33. Callie Rae
Callie Rae
“I think you should visit them.”
“Who?” I ask, my head tipping to the sky.
The clouds are blurred above the sleek branches of the loblolly pine trees. Golden rays breaking through in a scattered pattern.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said last night,” Brant clarifies. A tiny sigh trails his words. “And I think you should visit your parents. We can take a detour tomorrow before we leave.”
My attention is still stationed on the daylight awning. My shoes trek along the twigs and dirt just as his do, and I ask, “Why?”
My voice is a whisper. It weakens with the thought of sitting beside their memorial plaques in the grass.
What would I even say? Do I have anything worth telling them? What’s the point?
“I think you need some kind of closure.”
I turn to face Brant. The droning of a few birds echoes around the trees, wafts of pine waving between us.
I’m staring into his delicate eyes when I speak. “One visit won’t do that.”
“You have to start somewhere.” His head gently nods, my stature unmoving. “I know you know that. Because you’re strong. Never weak.”
I push past a lump in my throat. My arms hug my denim jacket over my chest, and my focus dips. Locating the ruffled texture of my white mini dress.
My head nods weakly, and then Brant raises a pinky between us.
I shed a slow and crooked smile, curling my pinky around his. Like second nature, we’re kissing our fists. Eyes and fingers connected for a beat longer when we lift.
I swallow thickly before whispering, “My heart…it was molded to fight. Right?”
He nods. “The strongest kind, Dove,” Brant offers. His touch plants this bravery inside of me, and I’m convinced the words are true. “I’ve been tellin’ you that, but you were always so stubborn.”
I release him with a light laugh. The sole of my slip-on shoe grates the ground, crunching a skinny stick. We’ve been here countless times, each conversation within this realm of trees too stimulating or exhausting.
Our actions were so impulsive back then. Either driven by our despair or libidos.
I used to believe my life here was stuffed into a steel cage. There was nowhere for me to run. I continued to bang on the bars until my fists bled for someone to unlock the crate.
My head pokes back up, eyes landing on Brant’s face. In real time, his short-clipped hair lengthens just as his peppered jaw smooths out.
And I see the boy who freed me when I didn’t even realize it.
He gave me a playground in that cage. A field to run, dance, and laugh on. It might not have been a big space, but the smiles were. We came from nothing, so when we were finally granted a drop of joy, it felt like we could rule the entire world.
I miss those smiles.
They were real—never an illusion. I count the number of smiles that were worn on this side, and it’s not much less than the ones I shined on the other. I don’t know for sure though; it could even be a rough tie.
Brant’s long-sleeve shirt crinkles when he reaches out. He rests a palm on my shoulder, and I offer him a petite smile.
I plant my hand on top of his before we exit the cluster of trees. When we descend along the slope of the hill, the array of mobile homes leaks into view.
Brant’s arm snakes around my shoulders, and mine wraps around his lower back. We land on the sparse grass, only a few yards from our childhood homes.
A man wearing a baseball cap walks his daughter to their navy Honda Civic. He’s about six-foot, lanky under his weathered jeans and t-shirt as he holds his little girl’s hand.
I assume she’s the four-year-old Brant was referring to yesterday. Her hair cascades in spiral blonde curls over the back of her pink dress. Her eyes are dipped to her white sandals treading over the scattered grass.
“Daddy, a butterfly!”
Her small finger points to the fluttering creature.
“It’s pretty, huh?” her father says, scooping her up.
He plants a kiss on her cheek, and the little girl’s laugh rings through the daylight. Her grin widens just as her tiny arms wrap around her daddy’s neck.
She feels safe with him.
Indestructible.
The man opens the door of the car, and my eyes swell when he buckles her into a car seat.
I can’t look away.
The vision cracks and mends my heart simultaneously. It’s everything I ever wanted. It’s everything she ever prayed for from that house.
A house that’s finally a home.
Finally.
Brant’s palm massages my upper arm. He cuddles me tightly into him as the sun rays strengthen. A yellow shimmer spreads over the collection of long houses, and I lean my temple into Brant’s shoulder.
“I told you I can introduce you,” he says quietly. “The offer still stands.”
I shake my head, a tear plunging down my cheek. “I think I’ve seen everything I needed to see,” I whisper.
His lips graze the top of my head, and my fingers swat the wetness on my face. I smile, and my hand plants to the center of his chest.
“She’s okay,” he murmurs.
Another droplet descends.
He’s not referring to the little girl with blonde curls.
I bob my head, my muddled vision connecting to the black shutters of that window on the rear of the house.
Memories rush into my mind, swarming in the shape of a kaleidoscope. Light reflects off the ever-changing images. Each mental picture more vibrant than the last, and my eyelids fall.
There’s so much color. Brightness. Two things I never expected to complement the memories from Willowhart.
But here we are.
There’s peace here now.
She’s okay.
Brant’s behind me now, his palms swiping up and down my arms. I flick a smile, peeking over my shoulder until he cocks a thick brow. Mine inclines in question, but he’s already backpedaling away.
“Did we really come all this way to not run under these things?” he asks.
My eyes roll when he retreats toward the hill, his body still facing mine. My hands greet my hips, and I’m shaking my head to the side. “That’s stupid, Brant,” I mutter.
I direct my attention his way again, and all he does is plant his palm to his chest. Clutching the fabric of his shirt like he’s been severely insulted. “Oh, Callie Rae’s too good for some pine trees now.”
A quick laugh filters from me, my legs flinching in place. Ready to spring forward. There’s this deep urge that whirls inside of me, dug up from a place I’ve ignored for so long.
Too long.
He spins to run up the hill toward the pine trees. “We both know you’re gonna cave! You’re just wastin’ your time, Cal!”
I puff out a breath, peeking over each of my shoulders. I catch a woman holding her son’s hand to walk them to that same Honda Civic.
She joins her husband and that little girl, and a smirk graces the crook of my mouth.
They’re all together.
With tangled smiles and laughs.
They’re a family.
My chest bounces with glee, and then I turn to fire away on my legs. My shoes hit the sparse grass, each smack resurrecting my heart. I crunch the pine needles on my way up the hill, my calves tightening with the incline.
Just like they have endless times before.
But it’s the most relieving discomfort.
A laugh thunders from my lungs. I jog up the hill, my sneakers hitting the unmaintained grass with intention.
“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that one, Callie!”
Brant shouts behind me, but my legs carry me up after my hit-and-run. I spin, retreating backward as I wrap my lips around the mound of rainbow ice. “Don’t be such a Debbie Downer,” I mumble through the cold sugar. “I’d say you look like a pretty unicorn on a summer day.”
There’s a grin plastered on my face as my legs and arms move as fast as they can. Every whip of the fresh breeze and sunlight slaps my skin with hope. Laughter pours from me—partly from embarrassment—but I land at the top of the hill.
I fly my hands through my hair when my chest pumps to regain oxygen. My body swivels around, brows crinkling when I don’t see Brant anywhere. Just tall tree trunks and mangled branches.
Where did he go?
“Okay! I did it!” I shout flatly. “You got me. You happy now?”
I squeal when Brant’s hugging me from behind, picking me up before I cycle my legs. “I found her!” he hollers. “Look at her, she’s loving it! She’s having the time of her life under these ugly trees!”
My chest bursts into a fit of giggles as I attempt to wrench out of his hold. I hunch over, but Brant only snatches me tighter. “Ahh! Let me go!” I shriek.
His lips playfully burrow into my neck, and I’m wagging my head at the tickle. “I saw it! I saw the smile, ladies and gentlemen!” he calls out. “She’s trying to save face, but let the records show, Callie Rae Montgomery smiled!”
We’re playing.
We’re playing.
Our favorite pastime.
Her lips tuck as she swats her fist into my upper arm. “Keepin’ me waitin’ like that! How dare you!”
She rumbles a breath out as she walks ahead of me.
“Okay, but seriously, are you gonna wash that hoodie before you give it back?”
Callie whirls around to wind a punch, and I chuckle as I hop to dodge the blow. She tries again, and I’m busting her chops now as I shift side to side. Her fist eventually knocks into me, but I break out into a run.
I’m grinning as I chuck my head back, my belly bouncing against his arms caged around my stomach.
My laughter snowballs, head tipping back as my cheeks blush under the sun.
His arms are stronger, his body larger, and I trust this pending happiness more.
Like he’s going to secure it this time. Like I can finally snatch it.
The way we couldn’t before when we were younger. Smaller. Weaker.
I can feel affection and tenderness blossoming.
Love.
He eventually lays us down on the ground with me caged under him. I gasp, swiping my hair from my face as my dress surely gets dusted with dirt.
But I couldn’t care less.
The only thing I care about now is staring up at the boy who altered my life. Took it for a drive on a different course just so I wouldn’t crash and burn.
His Adam’s apple rolls, the gold flecks in his eyes shimmering. My hand cradles his stubbled cheek, and my thumb strokes him there.
It eventually lands on his lower lip to drag it down.
The crook of his mouth twitches. “Yeah. I’m happy right now,” he whispers before nodding. “I’m happy right here.”
I can hardly draw a breath in when he hijacks a kiss. His arms snake under me to swaddle me, and I hug him harshly as we make out under our forever safe haven.
He flips us so I’m on top, twigs and crumpled leaves sprinkling our clothes and hair. Chuckles mesh between our crushed lips, but our tongues find each other anyway.
It’s hurried and impatient.
Messy.
We’re literally sheathed in our past life. A life we condemned so many times. But all we want to do is have it dust us more and more. Until we’re so dirty we hardly recognize the people we’ve become.
Our wounds were left under here, and now…
it’s about time we heal them.
Every last one.