23. Callie Rae
Callie Rae
The zest of the lemon lingers through the kitchen. I take four wine glasses from the cabinet, walking to the dining table to spread the place settings.
“Wow, you look great. Is that the dress I ordered you?”
Jesse’s voice pops my body upright when he enters the room.
His right hand is adjusting his Rolex as he saunters over to me, and I nod.
“Yeah,” I say, peeking down. My palms plant on the periwinkle midi dress, and my foot absently lifts with the wedge sandal.
“I felt it was appropriate since we have guests tonight.”
He invades my space, his arm snaking around me to rest his hand at my lower back. My chest ruptures with guilt, my fingers laying on his dress shirt to keep him at least an inch away from me.
But his lips find the top of my head anyway. “You look great. Just the way I knew you would.”
I inhale, my palms gently pushing him off me. When I offer him a subdued smile, my fingers swat the lone strands from my half-up, half-down hairdo. “I made lemon herb roasted chicken and garlic mashed potatoes. I hope they’ll like it.”
His hands disappear into his slacks when he pivots his attention to the kitchen. “Did you make another side?”
My eyes flash with annoyance when he disregards my efforts. “I made a zucchini and carrot medley. A chickpea salad too.”
“Oh, good.” He sighs a laugh before dragging his gaze to mine. “For a second, I thought you didn’t make enough food.”
I swallow thickly, my chin sloping up to emphasize my next point. “I made sure to make more than enough food, don’t worry.”
“Is there a reason not to love you?” Jesse hums teasingly. He wraps a hand around my bare arm to connect a kiss to my cheekbone. “You continue to amaze me more and more every day.”
A breath drains from my lungs when he turns to walk out of the dining room. My hand mindlessly lifts to my ear, my fingers lazily playing with the earring decorating the lobe.
The moment I touch the jewelry, discomfort weighs inside me.
I feel like a child who’s dressed up in her mother’s clothes on a Sunday evening.
I’d much rather be cloaked in an oversized t-shirt with black leggings.
More than that, there’s a dull throb radiating from my heels and slithering up my calves.
Probably from strutting in these wedge sandals all over the kitchen.
My head turns to the large picture window, and I catch the sea of bold colors in the corner of the backyard. They’re no match for the flowers I saw earlier today. But I planted sunflower seeds right when I came home from Brant’s office.
Brant’s office.
A boulder lodges in my stomach. My horrendous shame is too great to ignore. Not because I was disloyal to Jesse, but just because I know it’s indecent.
It’s so wretched.
I’m not considering the person I violated as much as I should, and that scares the shit out of me.
I ingest a tiny breath, my eyes continuing to trace the vivid petals of my plants.
I silently beg those sunflower seeds to grow roots at an exponential rate.
All I want is to see the final result dancing in front of me.
Large, yellow, and in my face. So that it’s impossible for me to look anywhere else.
I just want a damn sunflower.
The ring of the doorbell catapults me from my thoughts. I swipe my hands down the textured material of my dress, calling for Jesse. When I’m in the grand foyer and opening the door, I’m greeted with a very well-dressed Roger and Lindsey Wellis.
No surprise there.
“Hello!” Lindsey greets with a beaming smile. “I made lemon meringue tartlets.” She’s holding a plate with saran wrap covering the dessert she’s referencing.
I grin as I take the dish from her. “Thank you. It will pair well with the lemon roasted chicken,” I offer, stepping aside so they can enter the house.
Jesse strolls into the foyer, greeting Roger and Lindsey once they’re inside.
“Are you two okay with sitting outside?” I ask, closing the front door. Then I tilt my head toward the rear of the house. “It’s been a lovely day, and I figured it would be a nice touch.”
I also need fresh air.
Roger’s dark brows knit for a moment, only to pin his eyes to Lindsey. “Sure, that sounds good,” he answers.
“Yes, it’s beautiful out,” Lindsey echoes. “The breeze is light, so all the effort I put into my hair shouldn’t go to waste.”
The crook of my mouth flinches as I force a kind smile. My gaze lingers on her perfectly large curls weaved through her long blonde hair. Then I bob my head. “Yeah, exactly what I was thinking.”
“Callie, is the patio table set up?” Jesse asks.
I wag my head. “No, I was going to do that right now.”
He nods once on a tucked grin.
I excuse myself from the conversation, and Lindsey’s already at my side when I’m walking to the dining room.
“I’ll help you,” she offers.
“Oh, thank you, but you really don’t have to,” I sigh, making a turn into the kitchen. “I already have the dishes and utensils on the table. I just have to bring everything outside.” I open the fridge door to store her tartlets, and then I’m returning to where she stands in the dining room.
“I love your dress,” I tell Lindsey, scanning her floral maxi.
“Thank you. You’re so sweet.” She bends to scoop the pile of plates from the polished mahogany.
We carry the necessary supplies through the sliding doors. I light a couple small candles at the center of the metal tabletop, the tiny flames complementing the evening glow.
Lindsey and I eventually bring the food out. We settle the family-style bowls around the platter of roasted chicken, and Jesse and Roger join us. We each occupy a padded cast-iron chair, clinking our wine glasses right after.
“How’s the addition going?” Roger asks.
The clatter of porcelain floods the silence before Jesse scoffs. “I had to educate a contractor a few days ago. Talk about working overtime.”
“What happened?” Roger pushes, scooping a lump of mashed potatoes onto his plate.
“He suggested Corian countertops,” Jesse answers, grabbing the zucchini medley bowl. “What moron would think a customer with a house like this would want anything but granite or quartz?”
“A moron who doesn’t know how to do his job,” Roger affirms.
I raise my wine glass to my lips when I speak. “Maybe there was good reason. He probably wants to make sure we’re keeping within our budget.” I allow the plum flavor of the Cabernet to drown my smart tongue.
A mocking chuckle tears from Jesse. Then he begins to cut into his chicken breast. “For a contractor who was recommended to me, I expect them to come with half a brain,” he snaps back.
I take another sip, bolting my gaze to the corner of the yard behind Roger’s shoulder. Bright pink and yellow petals sprout from the fresh-cut lawn, the hues of color hugging my agitated heart.
Jesse’s indirectly blaming Brant for this mishap. I know it.
From what I understand, this was the only “bump” in the road out of everything our contractor has done. It doesn’t seem fair to taint this mystery person’s reputation based on such a tiny detail.
“I’m sure he has a specific approach he follows to talk to all his customers.” My voice interjects softly. I pivot my eyes to meet Jesse, only to skate my gaze to Roger across from him. “Our contractor has been very adaptive and professional. Just like we were told they would be.”
Jesse’s wrist flicks over the table. “All I’m saying is that if you’re going to have a blue-collar job, at least do it well and know what you’re talking about.”
I furrow my brows as I scan his side profile. “What’s wrong with a blue-collar job?”
Jesse flashes a crooked smile when he meets Roger’s stare. His grin carved from discomfort. Almost like he’s embarrassed.
Then he returns his attention to me, laying his hand on the table. “They’re expected to work harder for me. When I pay them with my own money, very good money, I demand that their service be exceptional.”
I guess anyone with a blue-collar job is positioned beneath Jesse on the valuable scale. I shudder to think how he regards anyone living in poverty.
His neat jaw ticks, his dark and narrowed stare focused on me for several more breaths than usual.
“Callie, you seem bothered.”
When Roger’s voice pipes up, I shake my head at him. “I’m not bothered,” I reply, motioning a hand to his plate of food. “Dig in, I made plenty.”
The mood lifts a notch. Roger and Lindsey begin to take bites of their dinner, and I chance a glance at Jesse. His eyes are still laced with irritation before he tosses the conversation elsewhere.
“What’s in this chick pea salad? It’s absolutely delicious, Callie,” Lindsey asks, her blue eyes gaping in allure.
Her voice snaps me from Roger and Jesse’s discussion. I recite the ingredients I threw together, and as I speak, her flawless appearance fills all pockets of my mind.
I wonder how she does it every single day. Doesn’t she get tired applying all that makeup, frequently traveling to nail salons, and styling her hair?
The mild wind dances through the loose strands of my hair that frame my face. Honestly, I hope it unravels all the soft curls I styled.
Lindsey’s nice, and I enjoy her company, but I don’t want to be like her. In fact, I don’t want to be like anyone who’s sitting on this patio.
Including me.
And I guess there’s always something to run away from.
No matter what side you’re on.
* * *
I’m standing at the kitchen island, packing up the leftover food. The front door clicks shut from the foyer, and I shovel the last of the zucchini and carrot medley into the glass container.
Jesse’s Oxfords tread along the floor until he’s at my side. “I thought we talked about embarrassing me.”
His voice strangles my heart like a python.
“I’m allowed to have an opinion,” I state, spinning on my heel to tuck the containers in the fridge.
“I’m not going to tolerate this behavior, Callie,” he insists. There’s a stealthy warning on the tip of his tongue. “And when I’m speaking to you, you’re going to look at me.”
My grip stills around the handle of the stainless-steel door. My stomach plunges to the wood floor beneath my wedge sandals, and I pinch my eyes closed. Willing my mind to amend his words so I don’t have to believe they were spoken.
He’s not him.
He’s not Daddy.
“Hey!” My body jolts as my hand wraps around the cool metal of the doorknob. “Just because you’re going to some fancy college next year, you think you’re better than me, huh?”
My gaze sticks to the gold polish of the handle in my palm. My throat rolls through a boulder, swallowing every comeback I wish to unleash on him. “I don’t think that at all.”
“Girl, you better look at me when I’m talkin’ to you,” he demands. “Because without me putting a roof over your head, you wouldn’t be able to study and get all that homework shit done.”
“I’m not a child,” I breathe, closing the fridge.
His body slips beside me again, and my flesh scrambles with fear. I turn to tilt my chin up, his onyx stare already piercing through me.
And the longer he stares, my breath stumbles more and more.
He’s not Daddy.
He’s not Daddy.
“You keep this attitude up, and you’re not going to like the repercussions.”
“What’re you gonna do? Hit me?” I fire back, my lenses flaming with tears.
Jesse purses his lips when he grabs my upper arm. My gaze grows when he tugs my body to him, and a choked gasp rips from my mouth.
“Listen to me,” he grits out. “You want to be a little bitch, you do it on your own time. Are we clear?”
The pads of his fingers sink into my skin, and my lungs puncture. “Y-yes,” I breathe.
He ejects me from his grip, his stare boring into me as he pulls away. “I want this kitchen cleaned by the time I’m out of my office.”
He turns to round the corner of the threshold before disappearing from view. My hands sheathe my face, all my reserved breaths rattling out to revive the oxygen in my veins.
I see a little girl sitting on her living room sofa.
She’s reading a book, only for her peaceful night to be interrupted by her drunken daddy. She’s frightened, as she always is. And as much as I want to tell her everything will be okay, I can’t help but feel like I’ve failed her.
I always promised her I was going to give her a route out of the darkness. But instead, all I’ve done is drive her back in it.
And suddenly, I swear, I hear those two dull sounds ring through.
Knock.
Knock.