Chapter 17
Danielle
Our trip to the ER took almost four hours, so by the time we get home, my stomach is growling in protest. I haven’t eaten all day, and when the grilled chicken strips Cal found in the fridge start cooking in the air fryer, my mouth practically waters.
I don’t want to watch him as he moves around the kitchen, pulling out everything he needs to make grilled chicken quesadillas.
I haven’t seen him in weeks, and I can’t deny just how much I've missed him. His jeans sit low on his hips, and I’ve never known anyone who looks that good in a plain T-shirt.
I know he runs, but those arms, and those abs—they don’t come from cardio alone. That’s strength training.
I hate myself for noticing just how attractive he is. For having a physical reaction to his presence.
I hate him.
But I miss him.
Ugh.
He opens the refrigerator, and I catch myself staring at his strong back. My eyes roam—head to toe—before I can stop them.
When he turns around, the instant grin that spreads across his lips tells me everything. He caught me.
"Do you want salsa in your quesadillas? Or maybe some barbecue sauce?"
"Neither," I say, praying the heat rising in my cheeks isn’t as obvious as it feels. "Just chicken and cheese. Thank you."
"You got it," he says, turning his attention back to the dismal contents of the fridge.
The keepsake box he made for me is sitting on the small table we keep by the fireplace, and when I notice it, I’m immediately reminded of why he made it in the first place.
“Are you still planning to attend the woodworking conference?” I ask.
“I am,” he says, flipping a quesadilla in the cast iron pan.
“Who’s going to watch Hannah for you?”
“I was going to talk to her mother today. See if I could guilt her into taking Hannah for the week I’m gone.” His voice tightens. “She’s her mother. I shouldn’t have to beg her to spend time with her own child.”
He pauses, and I can tell he’s considering whether or not to finish his train of thought. “Plus, I was going to talk to her about you.”
“What about me?” I ask, my tone sharpening without meaning to.
“Elle, Meghan lied to all of us,” he says. “I’m not done with her either.”
I glance at the box again. “I can watch Hannah,” I offer. “You made the box as payment for that. I need to fulfill my end of the deal.”
“I made you the box because I wanted to,” he says, sliding the quesadillas onto plates.
“Yeah, and I can watch Hannah because I want to,” I say. “I like Hannah, and I’ve missed her.”
“Have you missed me?”
His question catches me off guard, and before I have a chance to think, I mutter, “Yes.”
“I miss you too, Elle,” he says, setting a plate in front of me. “Is there any way we can forgive and for—”
“I told you,” I cut him off. “I’m trying really hard to forgive. But I’ll never forget.”
He sits across from me and takes a slow drink of water before meeting my gaze. “Is it the not being able to forget that’s going to keep us apart?”
I wasn’t expecting him to be so blunt, and I’m not ready for it.
“Not necessarily,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “Forgiveness is still very much an issue. What you did is what separated me from my sister—and put me in Meghan’s crosshairs in the first place.”
“And after all that, you still want to watch Hannah for me?" he says, his voice careful.
"Look," I begin, doing my best to speak without letting my emotions take over, "after learning everything that happened, I’m doing my best to process it, but I still struggle. Maybe, with time, I can let it go. Plus, I’m not mad at Hannah. I’m mad at you.”
“What happened that day wasn’t my call,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I was a rookie. Short of asking my partner when I could take a bathroom break, he had the final say on everything we did.”
“Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you would’ve kept driving if it had just been you that day?”
He doesn’t answer, but glances away, clearly weighing his next words.
“No. I would’ve stopped you too,” he admits.
“That’s what I thought,” I say.
We eat in silence, speaking only when the conversation shifts to Hannah or Beth—safe ground in a minefield of everything else left unsaid.
“Your letter mentioned that Beth cried when you called her Izzy.”
He nods, chewing the last bite of his quesadilla. “She had a really rough time the first year. Especially because we weren’t allowed to see you. We kept telling her, ‘maybe next time,’ but that time never came. And after you ran away—”
“I never ran away,” I snap.
“After we were told that you had run away,” he corrects gently, “we felt hopeless. She started having nightmares and stomachaches. We were at a loss. My parents didn’t know how to help her. So they opted for therapy.”
“You sent a five-year-old to a shrink?” I exclaim, horrified at the idea of my baby sister needing professional help.
“She was diagnosed with separation anxiety and PTSD,” he says, his tone steady.
“PTSD caused by what happened that day,” I clarify.
“Yes,” he admits. “But also because of the abuse you both endured in the system."
"If she remembered what happened that day," I say, the realization hitting me, "then seeing you must’ve triggered her."
He nods, wiping his lips with his napkin before placing it on the empty plate. “The therapist suggested I stop wearing my uniform whenever I came by the house. And when that didn’t help, I was basically ordered not to come around until she was ready.”
“When was she ready?” I ask, wondering how long it took Beth to forgive him… and how long it'll take me.
“She started asking where I was about a week later, when I was missing from Sunday dinner.” The smile that tugs at his lips is all the proof I need that their bond is deep and lasting. “My parents asked her if she wanted to see me, and she said yes.”
Envy and resentment gnaw at my insides. The idea that the man who separated us is also the one who shares such a strong sibling bond with her—a bond that should belong to me and no one else—is enough to break me.
“Elle, I’m sorry,” he says, sensing my unease and probably reading the look of pure disdain on my face.
“Don’t!” I snap, rising to my feet—only to feel a bolt of pain shoot from my ankle to my knee.
I lose my balance, but Cal is there to catch me. Like a knight in freaking shining armor, he’s just there. And I hate him for it.
“Let me go,” I spit, the anger spilling out of me like sweat from my pores.
I ease back into my chair, blinking hard against the sting of tears, both from the pain and the fury boiling just beneath the surface.
"I think you better go," I finally say. "Thank you for your help today. I appreciate it."
"Okay," he says, clearly aware that I'm on the brink of a meltdown. "Let me get you the crutches."
He picks them up from the sofa and brings them over. I stand, take each one, and slip them under my arms. With one hobbling foot and an unsteady grip, I make it to the couch just as Cal nods and gives me a slight smile.
“Don’t forget to take some ibuprofen,” he says, then walks out the door and shuts it without another word.
***
I must be either a quick learner or the most stubborn person on the planet.
After Cal leaves, I take some ibuprofen and, with the help of my crutches, manage to get around just fine.
I wash the dishes standing on one foot, take a shower without any major catastrophe, and tuck myself into bed without needing help from anyone.
Especially not Cal.
Not now.
Not ever.
The hours tick by, one by one.
Besides the excruciating pain in my ankle, I can't stop thinking about Cal's wounded expression when I told him to leave.
And I think about Beth… Izzy. The little girl I took care of for the first four years of her life.
I was only ten when we were placed in foster care, but for all intents and purposes, I was her mother. The only mother she ever knew.
I fed her. Dressed her. Gave her baths. Protected her from the monsters in our world.
I was all she knew. And she was all I had.
How do I forget that Cal took it all from me?
How do I forgive?
***
"Are you coming to my party?" Beth asks—a question I’m still not ready to answer. She asked me the same thing last month, and I told her I’d think about it. The truth is, I wasn’t ready then… and I’m not sure I’m ready now either.
“Cal won’t be there, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she says, like she’s reading my mind.
“Why not?” I ask, a little too quickly—my urgency giving me away.
She tilts her head. “You two are so stubborn.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, not bothering to hide my curiosity.
“Trust me. He doesn’t want to see you either.”
Her words land harder than I expect, and she knows it.
“If that stung,” she continues, “imagine how much it hurts him to know that after all this time, you’re still holding a grudge.”
“It’s not a grudge, Beth,” I say, my voice tight.
“Then what is it?”
“It’s hard to explain,” I say.
“You always say that,” she points out. “I wish you’d at least try, so I can understand where you’re coming from.”
“I’ve been seeing my therapist for a month,” I remind her. “And all I can say is... I need more time.”
The fact that those are the same words Meghan used as an excuse to keep me from seeing my sister is not lost on me.
“Okay, if you say so,” she says, then shifts back. “So, are you coming to my party or not?”
“I’m watching Hannah the week before your birthday,” I begin. “Why don’t we do something together then? Tina will be here. We can order Chinese, and I’ll bake you a cake. We’ll have a private birthday party. Just us girls.”
“Okay,” she says, but I catch the flicker of disappointment on her face. “I would’ve preferred to have all my family together on my special day, but… if it would be too hard for you, then we can do something here.”
“That’s great, then,” I say, trying to sound more cheerful than I feel. “Let’s plan on that. I’ll get everything ready.”
“If you and Cal aren’t talking,” she asks, “how is it that you're going to babysit Hannah when he’s gone?”
“It’s something I agreed to months ago.”
“So… Meghan said no.”
“Meghan said no,” I confirm. “It’s her loss. Hannah is so sweet. She reminds me of you at that age.”
“Really?” she says, curiosity lighting her face.
“You were such a precocious little kid,” I say, smiling at the memory. “Right before we got separated, you were just starting to come out of the toddler stage—becoming this little girl with her own thoughts and ideas. Always curious. Always talking.”
“What about our parents?” she asks, her voice soft as she shifts the subject. “Tell me about them.”
“They loved us,” I say gently. “They met in college. I remember hearing them talk sometimes about how excited they were to have another baby. Neither of them had any siblings, and their parents—our grandparents—had all passed away except for Grandpa. So when they had us, we were it. Their whole world.”
I pause, swallowing hard.
“I didn’t really understand it back then. But after the accident… I did. When they died, we were truly alone. And since Grandpa didn’t want us, all we had was each other.”
She nods, absorbing what all of this means for her—and the impact it had on us, especially on me after losing her.
"Elle, I'm so sorry all this happened to you."
"Now can you understand why it's so hard for me to pretend everything is okay?" I ask softly. "My life was so lonely without you in it. I'm grateful we've found each other, but I'm still trying to work through all the pain and resentment I’ve carried about how everything went down."
"And that's going to take time," she says, gently finishing my thought.
***
The knock on the door doesn’t prepare me to see Cal again, so I take a breath and brace myself before opening it.
“Good morning,” he says.
Hannah stands next to him, a small backpack bursting at the seams slung over her shoulder. Cal smiles and hands me a tote bag—probably packed with a week’s worth of clothes. Then he bends down and kisses Hannah on the cheek before turning his attention back to me.
He smiles briefly and hands me the bag. “The key to the house is in the inside pocket. Feel free to let yourself in for whatever you need. You can reach me on my cell. If I don’t answer, just leave a voicemail, and I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Thanks for doing this,” he adds, though he seems distant and distracted.
“You’re welcome,” I say, offering a smile. “Good luck at the conference. I hope your piece wins.”
“I hope so too,” he says before glancing back to the car. “My brother’s waiting to drive me to the airport. I’ll see you in a few days.”
I nod.
“Bye, Daddy!” Hannah calls, already walking inside.
“Bye, Hannah Banana. I love you.”
“I love you too, Daddy!”
I watch him walk back to the car, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. His brother meets my gaze through the car window. I wave, and he waves back—but he doesn’t smile.
That has to be Nate. I’ve never officially met him, but I recognize him from one of the photos Cal gave me.
In it, Beth is beaming, holding what must’ve been her first soccer ball, grinning up at him like he’s her hero.
It still amazes me how easily she was absorbed into the Callahan family—like she’d always belonged there. Seamless. Effortless. Meant to be.
And while she was learning to smile for a camera and bond with her new family, I was unraveling. Standing at the edge of madness, aching with not knowing where she was or what she might be going through without me.
I met Cal’s other brothers, Seth and Thomas, one evening when I brought over half a key lime pie for Cal and Hannah—their favorite. When I found out the twins were visiting, I went back for the rest. We all sat around the kitchen counter, spoons in hand, and devoured the entire thing.
But Nate… he’s still a mystery.
Not even a smile.