Chapter 14. Callan
Callan
I park beside the rental car and climb out. Lenore pops the door open, already swinging one leg out. “Wait here,” I tell her. “Let me check the house first.”
Lenore holds my stare for a beat, then nods once and shuts the door, disappearing behind dark, tinted windows.
A light burns in the mudroom, and another above the stove, but otherwise, the first floor is dark.
I grab a wrought iron fire poker from the rack beside the kitchen fireplace.
I doubt there’s anyone still inside the house—not after they’ve already been found out—but you can’t be too careful.
I move from room to room, flicking on the lights as I go, checking beneath furniture and behind doors.
After finishing a thorough search of the second floor, I climb the stairs to the attic.
It’s pitch black, and the air is warm and heavy compared to the chilly weather outside.
I feel around for the pull chain to turn on the light.
I’ve always found the attic a bit unsettling—as old as the rest of the house, but with none of the charm.
The chimney pierces the center of the room, bricks corbeled so that the whole thing tilts in a way that looks uncanny.
I walk a circle around it. Storage bins and cardboard boxes, but nowhere to hide.
Satisfied, I head back downstairs.
Lenore is waiting behind the kitchen counter with her arms folded across her chest, still dressed in her clothes from the barbecue earlier. “I know what you’re going to say,” she blurts as soon as she sees me. “You told me to wait in the car, but I was nervous about leaving you in here alone.”
I hang the fire poker on the rack. “You’re not supposed to worry about me.”
She leans forward across the counter, resting her weight on her elbows. “You worried about me,” she points out.
I shake my head faintly. “That’s different.”
Still bent across the counter, she bites her lip, looking up at me from beneath dark lashes. I expect her to ask how it’s different, and I don’t have an answer ready. Instead, her eyes meander down my body, settling on my feet. Her eyebrows flick upward.
I look down. Battered running shoes peer out from beneath my red flannel sleep pants. I might’ve rushed a little on my way out the door. “I was about to go to bed.”
Lenore purses her lips in another withheld smile. I’ve always liked that about her—it makes her real smiles feel earned.
“Do you want to stay and watch a movie?” she asks. “I’m not going to be able to sleep for at least a few hours.”
I hesitate. Damien asked me to keep an eye on her, and she did sound pretty shaken up on the phone earlier. Plus, I’d feel better sticking around for a while, to make sure those kids don’t try to come back. “Sure.”
Lenore beams. I’ll stay here all night if it keeps her smiling at me like that. “We don’t have any cable or internet, but there should still be some DVDs in the cabinet under the TV,” she says. “I’m going to hop in the shower real quick.”
I move into the keeping room. It’s an impressive space, with a brass chandelier and a clay brick fireplace set into the stately beveled paneling.
There’s a wrinkle in the braided rug like someone kicked it, and a wooden chair lies on its side.
I take a moment to set things right before opening the cabinet beneath the TV stand.
I try to focus on searching for a movie, or really, on anything other than Lenore in the shower.
I’m not supposed to picture her legs slick with soap, or her wet hair pushed back, water running down her face, leaving dark streaks of mascara beneath her eyes.
I’m not going to imagine what it would feel like to step in there with her, steam pluming around our bodies.
Pressing her back against the wall, hot water pelting my shoulders as I get down on my knees.
Fuck. I run a hand down my face.
It’s not the first time I’ve crossed a few boundaries in my head, but those thoughts are mostly contained to nights when I’m alone in bed.
Around her, I try to keep my thoughts on their best behavior.
Tonight, it feels a little like I’ve gotten my wires crossed, being here after hours.
I should be home in bed, where my mind is free to wander.
I choose a movie at random, an old black-and-white called It Happened One Night, and pop it into the DVD player.
Inviting furniture is hard to come by in this house.
Aside from the wooden chair, my seating options are a Boston rocker—which looks like it’s required an exorcism at least once in its excruciatingly long life—or the single floral love seat with a quilt thrown over it.
I settle on the love seat, grabbing a needlepoint throw pillow and setting it across my lap.
There’s nothing sexy about this room. The love seat has a faint, stale scent to it.
A large painting of a horse and rider hangs above the mantle.
Unfortunately, neither of these things manage to derail my train of thought.
In the kitchen, there are hints of movement.
Cupboards closing, microwave buttons beeping.
Minutes later, Lenore swans into the room wearing a matching button-down set, a bowl of popcorn cradled in her arms. On her way over, she stops to flip the light switch, so that the flickering television screen is the only light source.
“Scoot over,” she says. I inch to the left, holding the pillow on my lap. Lenore folds onto the love seat beside me, near enough that the cushion tips our weight together, until we’re pressed hip to hip. Her hair is wet and smells like tea tree shampoo.
“What did you put on?” she asks.
“Hm?” I look over at her. If eyes are the windows to the soul, mine are steamed over with how long I left the shower running in my head.
“The movie,” she says, and tosses back a fistful of popcorn.
“Oh, it’s—” I gesture vaguely at the television, like the title screen might conveniently answer for me. It doesn’t.
She snorts. “You didn’t even look.”
“I looked,” I say, suddenly defensive. “I was lost in thought, I guess.”
“About what?”
It’s such an obvious follow-up question, I want to bang my head against the wall for not seeing it coming. “Nothing. Work.” Fully prepared for any follow-up she might ask to that one. There are a thousand things to do around the farm on any given day.
“All right,” she says with a hint of suspicion.
We settle in, sharing the bowl of popcorn. Twenty minutes later, I haven’t paid any attention to the movie. I’ve got an arm slung over the back of the love seat, not quite touching her shoulders, but every time she leans back or repositions, damp hair flicks over my skin.
I’m not touch starved. I’ve had a few casual relationships over the past few years, and I don’t have trouble meeting women, when I’m looking.
Lenore is different, though—with her, every touch feels stolen, secret.
It’s like being in middle school and playing footsie beneath the lunch table.
Maybe that’s why I can’t focus: the rush that comes with feeling like we’re breaking the rules, crossing some invisible boundary.
I have to remind myself of all the reasons we’ve never stepped over that line before.
Back in high school, it had a lot to do with Damien being overbearing, but we’re not kids anymore.
The trouble is that our adult lives are more complicated.
She’s leaving. In two weeks, the house will be sold, along with everything in it. Lenore will head back to New York.
And I’ll be here, in the same place I’ve always been.
Which shouldn’t be a problem. Maybe that’s what she’s looking for—a distraction. It wouldn’t be the first time.
At the reception, after Damien and Katie got married … I didn’t miss the way Lenore kept looking in my direction all night, but weddings will do that to people. You see other people in love and start to notice how alone you’ve been, and suddenly you’re looking for something to fill that gap.
It’s fleeting, like a junk food craving. Bridesmaids leave with groomsmen. The next morning, everybody wakes up to reality. People have regrets.
I hate the thought of her regretting anything that might happen between us, so maybe it’s better that nothing happens at all.
Less than a year after the wedding, Damien told me that Lenore had met someone and gotten engaged in a whirlwind.
It was a little shocking, coming from her.
People get married young all the time in small towns, but Lenore was Lenore, with one of the greatest cities in the world spread out at her feet.
I never would’ve expected her to settle down at twenty-four.
Of course, ultimately, she didn’t.
The television screen flashes in black and white. Beside me, Lenore shifts, resting her head against my shoulder. My heart skips like we’re teenagers again. I angle my head to look over at her.
Asleep. Of course. Her head must’ve slumped over when she knocked out.
I laugh under my breath and gently pry the popcorn bowl from her grasp. After setting it aside, I slide back into the same position, letting my arm drape around her shoulder, appreciating the closeness. Her breathing is soft and steady, and she nestles closer in her sleep.
We stay like that for another hour, until the movie has run through the credits, and the DVD menu comes blaring back. With a pang of regret, I shift out from under her to lean forward and grab the remote from the coffee table.
Lenore stirs, blinking sleep from her eyes. “Don’t leave.”
That small plea is like a fist clenched around my heart. I’d walk through fire if she asked, but this—this is easy.