Chapter 21 #2
“Should I be worried you’re taking me to a secluded spot to murder me?” I ask when cell service gets spotty and dusk arrives, making the tree-lined road seem ominous.
“If I wanted to murder you, I would have killed you when I had you alone in a cabin in the woods.”
“You answered that too quickly,” I say. “Like it crossed your mind at some point.”
He laughs and glances at me with an expression I can’t read.
He makes me nervous, but not for my safety.
He slows to a crawl and veers off the paved road until he pulls to a stop in a clearing with a perfect view of Grand Trees Lake.
The last rays of sunlight tickle the lake’s back, and it wriggles, sighs, and shimmers against the affection.
Caleb cuts the engine and shifts to face me.
But I’m entranced by the view. I’ve never seen the lake from this northern side and didn’t know we could just drive up to it.
At camp, we’d hike to the southern shore; the reward was a serene, sheltered inlet.
The western shore is open to the public with kayak rentals, windsurfing, and paddleboats.
A broad pine-needle-strewn beach sits in front of a swim area demarked by buoys and floating docks.
From here, I can see the rise of Colibri Peak.
I feel like Caleb is sharing a secret with me.
Neither of us gets out of the car, and the silence becomes thick and heavy.
“You going to tell me what happened?” he asks.
“Probably not.” I don’t want to invite Jeff into this moment.
I’ve wasted enough energy on a man unworthy of it.
“But can I ask you something?” I release my seat belt and twist toward him.
Perhaps he can talk me down from this emotional ledge even if I don’t bare my soul.
Perhaps he can teach me something about forgiveness and letting go.
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
I ignore him. “You’re really, truly friends with Ian? It’s not an act?”
His smile is slow growing, unsure, and perplexed. “Do you think I would or could pretend to like someone if I didn’t?”
I laugh. “Fair point. I guess that’s why I’m confused. How do you not feel bitter or angry or betrayed?”
“They didn’t betray me. They didn’t start dating until after we separated.”
I take this in. “But even so, how are you chill about them moving on that quickly? How do you work with him and joke with him and hang out with both of them without resentment?” My eyes burn with unshed tears, but I blink them away and clear my throat.
“Are you sure this is about me?” Caleb’s voice drops to its lowest, softest register. I’ve heard him use it with Houdini when he thinks no one is paying attention.
“Maybe not. But humor me.” I inhale and regain my composure. “Please.”
Caleb reaches out as if he might touch me or pull me into a hug, but he must think better of it, because he rests his hand on his knee and stares out over the lake before sighing.
“I guess Lina never felt like mine, but she felt like my responsibility, which makes me sound like a jerk. I cared for her—still do—but not like I should have.” He trails off and looks at me cautiously, carefully, as if he expects judgment on my face. Instead, I’m just confused.
“Lina and I were young when we started dating. The relationship ran its course, and we broke up, and a few days later, she found out she was pregnant. Instead of ending things, we had Abby, slid back into a relationship, and got married. But we never really fit. Lina is a great person. She’s just not my person.
And I sure as hell wasn’t hers. The worst type of loneliness is being lonely together. ”
I think of Abby—beautiful, expressive, wide-open Abby—a product of a loveless marriage and still struggling to figure out where she fits.
“We were both sleepwalking through life. When Ian moved to town to take over after Sonny’s retirement, he and Lina hit it off. And she came alive.”
“They fell in love while you were married?” I whisper.
He shrugs. “They couldn’t help how they felt.
But I trust nothing happened until we split.
If Ian hadn’t shown up, I think Lina and I would have gone on, not being enough for each other.
But Ian gave us an out, and I was relieved, honestly.
” He runs his hands through his hair, destroying the last evidence of the comb he must have used earlier.
“Relieved?” I ask, unconvinced.
He slips closer, his face growing more earnest. “Among other things, I felt guilty I couldn’t give Abby the family she deserved and disappointed that I failed.
But, yeah, relieved.” He pauses. “When people talk about family and kids and happily ever after? No one ever mentions how many ways you gotta fit and how many things you have to agree on. About how to live your lives, how to have fun, how to raise kids, how to manage money, how to dream. And you gotta be in sync everywhere, in front of an audience and in private. Me and Lina didn’t fit in the important ways.
And in those spaces in between, where there was either too much distance or too much friction, we built resentments that replaced all the oxygen.
We tried. But when we weren’t talking about Abby, there was a lot of silence.
I think that’s why Abby talks so much—growing up in all that quiet. ”
“Or she just has a lot to say.”
Caleb laughs. “Well, that’s true, too.”
Caleb’s perspective makes me challenge my own.
Did I ignore all the ways Jeff and I didn’t fit?
How his idea of vacation was lounging by the pool at a four-star hotel, and I preferred to book cheap accommodations and explore.
Or how he refused to dance with me at weddings.
How I liked the outdoors, and he preferred being inside.
The way he didn’t like public displays of affection, so he wouldn’t touch me except in our bedroom, and even then, not enough.
How he hated when I sang along to music, so I bit my tongue when my favorite songs would come on the radio.
How when I’d finally treat myself and curl up with a novel, he’d offer some bland business leadership book and tell me to read it instead.
Maybe I confused compromise for contentment, settling for security. Maybe we didn’t fit in the important ways, and I didn’t notice or was too scared of instability to acknowledge it. Maybe Jeff did us both a big favor. If only he had done it earlier, before I’d given him so much of my youth.
Caleb and I sit in silence for a few moments, watching as the final remnants of daylight slip away and the moon takes center stage, shining a beacon across the still lake.
“I guess life with Lina . . . it just felt . . . single sensory when you want your partner to make your nerve endings crackle.”
Caleb gives me a meaningful look, and my skin takes the suggestion, erupting in goose bumps.
His words strike me somewhere tender and raw.
Jeff may be a cheating asshole, but that doesn’t mean he was wrong about us, because I’m not sure he ever made me feel more than tepid contentment. “You only hit one note?”
Caleb turns his chin, squinting at me like I’ve said something true. “Yeah. That’s a good way to describe it.”
“Why’d you bring me here?” I ask, not breaking eye contact.
The sun is down, but his eyes glimmer. I remember seeing him across the bar over a week ago when I was struck by their unusual color.
Some people might describe them as brown, but that would be a lie.
They’re the color of a rare gemstone, made of copper and gold and sparks of light.
“I come here to think when I’m struggling with something. You seemed upset, and I’ve noticed how much you loosen up when you’re outside.” He rubs the back of his neck, his head bowing slightly.
“This isn’t where you brought girls in high school?” I joke.
His smile is lazy and crooked. “That would require actually speaking to girls in high school. So no.”
“Too cool to make an effort?”
“Too angry to interact with other humans.”
I picture Caleb as a withdrawn and petulant kid. It’s not that hard to imagine. But I’m impressed by all the connections he’s forged since—and the daughter he’s raised, who’s so secure in her attachments that she connects with everyone without hesitation or reservation.
“I’ve never brought anyone here,” he says.
“I feel special.” I am aware of every inch of empty space between us on the bench seat.
“You should.” Caleb gives me a soft smile before he slides his hand to my nape and tilts my chin with his thumb. We hold there, connected only by his touch and our locked eyes. “Are you okay, really?” he asks, low and sweet.
My pulse is a drum in my throat, and I’m sure he can feel it against his palm, like a confession of what his attention does to me. “I’m just realizing I’ve spent my life afraid of falling but wound up at rock bottom anyway.”
He makes a soft sound like a hum, thoughtful and seductive all at once. “How do you feel now?” He swipes his thumb across my bottom lip, and I fight a shiver.
“Terrified,” I whisper, but I lean forward and capture his mouth in mine.
There’s nothing tentative about this kiss, no questions or equivocation.
Whatever hesitation we had was put to rest on the trail of my demise last night.
He cradles my face in both hands, moving into a kiss so certain, so possessed, that I whimper at the perfection of it.
And I lose all sense of time, space, and separation.
I slide closer, or maybe he does, until his thigh is pressed to mine, and I wrap my hands around his neck and into his hair.
He deepens the kiss just as I demand it, swallowing my small gasp, letting me taste him, bite him, and consume him.
I am overwhelmed by how right he feels. Kissing Caleb is like muscle memory, some familiar phantom from a former timeline.
There’s no surprise, just relief and need.