Chapter 34
Caleb sets a box on the floor of the room Mom will now call home and casts an assessing eye over the space. It’s spare. Jeff and I never decorated in here. But there’s a bed and a blank canvas for Mom to make the room her own.
True to his word, Caleb stormed in at sunrise but surprised us all by bringing Abby along.
She is dressed in head-to-toe black and has been hiding in the hood of her sweatshirt like a turtle all day as she moved boxes into the truck, caravanned to San Francisco, and off-loaded Mom’s belongings.
Abby’s been present, but not happy about it.
And honestly, I’m impressed with her commitment to protest. She doesn’t do anything by half.
I’m happy she’s here, even if it’s just physically.
I don’t know if Mom could have survived another silent send-off by a betrayed teen.
We left early this morning—Caleb and Abby in his truck, Mom and me in my car. It’s been a long, grueling day, and my leg has been killing me. The pain always flares up when I’m at an emotional low.
It’s already early evening, and Caleb is rushing to make good on his promise of spending as little time here as possible.
In two hours, he has unpacked the truck, assembled furniture, and flashed a laser pointer at every imperfection in my home.
He’s efficient when he’s pissed off. And I’m terrified of the ticking clock—when he’ll be out of my life.
“I don’t like that ledge in the doorway,” he says. “It’s a tripping hazard.”
“I’ll have it fixed.”
“Does that smoke detector work?”
“I think so.” I stack a box of Mom’s clothes on the dresser Caleb just pulled out of my garage and assembled.
He drops his voice. “The hallways aren’t wide enough for a wheelchair.”
“Hopefully, she won’t need one for a long time.” I turn to face him. If we’re saying goodbye today, he’s working hard to make it easier. I still want to kiss him, but I also want to smack him.
Beyond the magic of Grand Trees, maybe I can pretend he’s just a pain in my ass.
He’s had something to say about everything—that my neighborhood is too hilly (hello, we’re in San Francisco!), that my front door isn’t secure enough, the shower over the bathtub is dangerous for Mom, the bed is too high, the street parking will make it difficult for her to get to and from the car, among other gripes I’ve ignored.
“Your house is really sterile,” he grumbles, squinting at the span of empty wall space.
“This was a guest room.”
“Doesn’t explain the rest of the house.” He pokes his head into the hallway. “Why is it so empty? Doesn’t it make you sad?”
The melancholy invades as if on command. He’s right. It does make me sad. But not for the reasons he thinks but because I’ll always remember how full my house felt for the one day he was in it. My fingers twitch at the need to touch him once more.
“Hawthorne women, I come bearing gifts.” I snap my head at the sound of Cassie’s voice.
When I turn the corner, I throw myself into her. “Cassie.” I hold back a sob.
Cassie extends her arms, clutching two take-out bags stuffed with something that smells like food from my favorite Chinese restaurant.
“Shoot, sorry. I shouldn’t attack you.” I jump back and squeal at the sight of her baby bump.
“Attack away. I’m tough, and so is this little bean.” She sets the bags on the entryway table and hugs me properly.
“You’re really pregnant,” I whisper, still in shock that she’ll be a mother in four months. We’re thirty-five, so it shouldn’t be such a surprise; half our friends have become parents already, but it hits differently now that it’s Cassie taking the plunge.
“I hope so. It would be tragic if this were an undigested burrito, which is all my parasite wants me to eat.” She tugs me tighter, whispering into my hair, “Are you okay?”
I bite my lip and nod. She had the unfortunate luck of answering my phone call two weeks ago and had to listen to the unintelligible ramblings of my heartbreak in real time.
“Nicolette,” Cassie sings when Mom emerges from the back patio. She moves to her, giving her a tight squeeze. “Look at you! All healed and ready for our hot girl summer in the city.”
Mom guffaws and blushes, and the two of them chat like they haven’t spent two decades apart.
Sometimes I’m envious of Cassie for her ability to iron out the rough edges with humor, and I’m indebted to her for it today.
I’m hopeful for the first time in weeks.
I will be okay. My life is fuller than when I drove to Grand Trees three months ago.
I have Mom back. My divorce is a distant memory; it’s lost its power over me.
But Caleb stretched the borders of my world, and this fuller life is still too empty.
As if summoned, Caleb appears at the edge of the hallway and leans against the jamb.
“Well, hello there, handsome.” Cassie grins and greets him like an old friend, stepping closer to wrap him in a hug.
He startles, patting her back in an uncomfortable gesture that would make me chuckle if I weren’t so sad.
They met once, for five minutes after she and Ian rescued us from the felled tree, but Cassie doesn’t believe in strangers.
I watch as she leans in and whispers something into his ear before pulling back abruptly to wave to the entryway table.
“I brought Chinese food. You all must be starving.”
“Thanks,” he says, “But we’ve gotta get on the road.”
“You’re driving back now? Didn’t you just get here?” Cassie flicks her focus to me for a beat, but I look away.
“I think we’ve done all we can.” He scans the room and peers down the hall into the kitchen before walking to the French doors that open onto the back patio. “Abby, come say goodbye.”
This is it. He’s leaving. And taking half my heart with him.
I’m paralyzed in place, trying to memorize him—the way his hair curls on his neck, how the soft skin under his eyes turns purple when he’s tired, how he bites that scar on his lip when he’s thinking, how he kneads his shoulder after a long day.
I don’t see Cassie move, but she’s somehow at my side, holding my hand. “Let’s go set up dinner.” She tugs me toward the kitchen and swipes the bags of food off the table.
I trip after her as Caleb says, “Abby, c’mon,” firmer this time.
We sneak by Caleb on our way to the kitchen as Abby barrels into the family room, a whir of black and an eruption of sobs. She rushes to Mom, wrapping her arms around her neck and burying her face in her sweater.
We all freeze. I sneak a glance at Caleb, who looks like his chest just caved in at the sight of his daughter’s devastation. But I can’t comfort either of them. I’m the reason they’re in pain.
“Oh, my beautiful girl, I will miss you so much.” Mom smooths Abby’s hair down her back and holds her tight.
“I don’t want to leave yet,” Abby cries. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”
Mom sways, rocking her, whispering words I can’t hear, but Abby’s hysteria escalates.
Cassie leans toward Caleb. “Maybe you should give her some time,” she says, and Caleb pinches his eyes closed and flexes his jaw, letting his head fall against the threshold. “Eden has a pullout couch in the office.”
I think he’s ignoring her until he asks, “Is there a deck of cards around here?”
Cassie snorts and whispers, “What?”
“I have a few,” I say.
Caleb pushes away, striding over to Mom and Abby. “We can stay one night. How does Chinese food and game night sound?”
Relief washes over me—treacherous, dangerous relief—and it gives me a foolish sense of hope.