13. Chapter 13
thirteen
I’m sitting in the waiting room, Bowie in my lap, my mind racing. My father had a heart attack. I can’t believe it. He’s always been… invincible. Bigger than life.
He came in from work late, fighting to get his tie off his neck, heading straight for the whiskey.
“What is it?” Alarm was on Mom’s face and in her eyes as she watched his quick, furious strides.
“That fucking Gra—” He glanced at Bowie and stopped himself, snatching a glass.
“What’d he do?” I was right behind him, my heart pounding in my chest, my stomach queasy.
His eyes met mine. “He had the gall to call me.”
“What’d he say?”
He shook his head. “Nothing for you to worry abou—” Then he grabbed his chest— sweat beading on his face. His knees weakened, and he clutched the counter.
“Dabbo!” Mom screamed, rushing to his side.
She helped him get to his recliner, and I tugged on the back, reclining him as Mom tore off his tie.
Then I called 911.
Sheriff’s dispatch sent the ambulance.
Mom rode with them.
I followed with Bowie crying in the backseat the whole way, because my baby witnessed it, too.
“Pop-Pop.” His breath hitched. “What’s wrong wif Pop…Pop?” he wailed.
I watched him in the rearview, tears flooding his eyes and mine. “He’s okay, Baby.”
“No! Pop… Pop!” He broke down in a way I never imagined—a three-year-old crying so hard he couldn’t catch his breath.
It tore my heart out to have to drive and not hold him—so I didn’t.
I pulled over, unbuckled him, and drew him into my lap, rocking him, petting him. “Shh.” I stroked my fingers through his silky hair. “Your Pop-Pop’s going to be okay. You want Goldfish?”
“No. Pop-Pop,” he blubbered, his eyes puffy and red, pleading, “My… Pop… Pop.”
“Okay. Well, look at Blippi, and we’ll be there in just a few minutes. Can you do that?”
He nodded.
I put him back in the car seat and buckled him in with his tablet.
That feels so long ago.
Bowie’s dozing against me now, his cheek warm just below my collarbone, his little fist curled in my shirt like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. My arm’s tight around him as the automatic doors hiss open, and I look up.
Mercy barrels toward me, fast and focused—all tornado.
Tanner’s beside her and then—
Calder.
My lips part, my breath stutters before I can stop either.
As Mercy and Tanner rush to me, Calder stays back, scanning the room like he’s ready to fight someone, anyone, whoever hurt my father. His jaw’s tight, shoulders squared, eyes sharp and searching.
When he sees me, something in his face shifts—just a flicker, but I feel it all the way through me. Mercy glances between us. Tanner does, too.
They both know. They’ve always known.
Calder doesn’t say anything at first. He just takes me in—Bowie asleep on my lap, my red eyes, the way my hands won’t stop shaking as I pet my son.
I can’t take my eyes off him.
Then he steps closer. “How’s your dad?”
It calms something inside me, just hearing his voice.
I swallow hard. “They’re running tests. They’re not sure it’s even a real heart attack. They’re not sure—what happened.”
“What did happen?”
“He came in from work late, and he was mad, and—he grabbed his chest. His knees buckled.”
Bowie stirs and whimpers, looking around, and Calder’s eyes soften in a way that makes my chest ache.
“Bowie, come to your Aunt Mercy.” She holds out her arms. “I need a hug.”
Bowie shakes his head, wide-eyed. He’s not letting go of me.
Calder and Tanner exchange glances.
“You okay, little man?” Tanner asks, as Bowie stares up at him.
Bowie blinks back, catching his breath. “No.”
I tell them, “He saw it all. He’s completely traumatized.”
“Of course he is,” Calder says, studying my son, still from a distance. “Little guy saw his whole world fall apart.”
Then, to my surprise, Calder comes closer, lowers himself into a squat, one hand gripping the arm of my chair, giving Bowie all the time in the world to take him in. They sit that way, eye to eye, for a long beat.
Finally, he says, “Bowie, I’m Calder. I’m your Mommy’s friend. Your grandfath—”
“Pop… Pop,” Bowie stutters, his little voice hitching between each syllable.
Calder nods and repeats, “Pop… Pop. Well, your Pop-Pop’s alright now. It scared you, didn’t it?”
Bowie nods, his little chin quivering as he rubs his eyes with his balled fists.
“Well… that’s okay. Everybody gets scared sometimes. But there’s nothing to be scared about anymore.”
How does he know how to talk to the three-year-old? How is his voice this soothing?
“Listen, Bowie.” Calder gently puts his finger under Bowie’s chin and leans in a little, bringing them even closer, their gazes locked together. “I never tell fibs. You can trust me. Pop-Pop’s okay now.”
My son nods, his long lashes weighted with tears, his eyes glued on the man in front of him, who says, “Tell you what. Do you think a soda might make you feel better?”
Again, Bowie nods, now wide-eyed.
“How ’bout you and me take a little walk. Give your Mommy a minute, and we’ll get you something to drink.”
“Man time?” Bowie asks.
A little chuckle escapes Calder’s chest. “Yeah. Man time.”
Bowie looks up at me first, and when I whisper, “It’s okay,” he loosens his grip on my blouse and holds his arms out to Calder, who picks him up under his arms and stands.
“You thirsty?” He holds my son in front of his face.
Bowie blinks and nods once.
Calder settles Bowie into the crook of his arm. “Soda or chocolate milk?”
“Chockie.” Bowie rests his elbow on Calder’s shoulder, taking the big man in with curious eyes. “Cawl?”
“Calder. Cawl, like y’all.”
“Cal… der.”
“That’s right. Come on, little man. We’ll get you some chocolate milk.”
In spite of the circumstances, something low in me stirs.
“Oh, my God, Laurel.” Mercy wraps me in her arms as Tanner takes a seat beside me, looping his enormous arm around my shoulders. “You’ve been gone a long time, girl, but you’ve always been family.”
It brings tears to my eyes. I never realized how much I’d missed them. This.
“He’s going to be alright.” Mom stands before us, her eyes as puffy and red as Bowie’s. She looks from Tanner to Mercy and squeezes Mercy’s hand. “Thank you for coming.”
Tanner stands, pulling Mom into a hug. “We wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
“Where’s Bowie?” Mom looks left, then right.
“Calder’s got him,” Tanner answers, and I swallow, not knowing what her reaction will be.
Yep. There it is. Her face freezes.
“Calder?” She looks around the room.
“Yeah,” Tanner says. “We were together when Mercy told me. He came, too.”
Mom’s gaze zips to mine. “Laurel?”
“Friends, Mom. Just friends.”
She rolls her eyes. “Please. You two can’t be friends.”
“Yes, we can.” Calder’s voice comes from behind her. His eyes meet mine. “I can do friends.”
I’m not sure if that cracks my heart like an egg that’s about to spill out onto the floor—or if it makes my heart want to soar. I don’t want to be friends. I want what we had before. But at least, since I’m here, maybe we can live in peace in this small town.
I stand, Mom settles into the chair I’d been in, and Calder lowers Bowie into her lap.
Bowie shoves his little milk carton into her face. “Chockie?”
“No, thank you.” She fights a chuckle.
He settles himself in her lap, sipping his milk through a straw, and Mom kisses the top of his head, whispering, “Pop-Pop’s asleep. He’s fine now.”
“I know.”
She draws back. “How did you know?”
“’Cause Calder told me. And he doesn’t tell fibs.”
I melt.
“I’ll walk y’all out, if you’re ready to go,” I tell Mercy, Tanner, and Calder, needing the air, needing the movement, needing… I don’t know. Something.
Calder extends his hand toward Mom. “I’m glad Mr. Hayes is alright.”
She takes his hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, Calder.”
Then Calder nods at Bowie. “See you later, friend.”
“Friend,” Bowie smiles back.
“Hey! I’m your friend, too.” Tanner offers Bowie his fist, which Bowie taps with his, beaming.
“Well, my feelings are hurt.” Mercy fake-frowns at him with her hands on her hips. “What about me?”
“I wub you, Aunt Mercy.”
She kisses the top of his head. “Love you, too.”
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Mom and Bowie.
Stepping outside, the night air is thick, filled with that musty smell that comes after the sky sprinkles on hot pavement. Steamy.
Mercy loops her arm through mine, squeezing once before letting go. “Let’s talk tomorrow.” She kisses my cheek.
“Thank you, Mercy.” I squeeze her tight. “I’ll call tomorrow.”
Tanner pulls me into a hug that lifts my feet off the ground for half a second. “Your dad’s too stubborn to go anywhere,” he mutters into my hair. “He’ll be raising hell by morning.”
“I know.” I swallow the lump that keeps rising in my throat. “Thank you again.”
“Always,” he says, and I believe him.
I watch them walk side by side to Tanner’s truck, and I can’t help but think how right they’d be together.
Calder.
He stayed behind. We’re alone.
“You didn’t come with them?” I can’t hide my surprise.
“No point in doubling back on myself, driving to the Dust Devil and back home. I followed.”
Standing in the parking lot, crickets raising a riot around us, all I want is for him to pull me to him and wrap those powerful arms around me. I want to rest my head on his hard rock chest and feel safe.
Instead, Calder keeps his distance, both hands shoved in his back pockets, elbows out, shoulders broad and still, like he’s bracing against a headwind only he can feel.
The parking lot lights catch the edge of his jaw, the line of his throat. I know he worked all day in sweltering heat, and he looks like that. God help me.
“You alright?” It’s barely a whisper.
I nod, even though it’s a lie. “I will be. I’m glad you came.” A tear slips despite my best efforts. I swipe it fast.
His eyes track the motion. “Laurel.” He looks away and sighs heavily. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. And I’m not mad at you. I just… I can’t…”
“I told you I loved you,” I say before I can stop myself. “You never said it back.”
He looks away again, working his jaw the way he does.
Finally, he shrugs. “I couldn’t.” He tilts his head back, his gaze roaming the sky. “If I had, I…” He shoves both hands through his hair, his gaze finally settling on mine. “You knew I did.”
Silence folds around us as my heart disintegrates.
The crickets go deafening, and I know—the way a mother knows a nursery rhyme by heart—that all the king’s horses and all the king’s men can never fix what just cracked inside me.
“You held it together back there.” He changes the subject, talking to me in that same low, steady tone he used on Bowie. “Most people don’t, not when it’s family.”
“I didn’t feel together.”
“That’s not what I said.”
Tanner’s truck rumbles to life, Calder glances over his shoulder watching, then turns back to me, rubbing the back of his neck. “You sure you don’t need anything?”
I see the flick of his arm—like he wants to reach for me and stops himself, holding onto his neck.
I shake my head. “You already helped. With Bowie. With… everything.”
“He’s a good kid.”
All I can do is swallow that damn lump and nod.
He twists his neck. “But then, you’re his mother,” he says softly, his eyes flowing over me one more time. “How could he be anything else?”
He turns toward his truck, takes two steps, then stops and looks back. “Laurel.”
My name in his mouth is a whole ache.
“If you need me, I’m not far.”
It’s a promise I feel. A truth I can trust. Because if there’s one thing I know—Calder Bowie Boone doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean.
Watching him walk away, I struggle to breathe, the taillights of his truck glowing red as he pulls out of the lot—dragging my shattered heart behind him.
“They want to keep him tonight, for observation,” Mom tells me when I get back inside. “I’m going to stay with him.”
“I’ll let the school know I can’t sub tomorrow.”
“Oh, I forget. Well—”
I wave her off. “Don’t even think of it. Of course you’ll stay with Dad. Can we see him now?”
“He’s sleeping.”
“I want to know what You-Know-Who did.” Because now I’m mad. He hurt my father.
“Who?” Bowie asks, curiosity in his eyes.
“No one, Baby.”
“Someone.”
“Not anyone you know.” Because, in a way, it’s true. He doesn’t know that part of his father.
“I want to know, too,” Mom says. “But not enough to upset your father by asking him.”
“Maybe I’ll call You-Know-Who.”
“Who?” Bowie insists, and a chuckle escapes me for the first time tonight.
“No one you know, Baby.”
His brow furrows. “Then don’t say it.”
That pulls a full-throttle laugh from me. “Okay. I stand corrected. Mom, do you want me to bring you some clothes? Anything?”
She stands, kissing my cheek, passing Bowie to me. “Pick us up tomorrow. I rode in the ambulance. I’ll let you know what time.”