Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
CALLIOPE
My body is tight as a fist, all the muscles locking up as the hair stands on my arms and nape. Dizziness washes over me and the only word I can manage while I try to blink it away is whispered. “What?”
“I killed her. I was driving her home and passed out at the wheel. I hit a ditch, rolled the truck, and she didn’t survive.”
It takes a few seconds for his confession to sink in and relief to loosen the grip of terror that’s binding me. “A car accident? I don’t understand. I heard you on the phone with her.”
He nods, hanging his head as he continues. “You heard me talking to her voicemail. It’s the only way I can apologize. Her death destroyed their family. Her father died of a stroke weeks later from the stress of it. Her brother buried himself in drugs and ended up doing years in prison. Her mother…” His voice cracks. “Is a shell of herself.”
His guilt is palpable, thickening the air around us. “Were you drunk? High? Driving recklessly?”
“No.”
“I don’t understand.” I understand he’d feel responsible but not why Melody’s brother would want revenge if it was an accident. “If it wasn’t your fault?—”
“It was,” he interrupts, getting to his feet. “I need a drink. Then I’ll tell you everything.”
My mind is spinning while he retrieves a bottle of whiskey and a glass. I thought his quiet, sometimes sad demeanor was from heartbreak, from pining for an ex. Not this.
He pours his whiskey and takes a swallow, keeping his gaze on his glass as he begins. “I met Melody at a bar in Chicago. She was visiting with a few friends and so was I. We all went bar hopping and she ended up back at my hotel. We kept in touch afterward when she returned to Paducah. I’d drive down to see her and vice versa over the next six months. We had a lot of fun and she suggested I move near her so we could be together. My art career was going well, but I was at loose ends, looking for a change, and on a whim, I decided to go.
“We became a couple and things were good for a while, but the feelings just…didn’t grow. I liked her, cared about her, but I wasn’t in love. It wasn’t the same for her. She loved me, and I hated to break her heart. I kept putting it off, hoping my feelings would change but they didn’t. I broke up with her at a little coffee shop we both liked. She wanted to take a taxi back to her place, but she was so upset, and I didn’t want her to leave like that. I convinced her to let me take her home.”
He drains his glass and refills it. About a hundred questions beat in my head, but I bite my tongue to keep quiet and let him finish.
“I don’t remember the crash. One second I was driving, the next I was on the ground with an EMT staring down at me. When I couldn’t tell them anything, they took me to the hospital and scanned my head, though I hadn’t hit it. I wasn’t even hurt, really, just a few bruises and scrapes from the broken glass. They took my blood and urine to see if I was drinking or doing drugs. The urine came back clean—I didn’t even smoke weed at that time—but the blood test would take longer.”
Tears fill his eyes, and he shakes his head, averting his gaze again. “It wasn’t until hours later when the cop came to arrest me in the emergency room that I found out Melody had died.”
The knot in my throat is instant. I close the distance between us to sit beside him on the couch, taking his hand. “I’m so sorry.” He presses his lips together and squeezes my hand. “How could they arrest you if you weren’t impaired?”
“The officer was convinced I must’ve taken something or was drinking. The prosecutor agreed and charged me with vehicular manslaughter. He was sure it’d show up when the tests came back, which could take a few weeks. I had no other explanation for what had happened. I had no record of seizures or anything and had never fainted before. I spent two days in jail and Dad came to bail me out. One of the conditions of that release was house arrest since my money made me a flight risk.”
He pauses to sip the whiskey and lets me take it when I reach for his glass. I don’t care for whiskey, but if there was ever a day that called for it, this is it. It burns down my throat, blooming warm in my stomach. “Did you stand trial?”
“No. I found a good lawyer, who insisted on a battery of medical tests. It was the only time I was allowed to leave my apartment. The blood tests from the night of the crash came back negative and while the prosecutor was searching for some other reason, trying to show I must’ve been speeding or looking at my phone, a cardiologist found the true explanation. I had fainted. The prosecutor had to drop all charges, and I had heart surgery to repair my mitral valve.”
“Arlow,” I breathe, unable to resist embracing him any longer. “I’m so fucking sorry you went through all that.”
He wraps his arms around me and cups the back of my head. “Don’t. Don’t be upset for me. That’s not why I’m telling you this. You deserve to know why your life is being disrupted. Melody’s brother spent a year doing the same sort of thing we’re dealing with now. Vandalizing my truck and apartment, following me, threatening me. He went downhill fast with addiction, and it didn’t stop until he went to prison on drug charges. I don’t know for sure that he’s the one doing this, but he was released only a few months ago and he still has every reason to despise me.”
Sitting back, I look him in the eye. “It wasn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself for a heart condition.”
“No, but if I’d broken up with her earlier when I knew things weren’t going to work out, or waited even one more day, or let her take the damn taxi, she wouldn’t have been with me. I wouldn’t have broken her heart and then killed her minutes later.” The shuddery breath he takes makes my tears overflow again. “Nobody knows that. I’ve never told a soul. I was too ashamed. I let everyone believe I lost my girlfriend that day, not an ex. I couldn’t bear to admit I hurt her and then destroyed her.”
God, he’s blaming himself for so much that was out of his control. My voice is firm as I take his hand again. “I want you to listen to me.” When he looks down, I slide my hand under his jaw and lift his gaze to mine. “What happened to Melody is tragic and what you went through was horrible, but you didn’t do anything wrong. You can’t force yourself to love someone. You were honest with her. You were doing the right thing in letting her go, and trying to make sure she got home safe when you knew she was upset. You didn’t know what was going to happen. No one could have. None of that was your fault.”
His expression reflects so many emotions before he lays his hand over mine. “You see the good in people no matter how deeply you have to look.”
He has no idea how wrong he is about that, but that’s a conversation for another day. “You’re the kindest man I’ve ever met, and I didn’t have to look deep for that.”
We sit together for a while in silence, occasionally passing the glass of whiskey back and forth for a sip. “Will you tell me what you’re thinking?” Arlow murmurs, the alcohol making itself known in his soft rumbly voice.
A small smile appears at the sound of my chuckle. “I was thinking that this has been the longest day. It feels like a week has gone by since I was at the library this morning or the gym this afternoon. Then the hospital with Silver and everything with the cabin. Time is funny, how it stretches.”
“You should go get some rest. Tomorrow may not be much shorter if we’re going to get your cabin cleaned up and secured.”
“And I’m going to the gun shop.” I should go to bed but first I return his question. “Will you tell me what you’re thinking?”
He sighs, places the empty glass on the table, then sits back, his shoulder resting against mine. “I was thinking that I’m being selfish asking you to stay here when you may be safer at a hotel, but I hate how the nights feel without you.”
There’s such a raw vulnerability in that confession. He isn’t asking me to stay only for my benefit. This situation is hard for him. He needs me now too. “I don’t want to go to a hotel. I feel safer with you.” My plan to spend less time with him is not off to a great start. I lay my head on his shoulder, and he tilts his to lean against mine. I don’t want to take the conversation back to an upsetting place, but there’s something I need to know. “Is your heart okay, now? Was it a congenital thing?”
He seems reluctant to answer but does anyway. “Congenital yes, but it’s not limited to my heart. It was a symptom of a condition called Marfan Syndrome. It causes a range of problems and characteristics that differ by case. Some are mild and some are more severe. Excessive height, long limbs and fingers. A lot of people with it are built very slim. Gangly. I was until I hit my twenties and started putting on more bulk. It can affect sight, blood vessels, cause deformities in the breastbone, and in more serious cases, damage your heart. There’s no cure, and it can remain undiagnosed for a long time, like it was with me.”
“But the surgery fixed your heart, the most serious issue?” I ask, desperate for clarification that will tell me he isn’t still in danger.
“It doesn’t work that way. That’s why I don’t date or have relationships. It’s better for me to keep some distance so others don’t get hurt.”
Fear strikes me and I sit up to look at him. “Are you dying, Arlow?”
His smile is full of reluctance, which isn’t reassuring. “Not in the degenerative sense. Some people live a normal lifespan with Marfan Syndrome, even when the heart is affected. I take a pill to keep my blood pressure down and I know my limits when it comes to exercise but there’s no foolproof preventative. Twice a year, I have tests to monitor my heart, and right now it’s okay. But at any time, those tests may pick up on an abnormality and I could die in surgery or of a heart attack. It’s always going to be hanging over my head, waiting. It’s not good for people to get too close to me when my life could be short-lived.”
When I shake my head and open my mouth to protest, he cuts me off. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight, okay? Like you said, it’s been a long day.”
It’s hard not to argue and try to change his mind because that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, but I nod, letting it go for now. He’s upset, and I hate to leave things this way. “Okay, I just have one more question before I go to bed.” He can’t disguise his resigned sigh as he regards me. “Has anyone ever made a Do you know the Marfan Man joke? Because I’m not going to be able to resist.”
Maybe half a second passes before he throws his head back with a laugh and pulls me into a warm hug. “No, only you, Peach.”
I’m not surprised that both Arlow and I sleep in after our late night, not to mention the alcohol. I heard him go to his room about an hour after me, while I was still reading about Marfan Syndrome on my phone.
Everything I’d assumed about him was wrong. He wasn’t pining over an ex but dealing with the memory of a traumatic event—one that may have come back to torment him if his ex’s brother is responsible for everything that’s happened.
My heart breaks for him. For what he went through and the ways it’s still affecting him. There was so much I wanted to say last night. How we’re all temporary, medical condition or not. That his guilt and fear of hurting others shouldn’t sentence him to a solitary life.
It’s terrifying to know that he has a higher chance of another damaged valve, along with other possible issues that would put his life at risk, so I can only imagine how he feels living with that. But if he thinks it’ll push me away, he doesn’t know me well enough yet. As friends or lovers, I’m going to be here for him regardless.
Since I’m the first one awake, I start cooking breakfast, and call the private investigator to tell him the picture he sent me is indeed my father. He promises to let me know the second they find that name currently checked in or renting a place in Indy. Before I let him go, I add a request that I’ve been debating over.
“There’s another person I need to locate, but under no circumstances do I want him to know or be contacted if you find him. His name is Carl Becker. I’ll email you the information I have on him.”
“Is this another family member?”
“No, he’s a man who has given me trouble in the past. I want to know if he’s anywhere near me. My house has been robbed and vandalized along with my car recently. It’s highly unlikely that it has anything to do with him. He has no idea where I am and no reason to care, honestly, but I’ll feel better knowing he’s far away.”
He agrees to look into it for me, and I second guess myself the moment we hang up. I’m probably overthinking things. After all, I’ve changed my name and moved twice. Besides, Carl has no legitimate reason to bother me anymore. His only link to me is dead.
Arlow grins at me from the kitchen doorway. He looks so good, dressed in jeans and a dark blue button up shirt. “I can’t remember the last time I woke up to the smell of bacon.”
“I figured that would get you out of bed. The coffee is hot, and I’m making omelets. Do you want one?”
“I’d love one.”
We avoid any talk of our conversations from last night, and instead focus on our plans for today. I need to go to the hardware store for new locks, the gun shop, and I want to put together a gift basket for Mona. Since Arlow wants to go with me for the locks, he suggests we run our errands together.
“I have an appointment at the barber at two, but you could drop me off and shop for the gift basket stuff then,” he says. “If you don’t mind driving.”
“Sounds good to me.” It suddenly occurs to me that he’s always asked me to drive if we go somewhere together. The day he and Lee rushed back to help me when the man was in the woods, I noticed Lee was driving Arlow’s truck. At the time, I had bigger things to think about and assumed he’d probably had an edible or something. “Do you dislike driving?”
His eyes land on mine for a second. “I don’t drive with a passenger. I haven’t since the accident.”
He’s afraid it could happen again, and it may not be an unreasonable fear. “No problem. I like to drive.”
After breakfast, we head out to start checking things off our list. The hardware store is a quick stop where Arlow convinces me to get the strongest deadbolt locks, along with new doorknobs. The pistol I purchase at the gun shop is just like one I used to have; one I know I’m comfortable with shooting.
“Are you going to come out with a mohawk?” I tease, as we pull up at the barber shop.
Arlow grins and runs a hand through his shaggy mop that now covers his ears and neck. “I was thinking about spikes, maybe with frosted tips, you know, the whole nineties vibe.”
His phone rattles, and he curses under his breath as he reads a text.
“What’s wrong?” We sure don’t need another problem to deal with right now.
His grin is sheepish. “Nothing, but I completely forgot my parents are visiting this weekend. They’ll be here tonight.”
“Oh, it’s okay. I can go ahead and get a hotel room for a few days.”
“No, that’s not necessary. We’ll give them the guest room. You take my room and I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You’re longer than your couch,” I point out. “And I don’t want to intrude on your visit.”
“You won’t be intruding. Mom is bringing the stuff to make an early Thanksgiving dinner since they’re leaving for the holidays. I’d love it if you stayed.”
I don’t want to leave him right now. I’m trying not to stress over the threat hovering above my head and being near him is the best cure for anxiety I’ve ever found. I would’ve been a mess after yesterday if it wasn’t for him. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. I don’t want them to know what’s going on right now, though. There’s no need to worry them.”
“How are you going to explain why I’m staying with you?”
He ponders it for a moment. “We’ll tell them you’re staying a couple of days while you get your furnace fixed.”
He stares at me expectantly until I nod. “Alright, but I’m sleeping on the couch.”
By the time I’ve stopped in the superstore to fill a basket with snacks, a few romance books that I know Mona enjoys, and a couple of gift cards for local restaurants, Arlow texts me that he’s ready. I’m surprised to see him standing outside the flower shop that shares the parking lot with the barber, holding a bunch of flowers.
“You clean up well,” I remark, unable to resist running my hand over his freshly shaved nape as he climbs into the passenger seat. He’s still sporting a slight bedhead look with longer messy locks on top. “Did you get flowers for your mom?” An embarrassed little grin appears along with his nod. He’s really going to have to stop being so cute before I kiss it off his face.
“I did. She loves tulips.” The tulips are placed in my backseat, but he holds out a small, gorgeous bouquet to me. “These are for you.”
For a few seconds, I only stare at him, my mind frozen. “For me? Why?”
“Because you’ve had a hard couple of days, and I know you love wildflowers.” No man has ever given me flowers. Not once. He tilts his head, his smile growing. “Calli, are you blushing? Aw, that’s so sweet.”
“No, shut up.” His chuckle is low as I take the flowers from him. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
Somebody has to help me because I am in deep.