6. Chapter 6
six
“You blew me off last night. Now, I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“Mom, will you tell Mercy I can’t go out tonight? Please?”
I’m serious. I don’t want to go out, but when Mercedes Bennett makes up her mind, she’s a force to contend with. She is the human embodiment of a tornado—wreaking havoc but somehow charming while she’s doing it.
“Oh, honey, it won’t hurt you to step out one night.”
Great. Mom’s siding with Mercy.
“Bowie’s happy with me and Pop-Pop.”
“Are they still in the garage?” I take a long drink of sweet, iced tea, sitting at the bar while Mom fusses in the kitchen and Mercy paces.
“Are you deaf? He has Bowie in his lap, running the riding mower.”
“Mom! A mower—”
She shows me her palm. “The blades aren’t on. He’s just giving him a ride around the property.”
“Dad did show an interest, didn’t he?”
It was a relief to see.
When he came in from work, Dad bent down with a genuine smile and clapped his hands, urging Bowie over. When Bowie toddled to him, Dad picked him up high, hugged him tight, and said, “Let’s have some man time, what do you say? Leave these women in the house.”
“Man time,” Bowie parroted, puffing his chest out, resting his elbow on Dad’s shoulder.
Then Dad settled Bowie in the crook of his arm as they headed into the garage. It did something to me, seeing him warm and supportive, the way he was when I was young.
Watching him make over Bowie made me feel like maybe he was actually glad to have us here. Then he had to go and spoil it, tossing over his shoulder from the garage door, “I talked to Grant, Laurel. You need to call him.”
“Eff him,” Mercy whispers.
“Mercy,” Mom scolds.
“For crying out loud, Callie. He screwed around on her. You want her to go back?”
“You girls will find out some day that no marriage is perfect. People make mistakes. Your Dad’s right about that, Laurel. You at least need to talk to him.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
Mercy grabs my purse, shooting Mom a defiant glare. “We’re out of here.”
“Where to?”
“Where else? The Dust Devil.”
As soon as she backs out of the driveway, as I buckle into the passenger seat of her electric Mustang, I tell her, “I don’t want to run into Calder.”
“You won’t. He’ll be at that big meeting.”
“What big meeting?”
“Something about the volunteer fire department and wind turbines.”
I turn in my seat. “Wait. Aren’t you, like, the secretary of the volunteer fire department?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re not going? Who’s taking notes?”
“About that…”
“No. No, no, no. I’m not going to that meeting if he’s going to be there. Besides, what business do I have at a volunteer fire department meeting?”
Mercy cuts the air between us with a dismissive wave. “It won’t last long and there’ll be tons of people. You probably won’t even see him. We’ll go to the Dust Devil as soon as it’s over, along with everyone else.”
“Speaking of seeing him—”
She whips her head to look at me, her eyes lighting up. “No. Where?”
“We went to H-E-B and he was loading someone’s truck with supplies.”
“Did he see you?”
“If he did, he didn’t act like it.”
“Still drop-dead gorgeous, isn’t he.”
Yes.
Makes my chest ache. I press my fist to my sternum. “Maybe I have heart problems. On top of a broken heart.”
“Oh, Christ. Don’t be so melodramatic.”
She’s right. Get over yourself, Laurel.
A moment later, I study her with a new thought. “Tanner’s not hard to look at, either. You two ever—”
“For a minute. Years ago. But neither one of us was into anything serious, then life just kind of gets away from you.”
We pull up to a sea of vehicles at the volunteer fire department, and we both check our lipstick in the visor mirrors. Why? I don’t know. Habit, I guess.
It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone at the VFD. I am absolutely not trying to impress anyone.
But on the off chance that he’s around… that I do bump into him… I should look my best. It’s only prudent. Right?
The big bay doors gape wide open with all the fire trucks parked outside to accommodate the crowd. It’s shoulder to shoulder people in there, some in chairs. Most standing.
As she veers away from me, I grab Mercy’s arm. “Where are you going?”
She wiggles her brows. “Gotta sit at the head table with the Chief. Secretary, remember?”
“You traitor. What am I supposed to do?”
“Blend in. Chat with your neighbors. Act like you live here, Laurel. Because now you do.”
No.
No, no, no. I can’t do this. I can’t just blend in like I belong because I don’t. I don’t have a stake in this. I don’t want to see him with some woman on his arm.
Instead of heading inside, I make my way through the firetrucks to hide at the side of the building, leaning against the corrugated metal, my hands behind my hips. “Please, God. Not this. I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what, Laurel?”
My body goes numb hearing his voice. Something inside me reacts before I can stop it—a rush I haven’t felt in years, my heart kicking hard against my ribs. I can’t answer. Because I can’t breathe.
All I can do is stare as Calder takes a step closer with those long legs. My God, he smells the same… cedar and sage, that warm, earthy spice that always clung to him… wearing a white Oxford-cloth shirt tucked into his jeans and a silver-belly Stetson shadowing his hair.
He’s got that same bone structure he had at eighteen—all angles and quiet stubbornness—but time has settled into it, sharpened it. There’s a steadiness in him, a confidence that wasn’t there before, and, honestly, it scares me a little.
His blue eyes crackle. “What’s going on?” He takes my left hand in his, staring at the empty ring finger. His thumb brushes the place the ring used to be, like he’s checking if it’s real.
His touch. God. The slide of his thumb over my skin sends a shock straight through to my core.
I’m still frozen, finally managing to shake my head softly, still unable to speak.
Our gazes hold for what feels like a lifetime before Calder takes a deep breath and nods, his lips drawn tight, then turns and strides away.
“Calder. Wait!”
He just keeps walking.
“Dammit.” I push off the wall, my legs shaky, my breath caught somewhere in my throat, trapped behind my drumming heart.
He can’t leave like this. Not with me saying nothing.
Weaving through the fire trucks and into the edge of the crowd, I can’t see anything but shoulders and caps and Stetsons—above them all, fluorescent lights with slow-turning ceiling fans.
I hear the murmur of people, a crackling microphone that’s clearly not working.
Standing on my toes, craning my neck—no silver-belly high in the crowd. No blue eyes. He’s not here.
Where did he go?
I know him. To his truck.
But what does he drive now?
I weave through the cars and trucks parked outside.
“Calder.”
He’s sitting on his lowered tailgate, a beer in hand, his shoulders straight, the veins in his neck bulging.
He’s taken off the hat, probably tossed it onto his front seat, and I see now, his hair’s darker at the roots than it used to be, sun-bleached at the ends, but cut shorter than when we were kids.
It makes him look older, but not in a bad way. More like he’s grown into himself.
His eyes find mine. “Go away, Laurel.” His jaw flexes—he’s gritting his teeth. He’s done that all his life. It’s his only tell.
“No.” I step closer.
“No? Now you won’t go away?” He takes a long tug on the bottle, his eyes never leaving mine, and for the first time I see—he’s so much harder now.
I refuse the tears that want to fill my eyes. “I left him.”
He huffs a laugh with no humor in it. “For how long.”
“I’m not going back.”
A nasty curl slowly pulls his mouth as he tips his beer at me. “You’ll forgive me if I won’t hold my breath.”
“Please, Calder.”
He lifts his free hand, showing me his wide palm. “I can’t do it again, Laurel. I won’t.”
“I’m not asking you to. Just… accept that I’m here now. And I’m not going back.”
He stares at me so long and hard that I think my heart will collapse in on itself, but I find the strength to look him in the eyes and whisper, “You know I loved you.”
“Hell of a way of showing it.” His voice is ice. He doesn’t raise it. He never needs to. His quiet cuts deeper.
I want to scream at him, “Because I had no choice.” But I know now, looking back, I did have a choice—I just didn’t know it then. I didn’t have the strength. The courage to defy my parents. “I’m not the same person.”
“Neither am I.”