Chapter 30
Cal stared in horror at his phone. He wasn’t a weirdo. He’d meant to text, not call. And even then, he’d been on the fence.
“Hello?” Vic said again. Shoot—she’d hang up in a minute.
“Hi, Vic?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Cal.”
“Oh, hi—weird!” Her voice had warmed, though, and lost its suspicious note, so whatever she thought was weird, apparently it wasn’t him calling. “Your name didn’t show with the number. It just says private caller. I was sure you were a spam.”
“Uh, yeah, sorry. This is my personal phone. I usually call you on my work cell.”
“It’s funny you rang. I was just thinking of you.”
Cal hated that his stomach did a weird tightening thing. He couldn’t help it, though. She’d been thinking of him.
“I’m going to write Michael an email, like you suggested.”
“That’s great. Fingers crossed he responds.”
“And I’ll do better with Audra, too. I’m going to keep an even closer eye on her.”
Cal had been about to say, “That’s great,” again, but something in Vic’s tone struck him oddly.
“Hey, I hope you already know this, but just in case . . . When I said that, I was in no way implying that you needed to do more. Far from it. You do more for your mom than almost anyone I’ve known, and it looks like a pretty thankless job.
I only meant, well, she doesn’t seem well. You know?”
“Yeah, I think I do . . . It’s just hard because I kind of feel like a frog in hot water.”
Cal gave a surprised laugh. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, sorry—I don’t even know if it’s true, but I’ve heard that if you put a frog in water and slowly raise the temperature, even though there’s nothing to stop him from jumping out, he won’t . . . he’ll just get so used to the subtly rising temperature that you can boil him to death.”
“Gruesome.”
“You don’t sound like it’s gruesome. You sound like you’re smiling!”
Now he was full on grinning. Cal settled onto his couch, pressed the recliner’s release button, and stretched out. “It’s not funny. It’s horrible. It was just you comparing yourself to a toad or a frog or whatever . . . I don’t see it.”
“Ah, okay, yeah, maybe it was a bad example.” Vic was quiet for a few seconds, as if gathering her thoughts, or perhaps deciding how much she wanted to say. “A lot of how Audra acts . . . isn’t new. I don’t think it fully registered with me that she’s getting worse.”
Idiot. Cal smacked his forehead with his free hand. “I’m sorry—the frog thing, I get it.” He closed his eyes, still cringing—but for Vic now, not at his own obtuseness. “And if she’s always been like this to you . . . man, I hardly know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything. But you really think how she is with me is unusual?”
“Hell, yeah, I think it’s unusual. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I always just tell myself that parents are hard on their children.”
“They can be, that’s true—but this isn’t that. Audra is, well, the only word that really describes it is abusive.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Vic’s side of the call.
“I’m sorry. Maybe that’s not my place.”
“No, no, it’s okay. I’m just surprised. Sometimes I’ve wondered, and I did when I was a kid, too—but then again, I’ve always been too sensitive and kind of prone to being melodramatic. I figured I was overreacting.”
“No.” Cal shook his head for emphasis even though Vic couldn’t see him. “No, you aren’t—and when you were a kid, you weren’t either. Also, who told you you’re ‘too sensitive’ and ‘melodramatic,’ anyway? Audra?”
Vic gave a non-committal grunt that told Cal he was right on the money. “Let’s talk about you. How’s the home decorating going?”
“Well, I haven’t added anything new since I was at your shop, but I did put up some Christmas things—and some lights—so that’s made a difference. And come the new year, when I take them all down, I’ll scope out some other stuff.”
“Right on—and you know, there’s nothing wrong with living simply or having a clean, spare style.”
“Except that it’s possibly psychopathic?” he teased, referencing his joke when he’d come into the shop that day.
Her big laugh carried over the line, and he felt inordinately pleased with himself. He grinned into the receiver again. “I know you’re right. Minimalism is a good thing—if you like it, but I don’t. I want something with a bit more personality.”
“Well, you could always stop being so tidy and organized. Leave books in stacks around the place, not all shelved.”
He laughed. “I actually like that idea.”
“Well, if you like that, you’ll love my new decorating style.” She told him about the changes she’d made to her bedroom, converting it into a sort of mini workspace.
“You paint?” That totally made sense to him. She had such an interesting natural style and effortless way of combining various elements together in a way that looked great. Even the way she set out lunch seemed like a mini work of art.
“I . . . dabble,” she said.
“Says every true artist!”
She laughed, but he could tell she was flattered and that made him feel pleased again.
“I actually think I’m going to sell something . . . just a small thing. If she likes the final project.” Vic shared the incident with Claire and the solicited portrait of Lady Rumpelstiltskin, AKA Rumple.
“Wow, that’s fantastic. May I see it when it’s done?”
She was quiet, and Cal knew she was biting her lip. He knew it—and he could see her shy facial expression in his mind’s eye, too.
“Maybe?” she finally said.
They chatted for a few more minutes, and he asked questions about the setup in her room. When she mentioned the small round table being difficult to reach across, he was thrilled to have a solution.
“That’s a weird coincidence! I saw this thing online the other day—this painter, well, she paints furniture, not art stuff, but she wanted to be able to access pieces she was working on without having to constantly walk around them in her small space, so she made her round table into a lazy Susan.”
“Wow, that would be amazing!”
They talked about the how-to’s for a few minutes, then suddenly Vic broke off. “Omigoodness . . . I’ve been talking your ear off for nearly an hour. I’m so sorry. What did you actually call me about?”
Oh, right. He’d called her. “It’s no problem. I like talking to you.”
A beat of silence. “I like talking to you too. A lot.”
“See? So, no apologies—and I called you by accident.” He laughed self-consciously. “I was planning to text you to see if the evening of the 23rd is too close to Christmas for me to come and get some work done, but I hit Call instead.”
Vic’s big laugh filled his ear once more, and the grin it triggered this time felt too big for his face. Her laugh was so great. Contagious, even.
“Sorry,” she said a second later. “I didn’t mean to laugh like a hyena right in your ear.”
“I happen to love hyena laughs.”
Vic laughed again. “You’re in luck with me around then.”
“No, seriously. Your laugh is amazing, Vic. Not hyena-like at all. I love it.”
Quiet from Vic’s end, then a very soft, “Thanks, Cal—and the 23rd is great.”
“Well, great! I’ll see you then.”
Cal shook his head at himself but was still smiling when he ended the call.
He really needed to think of something else to say to Vic besides “great!” How many times had he said that tonight?
Ah, well, it couldn’t be helped. The call was—she was—great.
He poured himself a mug of eggnog, grabbed his book, and turned on a lamp.
Settling onto the couch, however, his mind was on Vic, not the mystery he was reading.
What was she doing now they were off the phone?