Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Caleb
A week and a half later, at the end of a long Wednesday, I hobbled to the door of the old house, eager to reach my apartment, fall straight onto my couch, and rest my throbbing leg and aching hands, wrists, and underarms. I had about enough energy in me to ask DoorDash to bring me takeout—again.
I have to say that I’m a decent cook. And I’m cheap, so I don’t order out often. But this week had kicked my butt. Even though I wasn’t in surgery, I still had to get to work early because it took me twice as long to get around anywhere.
Sam was back at work too, her rashy misery improved enough to reenter society, at least with a decent application of makeup. A good thing, too, because Ani and Tyler’s wedding was coming right up this Saturday, and we were planning on leaving tomorrow after work.
At the end of each day, we’d gotten into the habit of eating dinner together. Told each other about our days. Hung out. Sometimes we read, studying up on cases, flipping through journals, and preparing for weekly academic conferences in our programs.
Our evenings together were the highlight of my day. That and rubbing cortisone on Sam’s back, but her rash was looking better and better. Looking forward to seeing her made me focus less on the misery of hobbling around on my broken foot and more on what was to come between us. It was an understatement to say that I was really looking forward to the weekend.
Every single night for the past week and a half, I’d asked her out. She’d laughed each time and said, When I don’t look like Frankenstein .
I couldn’t wait to go on a real date. I couldn’t wait to kiss her again—at a time when I wasn’t a minute away from being transported to the hospital. And I couldn’t wait to spend time with her when we weren’t debilitated from our injuries and acting like two nonagenarians on the couch holding hands. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but we were thirty-two, not ninety-two.
With those thoughts in mind, I took the stairs face-forward, my book bag hiked onto my back, then trekked down the hall to my door. Just ahead of me, there was a dark lump. Specifically, a lump in the shape of a tall, skinny girl propped up against Sam’s door, scrolling her phone.
She resembled Sam in some familiar ways—she had Sam’s thick hair, but hers was brown and wavy, not as dark, and she wore it piled up in some kind of bun thing on her head. She wore an oversized UW sweatshirt and leggings. Whereas Sam was curvy, this young woman was long and thin as a reed. But when she looked up at me, she had the same soulful brown eyes, the same arched brows, the same even skin tone.
“You waiting for Sam?” I asked.
I immediately noticed that her eyes were red. She wore no makeup, and she looked like she’d been crying. Her lips were dry. And she bit her lower lip in the same way that Sam tended to do when she was worried.
“Are you her neighbor?” the girl asked.
“Caleb,” I said, cranking my thumb behind me to indicate my door. “Are you Wynn?”
She gave me a frown so like her sister’s that I almost laughed. Great. Another skeptic. “I’m Mia’s brother.” That was a good lead-in, I thought, to establish trust right away.
“Hi,” she said in a flat tone, not offering a smile or a hand or… anything. “Is it okay if I wait here for her?”
“Yeah, sure.” I thought longingly about my giant DoorDash order, the game about to start, my evening of lying down with my foot up in the air. “She won’t be back tonight until around eight. Want to come in? I was about to order some food.”
She hesitated. Shifted the navy duffel at her side. Judging by the look on her face, her lack of put-togetherness, and what might’ve been a hasty flight, I guessed that this was some kind of crisis.
“Does Sam know you’re here?”
She shook her head—half a shake, the barest kind. Which I took to mean No. Absolutely not.
“If you text her,” I said cordially, “tell her that I’m ordering some dinner, and she can join us when she’s finished with work.”
That was met with more silence. When she spoke, it was with great patience. “I’m not going to text her because it will upset her that I’m here. Then she won’t be able to concentrate at work, and her patients will suffer or die or something. And then she’ll call me and bombard me with questions that I don’t want to answer right now.”
Okaay. I rubbed my neck. I hadn’t dealt with a teenage girl since… well, since I was a teenage guy. I had no GPS here. She was upset and wanting Sam but not wanting to call her to upset her. “Well, how about this. I’m ordering some food, and you can come in and eat it or bring some out here while you wait.”
Another way she seemed like a carbon copy of Sam—clearly needing her but deciding to stick it out. What was with these Bashar sisters, not possessing the genes that enabled them to ask for help?
She looked up at me with reluctance. But just then her stomach growled about as loudly as a car revving it up on the street. “I don’t know you, and I’m not going inside your apartment. I’ll wait here, thanks.”
Like sister, like sister , I thought, forcing back a smile. “All righty then.” I unlocked my door and left her in the hall.
A half hour later, when I went out to collect the delivered food, she was fast asleep, her head leaning against the doorjamb.
I waved a bag of Thai food under her nose. “Hey, Wynifred,” I said.
She cracked open an eye. I saw evidence of tear streaks on her cheeks. Uh-oh. I thought about calling Sam ASAP but decided to try and get more info.
“I’ve got egg rolls, pad thai, vegetable curry, and rice.” I pulled out my phone and showed her the selfie of Sam and me from that morning at the farm, smiling into the camera, the sun peeking up from the rail fence behind us.
Sam’s beauty was fully captured in that moment. She’d humored me, but she’d given the camera a wide, full smile. I confess I looked at it often, setting it as my phone screen saver.
“See?” I said. “Friends. We’re in the same wedding together this weekend. And we work together at the hospital.”
“Are you the annoying one?”
I grinned. “You bet. And you’re my next victim. I’d help you up, but I’ve only got one hand. Come on in and eat something.”
* * *
Caleb
“Hi there,” I said, intercepting Sam in the hall a little while later.
“Oh hi.” She smiled widely. Our gazes caught in that electrifying way that made me want so badly to pull her into my arms and kiss her. But I didn’t want her to think I was a caricature of the romantic guy she’d first thought I was, a person who fell in love on a dime or switched objects of my affection from week to week. I wanted to take her out on a real date. I wanted to make sure she knew what had become crystal clear to me—that she was the only one for me.
“It’s so nice to see both of your eyes blinking back at me,” I said. She laughed and pushed me away playfully. The swelling was gone, the rash faded down to a smooth pink color and covered mostly by her makeup. Also, I was relieved that she seemed to be in a good mood for what I had to tell her.
“Hey,” she said while I planned what to say, “I had an idea. What do you think about going out for some Thai food at that little place on the lake? The weather’s perfect to sit and outside and watch the sun set. What do you think?”
Honestly, I wanted nothing better than to eat and watch a sunset with her. From my bed, preferably. But obviously, that wasn’t going to happen tonight. I steered her down the hall and lowered my voice. “I love Thai food, and I can’t think of anything better than spending time together, but I’ve got something important to tell you. It’s all fine, and it’s not a crisis, okay?”
She slowly lowered her book bag to the ground. “What is it?”
I held on to one of her arms as I was able. To anchor her. To subtly let her know that she could lean on me. “Wynifred is in my apartment.”
The joy vanished from her face. “My sister ?”
“She didn’t text you because she didn’t want to worry you while you were at work. She was planning to wait outside your door until you got home, but I got her to come in and eat something.”
She frowned and instantly teared up. “What’s wrong? Oh my God, she’s pregnant. Is she pregnant?” She rubbed her temples. “I knew this boyfriend was bad news. I should have?—”
“Whatever’s wrong has something to do with breaking up with someone named Miles. She hasn’t shared details.” I increased the pressure on her arm a little so she’d look at me. I somehow wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone without telling her that, which I knew she wouldn’t take well. “At first she wouldn’t even come in, but I think the hunger finally wore her down.”
“She went into your apartment ?”
I couldn’t help cracking a smile. “Not until I showed her a photo of us.”
“You have a photo of us?” Sam’s eyes were brimming with tears. It amazed me—even though I’d seen it before—that worry over her sister could turn her calm, competent demeanor into a hurricane of emotion.
“A really nice one. I’ll show you later.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Sam?”
“Yes?”
“Whatever it is, it’s going to be fine.”
That seemed to be the right thing to say, because she released a big breath and gave my hand a squeeze. “I don’t know why I believe you when you say that, but strangely, I do.”
I thought of something else. “Also, Miles might not be terrible,” I said. “He appears to be texting her every other minute.”
One brow lifted. She was thinking—and she seemed to be struggling. Maybe with trying to not kill anyone who would dare hurt her sister. I had the feeling that she was used to that role—protecting. Fiercely. She loved her sister fiercely. That gave me hope.
She turned to me and did something surprising—she touched my cheek. I felt the soft graze, the coolness of her fingertips as she cradled my jaw for a brief instant, giving me a wistful smile. “Thank you.” Her voice was practically a whisper. “For taking her in. And for slowing me down a little. Sometimes I need reminded to not come in hot.”
I locked my gaze with hers. I thought of saying that she’d do the exact same for me, call me out on something, as she’d done with Lilly. But I left it at “You’re welcome.” Then added under my breath, “And also, you’re always hot.”
Her tiny smile broadened, and I felt my heart expanding. Ever since the cliff, things between us had shifted. We’d always had a give and take, a push and pull, except now we were using our wills to help each other instead of argue, to listen to each other and to give back. It felt like nothing I’d ever experienced before.
With a definitive nod, Sam headed into my apartment. As she passed, she gave me a little tap on my butt.
It happened so fast I blinked and wondered if it really happened.
* * *
Samantha
If that little punk Miles hurt my sister, I swear he would soon have deep regrets. Caleb had helped me calm down, but I was still a muddle of emotions as I walked into his apartment and found Wynn sitting at a retro sixties red-topped aluminum table before a carton of Chinese rice and a half-eaten egg roll.
As she glanced up, my heart contracted with a painful pang. Because instead of a hoodie-wearing teenager, I saw the eight-year-old version of her sitting at Oma’s scarred oak table in her pink flannel mermaid jammies—eyes wide and tear-filled. Sad that our mother hadn’t shown. Again.
I’d been furious. It had been her birthday.
“Maybe she’s just late. Call her, Sammy,” she begged me. “Tell her it doesn’t matter how late she is. We’ll stay up and wait, won’t we?”
“Mom’s not coming,” I said. I did not want to say that. I hated saying it. But I had no choice.
I felt Oma’s hand on my shoulder. She passed me and went to sit next to Wynn, wrapping an arm around her.
“Tell her, Oma,” Wynn insisted, her little-girl voice high pitched with desperation. “Tell Sam she’s just late.”
I went and sat on the other side. I had no idea how to tell an eight-year-old that our mother was hopelessly and chronically unreliable. I wished, guiltily at times, that she would just leave for good. It would’ve been so much better than this constant rebleeding of wounds.
Our mother was already dead to me, and my anger at our impossible situation was making me cynical and bitter. But to kill all the joy and hope of an innocent eight-year-old? I couldn’t do it.
But I owed her the truth.
“Mom’s not coming because she’s sick, Wynn,” I said. Thinking back, I was only twenty-one with the forced maturity of a forty-year-old. “So sick that she can’t really be our mom. She—she tries but she’s got problems. In her head.”
Would she understand what a mental problem was? I didn’t have the words. I didn’t have a way to make anything right.
Then Oma stepped in. “Samantha is right,” she said firmly. “Your mother isn’t coming. But we have each other.” She gathered us up. “My sweet, sweet girls. I love you both so much. And I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”
Here in Caleb’s apartment, I felt just as desperate. Just as worried that I’d never say the things Wynn needed to hear. But I reminded myself that she’d come here, to me, and I could somehow handle this. With Oma’s loving memory guiding me, I closed the distance between us and pulled my sister into the biggest hug I could muster.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I said. She immediately gave a sob. I squeezed harder, vowing to give her all the love I had and then some. “I really wanted you back for the summer but not exactly like this.” For a second, I dared to dream that she would stay. That we could somehow get back the closeness we used to have before Oma died. If only I could win back her trust.
She took a paper towel that was folded in half and placed under her fork as a napkin and blew her nose. “Miles and I had a huge fight. I left and—I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Did he—did he hurt you?” I could barely force out the words.
She shook her head. “He wouldn’t take my rent money. Like I’m some kind of sad sack or something. I told him that I work two jobs to make the stupid payment, and he needed to take it or else.”
Caleb cleared his throat. I’d forgotten he was there, lingering in the background. “Um—excuse me, ladies.” He pointed a crutch in the direction of the hall. “Sam, I’m going to go hang out over at your place.”
“Thanks, Caleb.” He’d done so much. And he just kept doing. For Wynn. For me .
“Is he your boyfriend? I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on here.” Wynn watched Caleb clomp along through the door.
“No,” I said quickly. “Nothing’s going on.”
“Yet,” Caleb called over his shoulder on his way out.
I immediately knew that I should’ve been more honest. I was beginning to see that I spent a lot of time covering my own feelings—and struggles—to try to act like an adult around my sister. Being around Caleb had made me understand how closed off I’d become. And that if I didn’t make an effort to change, I was going to have a very lonely life—and not just romantically. “Actually,” I said, “I think he might be my boyfriend. Except last weekend, he broke his foot, and I got poison ivy all over my body, so I can’t really say what we are right now.”
“You are his screen saver,” Wynn noted.
“I’m his screen saver ?” burst out of my mouth. Wynn looked at me with curiosity. I moved quickly on to what was bothering her. “So your boyf—Miles—refused to take your rent payment?”
“He like, knows I’m trying to save all the money I can. But that was so insulting. I can take care of myself.”
I heard the metallic click of crutches in the hall. Suddenly Caleb was back in the doorway. “Not to interrupt, but was he being… nice?”
“He was being misogynistic ,” Wynn said. “He said he wanted to take care of me.” She inflected “take care” like it was “murder.” Then she threw her hands up in the air. “I mean, I thought we were equals. Partners. But it turns out that he’s part of the patriarchy like everyone else!” She burst into tears. I held her. Above her mass of dark curls, Caleb stood in the doorway, shaking his head and pointing to her and me in turn.
I was torn between applauding the notorious Miles for being a nice guy and being proud of my sister for wanting to do things on her own. “We’re strong, independent women,” I said. “But Wynn, you don’t have to work two jobs. I sent money to your account. I don’t want you to struggle like this. How can you do well in school when you’re stressed all the time?”
She looked up, her tear-streaked eyes and her wild, curly hair, making her a sight.
“I wanted to show you that I could do it,” she said with passion, “that I could do what you did. I wanted to take responsibility for wasting the money on that class I failed. I wanted to find my own solution. But I-I thought Miles and I were on the same page. He’s probably the kind of guy who wants the ‘little woman’ to stay home and cook his dinner after work and do all the laundry and put the kids to bed while he drinks beer and burps in front of the TV.”
I forced myself to keep a serious face. I didn’t know Miles. I had already decided that I didn’t like him because since when is it ever a good idea for two broke nineteen-year-olds to move in together? But what if this rent thing was really the issue? I’d been imagining things that were much, much darker and far, far worse.
Caleb gave up the pretense of leaving entirely, clomping across the wood floor and dropping down into his La-Z-Boy chair. “Okay, as a male, I’d like to say something.”
“Why is he here?” Wynn asked.
“To be fair,” I said, “he does live here.” I turned to Caleb. “But we are in the middle of a private discussion.”
“Hold on a second.” He held up a determined hand. “Maybe Miles is trying to alleviate your suffering. Maybe he’s just trying to help you through a tough time. I mean, you Bashar sisters are independent to a fricking fault .”
I threw up my hands. “There shouldn’t be a tough time. The bank account has money in it.”
Wynn pinched her nose. This was typical when we were at an impasse. “You don’t understand.”
Was she talking to me or Caleb?
“Look, honey, whatever happened, I’m so glad you’re here. I’m glad you came ho—here.” I reminded myself that home to her was still Oma’s house. Which I’d ripped from her forever.
She was angry with me now. I could tell. I shouldn’t have mentioned the money. But what was I supposed to do? Communicating with her was walking on eggshells, fractured pond ice, and a net fifty-feet high with holes in it. Impossible.
“There is no home, Sam,” Wynn said with deadly seriousness, making my stomach plunge. “Not anymore.”
I felt tears gather painfully in my nose. “Wynn, I had to sell Oma’s house. I didn’t have a choice. But that doesn’t mean there’s not a place for you with me. I love you. All I want is for you to be happy.” I stopped short of saying I’m your home . Because to a nineteen-year-old, that didn’t matter. She wanted the cute brick-and-mortar house with the ruffle curtains and the yellow kitchen cabinets and the smell of brownies baking, Oma sitting in front of the TV crocheting.
“We both just want Oma,” I said.
Caleb got up and judiciously left us alone. Finally.
“I want to go back to before,” Wynn said tearfully. “Jobs, bills, classes, the future… it’s all so much.”
Caleb hobbled back—so soon?—and dropped something into my lap. But it bounced onto the floor with a chink . Car keys. With a beer glass key chain filled up with foam that said Brewers . Not my keys. His.
Wynn bent to pick them up. “What are these for?”
“Somebody drive,” Caleb said in a commanding voice. “We’re getting out of here.”
“What?” I asked, sounding kind of snippy, a little outraged, and not exactly nice.
“Where are we going?” Wynn asked. She didn’t sound nice either.
“To get ice cream.” Both of us stared at him like he’d just walked out of a spaceship. Those two words sucked all the steam out of my anger. Even worse, something in my heart split wide-open—that thick, unbreachable barricade I’d steeled tightly around it. Caleb had somehow managed to do exactly the right thing at exactly the right time—again.
What man would dare to interject himself between two very emotional women having it out with each other?
I stared at him, my eyes already filling up.
The answer was, a very remarkable man.
I loved him.
The thought didn’t dawn on me so much as roll through me in a massive, gathering wave.
This man supported me at my worst and most challenging. Who was right there, when before it had always been just me.
He smiled a little. Gave me a little nod that might have meant You’re welcome . Then he said, “You two love each other. That’s terrific.” He made a shooing motion. “So head to the door. Ice cream makes everything better. Now move it.”
As we both headed out, Wynn handed him one of his crutches that he’d propped against the door and shook her head. “He’s bossy.”
“I know. ” But we were both somehow smiling.