Chapter 26 #2
Vic tried to give a light laugh. The resulting strangled croak sounded anything but. “More like won’t make it. Doesn’t want to make it. Won’t even respond to talk about.”
Cal studied her, but—a rarity—Vic didn’t flinch. His gaze felt compassionate, not like he was weighing her up and finding her wanting.
“When Carrie’s marriage broke up, my nephew Jordan—Jordy—took it very hard.
He’s a bit younger than Michael, but not much.
He pretty much cut Carrie out of his life, which was devastating for her, especially because, well .
. .” Cal shook his head. “Anyway, he’s mostly come around.
It may take a bit, but I think Michael will too. ”
Vic bit her lip. “That’s kind of you, and I really want to believe it, but . . .” She paused, then sighed. “There’s not just a lot of water under the bridge, there’s a whole blown-out river.”
Cal shrugged. “I can tell how much you love him, though. And somewhere beneath the mess of logs and mud, he knows it too. Real love has to count for something. It has to.”
His words made Vic’s heart hurt, but she had to smile at his extension of her “blown out river” line—and then she was shocked she could smile when thinking about her failure with Michael.
“How’ve you contacted him?”
Now this was something Vic recognized—a man going into fix-it mode. Honestly though, she didn’t mind. Maybe he would have a good idea. After all, Michael was male too.
“By text. That’s definitely his go-to communication.”
“Like most of us nowadays, I guess. But it doesn’t leave a lot of room for saying much unless the other person responds. Maybe send him an email.”
“An email?”
“Yeah, you know. Those electronic letter things, kind of like the things we used to write on paper and send with stamps.
“You never did!”
“No, I really truly did.” Cal’s eyes crinkled, then his expression immediately sobered again. “I have no clue that he’ll be any more receptive to your email than your texts, but who knows? Won’t hurt to try. It’s harder to ignore an actual letter.”
Her skepticism must’ve showed on her face.
“I’m sorry. Was that mansplaining? Carrie gets on me for it—but I also can’t help it. I am a man. And sometimes I explain things.”
A little burst of mirth welled up in Vic. “Now, that was mansplaining.”
Cal smiled, and from his warm expression, Vic knew he’d tried to lighten the mood on purpose.
She watched him for a moment, took in his practically-licked-clean bowl, his neatly refolded napkin.
Admired, again, his slightly bushy (but not too bushy) beard and his nice eyes.
Then she gave a quick glance around the cozy-at-the-moment kitchen.
She sighed, a feeling of . . . what? . .
. wrapping around her. Happiness? Contentedness?
Longing? It was so nice to eat with someone, just casually.
It wasn’t something she’d done a lot of.
She was used to thinking of meals with men as dates, where she was always dressed to impress and felt pressured to seem interesting.
Even with Brent, meals were usually “special events” because he “worked” out of town so much.
Ugh. How stupid were you?
She had no defense to Devil’s insult. It was still mind-boggling to her, even in her own head. No wonder his wife hadn’t believed she didn’t know he was married. How could she not have—
Get out of your head!
Yes, Angel had a point. She forced herself back to the lovely experience of just enjoying a casual, nothing special moment. Oh oh—
Vic dragged a finger along the bottom of each of her eyes, swiping up so if the sudden welling dampness smudged her eyeliner, it would angle up and look intentional, like a light flick.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” she said firmly, planting her palms on the table, about to stand up. “I was just thinking how nice this was—is.”
“Very nice,” Cal agreed, his eyes smiling at her too, not just his mouth.
“Oh, hard at work, I see! Exactly, what I thought. This is just another one of your get-a-man ploys, isn’t it?”
Vic jumped and her heart hammered so hard it hurt. “Mom! Shit! You scared the crap out of me.”
That’ll teach you to sit facing away from the door.
“Don’t swear at me, Victoria. And don’t think you’ll distract me from the matter at hand either.”
“I’m not—” Vic shook her head in a mixture of disgust, humiliation, and fury. “Ah, forget it.”
“You men,” Audra sneered at Cal. “You’re all the same, so bloody predictable. Can’t keep it in your pants. And useless as tits on a bull. You should’ve met Victoria’s father. He was just like you, all promises, promises, promises—and not one lick of work ethic.”
Somewhere deep inside, Vic was wailing, and an internal voice was keening stopitmomstopitstopitstopit on repeat—but, of course, Audra didn’t. She never did.
Above his beard, Cal’s ruddy cheeks had paled. He looked distraught.
Audra rounded on him, voice arch. “And is the food you eat and the time you spend panting after my daughter taken off the bill, or do we pay for all your lollygagging?”
“Audra—Mother!” Vic found her voice again, almost apoplectic with rage—and embarrassment. “You are not paying Cal a dime, and if I want lunch before we get to work, that’s my business.”
“My, my,” Audra said, giving Vic a cool look and raising an eyebrow. “The little mouse isn’t always so meek and mild after all.”
Cal slowly got to his feet, holding his hands loosely open in front of him in a placating manner. “I won’t be billing Vic for the time we spent talking or planning, of course. And I’m sorry if we disturbed you.”
Audra stared at him, looking confused. She chewed at her thumbnail. “I wanted more soup,” she said sulkily, fidgeting with the small gold cross she wore at her neck.
“I’ll get you more soup. Of course, I will,” Vic said resignedly. “Do you want to eat in here with us? Well, we’re done, but I could sit with—”
“No, no. I want to eat in my living room. Like I told you!”
Vic nodded, then winced apologetically in Cal’s direction. How on earth would she convince him to do work around the place if that’s what he might face on his own? “I’ll be right back.”
A few minutes later, back in her recliner, with fresh soup and another bun, Audra was acting as if everything was right as rain, like she hadn’t just been an absolute walking—shrieking—nightmare.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Vic started as she re-entered the kitchen, but Cal held up a hand.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to work here unless you’re here.”
Vic exhaled in relief. “Agree. Totally.”
“And Vic,” Cal’s voice dropped to a low whisper. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but there’s something really wrong with your mother.”
She opened her mouth to agree, but he shook his head. “No, I mean other than her being . . . very mean. It’s not normal. I think she’s ill. How she acts . . . It’s a symptom, not just a personality thing.”