gone for the holiday.” By the time I shut the door and help Grandma out of her jacket, Jamie’s at the top of the stairs. “Maren washed her sheets, so my grandma will be in that room.”
Without looking back, Jamie nods and turns right.
“Can I get you something to eat?” I ask.
“You know what I need?” Grandma straightens her blue paisley blouse.
“What’s that?”
“The bathroom. Then a nap.”
I chuckle. “Understandable. Sorry for the stairs.”
“It’s fine.” Again, she takes my arm, and we navigate the stairs like two sloths.
By the time we reach the top, Jamie’s waiting for us.
“Need any help?” Jamie asks, sliding her hands into her jeans pockets.
“I’ll take it from here, dear. You’ve already done too much.” Grandma pats Jamie’s arm before disappearing into the bathroom.
I stand two steps from the top and pull Jamie into my arms so that my head rests on her chest over her heart. “I’ve missed you.”
After a few seconds, she teases her fingers through my hair, and her body vibrates when she inhales a shaky breath.
I lift my head, eyes squinting. “I wasn’t going to push this, but I can’t ignore it. Are you still upset about Halloween?”
Her eyes are a million miles away, eerily dislocated from me, this moment, and everything around us.
I’ve never seen anyone appear so lost.
“No,” she whispers.
The bathroom door opens. “Don’t mind me. I’ll be napping.” Grandma heads toward Maren’s room. “I’m a heavy sleeper.”
Her overly obvious hint would typically pull a chuckle from me, but I can’t find the slightest smile.
“I’m having my period,” Jamie says, sliding past me to descend the stairs.
Admittedly, I’m not an expert on women’s hormones and the mood swings that accompany them. Maren either hides the emotional elements of her cycle, or I’ve totally missed them.
I follow her down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“I should start on the pies. Did you get the ingredients?” She opens the fridge door.
I close it and stand in front of it, arms crossed. “I don’t think you’ve been on your period for a whole month. You have to spell this out for me. And I’m sorry if that makes me an asshole for not knowing or not reading your mind or the stars, the moon—whatever. What did I do wrong?”
Her forehead wrinkles while she stares at my chest. “I’m so”—she pauses, pressing her lips together for a beat—“ sorry that you’ve felt unworthy of love. Of family. Of a full and beautiful life.” She lifts her gaze to mine. “You’ve done nothing wrong—just the opposite. You’ve done everything right. Never forget that you are worthy of everyone who chooses to love you.”
“Jaymes.” I frame her face, not expecting her tears. But in a single blink, they escape, and I wipe them away one by one. “Baby, no. Don’t cry.”
It’s not just tears. She sobs.
“No.” I deposit endless kisses all over her face. “I love you. I love you. I love you. And I should have just said it a long time ago.”
“D-don’t say that,” she manages to blurt out, losing all control. “I-I t-thought I could w-wait.”
I hug her, wrapping my arms so tightly around her that I fear I’ll squeeze her to death because I need her to feel my love. “Wait for what?” Panicking is not my thing. I don’t panic. But I can’t help but wonder what happened. Christ, did she fall in love with another man?
She couldn’t wait for what? Me?
“I can’t hold it in any longer.” Her words cut through the nonexistent space between us—a gut-wrenching confession.
Then it all comes out at once. A long sentence with no pauses, no breaths. “The patient who thought I was his daughter and then I thought was my uncle is not my uncle. My mom was not my mom. She was my aunt who tried to protect me from my father, Dwight Keane—the man who started the fire that killed your family. And I’m so sorry, Fitz.”
With a gasping inhale, she steps away from me and cups a hand over her mouth. Eyes painfully red and filled with endless tears. “I’m so very sorry,” she whispers past her held breath.
I hear her, but the words haven’t fallen into place yet. They’re still jostling in my head, like in the Boggle game I used to play with my grandma. Some of the letter cubes are on their sides, waiting to be shaken into their respective slots. Then I can see everything and connect the pieces.
Slowly shaking my head, I murmur, “That’s impossible.”
She presses the back of her hand to her runny nose and sniffles. “I wish it were.”
I continue to shake my head. “You’re from Florida. You’ve lived there your whole life. He was a park ranger in California.”
She hiccups and sniffles again. “My mom—my aunt—lied to protect me.” She wipes her face, but her eyes are far from dry. “She changed her name. She changed my name. And she did it all for me.” Wringing her hands in front of her, she stares at the floor between us. “And I ...,” she whispers. “I’m trying to figure out what kind of cruel god would let me move here, of all the places in the world. And of all the men in the world, I meet you.”
Her face scrunches. “And fall in love with you. Then, out of all the jobs I could have taken, I ended up at the hospital where my father’s a patient.” She laughs with a painful grunt. “But not just anyone’s patient. My patient.”
Not since the day I found out my parents and sister died have I felt this numb.
This speechless.
This confused.
This angry at the world.
“Say something,” she whispers, lifting her gaze to mine.
I have no idea what she expects me to say. Was there a question in that mind fuck of a confession? But she’s waiting for my response, bleeding desperation. So I respond without thinking. I say the only thing that I feel right now.
“I hate that he’s still alive. I hope he dies an awful death. I hope he tries to kill himself a hundred times and fails each time with maximum suffering until his miserable fucking soul leaves his body to burn in hell for eternity.”
Jamie swallows hard, releasing a new round of tears, lips quivering until she hides them behind her shaky hand as if I’ve offended her. I don’t think there’s anything more offensive than murder. Surely she has to see that.
Something in her eyes dies, as if a part of her has left her body, leaving a vacant hole. And she pivots, taking even, unhurried steps to the stairway. Seconds later, she descends the stairs with her suitcase in hand, dons her jacket and boots, and opens the door.
I open my mouth to stop her, but nothing comes out.
Click.
I stare at the door and the space she’s left on this side of it. The space she’s left in my heart.