Chapter 9
Cal was hit with a bone-deep weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion as he trudged through the heavy rain toward his office, hungry for lunch and desperate for a caffeine hit.
Friday midday, almost the weekend again.
How did that happen? It had been a good week, so busy it passed in a blur, and for whatever reason, possibly in the hopes of clearing debts before they racked everything up again on Christmas presents, pretty much everyone had paid off their accounts.
So, it wasn’t lack of business and it wasn’t cash flow problems weighing him down. What was it then? Damned if he knew.
He didn’t see the lake of rainwater that had formed on the low edge of his shop’s parking lot until he stepped into it. Cold water surged over the top of his hiking shoes. Double soakers. Perfect. Just perfect.
Inside, Carrie was humming the theme song from Star Wars—annoying because now Cal would have it playing in his head all night.
Less annoying—in fact, not annoying at all, lovely, even—their humble office (originally a storage closet in the one-bay shop) smelled like oranges.
Carrie had polished the old oak desk he’d salvaged from the college when they were “updating,” AKA replacing furniture that was classy, had history, and would last forever with tacky white laminate monstrosities. Ah, well. Their loss, his gain.
He sighed heavily.
“Well, you’re in a good mood,” Carrie said cheerily.
“What? I am.”
“Oh, yes, I can see,” she countered. “You’ve what, muttered three words since 8:30 this morning?”
It was 12:00 now. And he’d only just gotten back from a job, so how would she know how many words he’d spoken? He got her point, however. Not that he’d admit it to her.
“I don’t get the point of talking for the sake of talking. Idle chit-chat and all that.”
“Idle chit-chat and all that,” Carrie copy-catted like a kid.
There was definitely a downside to having one’s sister as an employee.
“I’m your boss. You should respect me.”
“You’re my brother. Suck it.”
Cal rolled his eyes, pulled off his sodden shoes and hung them on his boot dryer, then turned to grab a pod for the coffee machine.
“Seriously, though. Why so glum, chum?”
Waiting for the machine to hiss to life, he contemplated her question. “I don’t know. Just have a lot on my mind.”
“Business is good.”
“Yeah, and you’re a big part of that, so thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. That’s why you pay me the big bucks.”
“Hilarious. Your stand-up comedy skills explain why you’re here.” Cal passed Carrie the just-finished steaming coffee and started one for himself.
“Thanks.” She lifted her mug. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” he agreed, clinking his freshly filled mug against hers. “So, what’s my afternoon looking like, sage and shrewd taskmaster?”
“Vic called again. Paid the invoice.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Why did it feel like Carrie was watching him carefully?
“And guess what?” she asked.
“What?”
“Vic’s a miss, not a mister.”
“Yeah, she has breasts.”
“What?” Carrie sputtered. “That’s not how you usually talk about women.”
Cal held his hands up and explained his comment and the strangeness of the weekend callout.
“Oof, her mother sounds like a piece of work.”
“Yeah, Vic apologized for her—”
“Codependent,” Carrie said knowingly.
Cal nodded, knowing the best way to avoid her going into psychobabble mode on him was just to agree—speaking of codependent. He grinned a little.
“Alert the presses. He smiles!”
Cal ignored her. “Yeah, Vic called her ‘awful, terrible, rude and mean,’ and that might seem like an exaggeration for some people, but in this case, I think it’s barely a start. There’s something wrong there.”
Vic’s sad eyes flashed in Cal’s memory, and suddenly Cal realized he had an answer to Carrie’s question.
Or a partial one, anyway. Some of his malaise was down to sad-eyed Vic.
It wasn’t the first time his thoughts had turned to her since meeting her Saturday.
Not even close. She’d been on his mind off and on all week.
“What?” Carrie asked, inquisitive as a ferret.
“What do you mean, what?”
“That look on your face—what is it? Like you just realized something?”
Cal shook his head.
“I’m serious, Paul Bunyan. Fess up.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Carrie’s eyes narrowed. “It’s this Vic woman, isn’t it? You like her or something.”
“What?—no. Of course, I don’t like her. I mean, I don’t dislike her. I don’t even know her. I met her once. At a job.”
Carrie squinted at him and looked like she was about to say more, a whole lot more.
“I don’t like her.”
“Mmhmm.” Carrie sipped her coffee and peered over the rim of her mug with an exaggeratedly wide-eyed, skeptical look.
“I don’t!”
“Okay,” Carrie chirped. “Millions would believe you.”
“Don’t you have work to do?”
“I do, actually.” She turned toward the computer. “And so do you.”
“In a bit. I’m having a sandwich first.”
“Oh, good. Me too. What are we having?”
Well-used to Carrie’s sandwich-stealing ways by now, Cal had taken to making her a lunch every day along with his own.
She always insisted she didn’t eat lunch, but what she meant was that she couldn’t be bothered to pack a lunch, and she thought she’d be fine without one—until she saw his.
He couldn’t say no to her, and really, if he was honest, he liked sharing lunch with her.
“Chicken clubs on kaisers.”
“Yum!”
“And salt and vinegar chips and chocolate cake.”
“Right! It’s Friday. Double treat lunch!” Carrie let out a happy sigh. “At least Mom raised one of us right.”
Cal’s spirits lifted a little. Despite the crappy breaks she’d had, Carrie never changed.
She was still an eternal optimist and always found something to laugh about.
There was a time when people would’ve said they had that in common, but Cal knew he’d changed.
He hoped maybe not forever, but it had been two years since Melanie left, and if anything, he was getting more cynical, not less.
Or maybe he’d just wised up. After all, how many failed relationships did a guy need before he realized he obviously had no skills in that arena?
Or maybe he was just lonelier and resigned to it.
“What are you doing later?” he asked after polishing off his sandwich and rummaging through a closet for his thermal-lined rubber boots. It was past time for winter footwear, as his soaked hiking shoes had shown him. “Wanna grab pizza and watch a movie or something?”
Carrie winced, and her eyes went all apologetic. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Selina’s having a girls’ night—”
“Say no more. That’s great,” Cal said, meaning it, but also marveling.
Women were so much better at the whole friendship thing.
Carrie, even though she’d spent a solid twenty-five years away, already had a go-to crew of friends.
And him? Well, he did have some solid buddies, and they had the odd poker night or whatever, but it wasn’t common.
They were all coupled up, and their Friday night plans always reflected that.
“Will you be okay?”
“Of course.” Cal scoffed. “I just thought if you had nothing better to do, we could hang out.”
“You seem lonely.”
Ever the mind reader, his sis.
“Nah, I’m okay. I have my moments, but I’m good with my own company for the most part.”
“If you say so . . .” Carrie didn’t sound convinced. “What will you do?”
“I’ll have pizza with pineapple,” Cal said, naming a topping she hated but he loved. Then he grinned and spoke in feigned soprano, “And I’ll light candles and watch a movie, then I’ll have a long bath or something. You know . . . I’ll romanticize my life.”
Carrie smacked his arm, pretty hard, actually. “You really should, you know. It totally helps.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said.
On his way back to the van, Cal revisited Carrie’s accusation about Vic, but decided his rebuttal was true.
He and Vic had barely exchanged a couple sentences.
There was nothing to base like on. He felt bad for her, and that was it.
He’d done enough work—he hoped—to have outgrown his lame white knight syndrome.
Later, workday finally done, Cal pulled into his driveway and killed his engine.
He was just in time to watch the light—couldn’t really call it sun on this heavy gray day—fall behind the mountains in that quick-as-a-blink way it did this time of year.
Just like that, darkness slipped over the distant mountains and trees like a quilt being drawn up, covering everything in a thick gray shadow.
He sat a moment longer in his rapidly cooling van, watching the sky and taking in the cozy golden glow of various houses up and down the street.
Then he sighed, climbed out of the vehicle, and walked toward his dark-windowed house.
One ham, pineapple, banana peppers, and onions pizza, an almost funny movie, and a long soak in the tub later (Sure, he’d teased Carrie, but she wasn’t wrong.
Baths were lifesavers, and the Epsom salt she’d given him really did ease muscle aches), Cal figured he could let himself turn in without feeling too pathetic.
All in all, it hadn’t been the worst night.
And it was after 9:00. A perfectly respectable time to go to bed after working hard all day.
Nothing to feel embarrassed or lame about.
He’d barely stripped down and pulled up the covers when his phone rang. No one called him this late—
“Hello?” he barked, panic ready to rise if needed. “Carrie?”
“I’m sorry,” came a thin voice he didn’t immediately recognize. “I didn’t know who else to call.”