35. Callie Rae
Callie Rae
I’m standing by the wall when Brant strolls over with two plastic cups. He extends an ice water to me, and I gratefully accept.
I gulp down the chilly liquid, our eyes meeting over the brim of our drinks. Humor flashes across our expressions when he asks, “What?”
My gaze pinches a centimeter, and I gently tilt my head to search his face. His hair has been carefully styled on top, even though he’s got little to work with. But the copper lighting braids through that classic sandy-brown color. “You’re letting your hair grow,” I finally answer.
“A little bit.”
“I like it.”
He barely nods, lifting the cup to his lips. “Yeah, I remember.” I raise my drink to take another sip, all the while peering up at him. “I sort of got used to the buzz cut after ten years,” he continues. “Low maintenance.”
I chuckle when he pins his smirk to me. We exchange stares, and the soft riff of an acoustic guitar flows from the speakers.
The delicate strumming introduces Brad Paisley and Carrie Underwood’s “Remind Me,” the air in the barn calming down.
Normally, I’d jump with elation at the sound of Brad’s voice. But Brant’s eyes suck me into a time machine.
His fingertips graze mine as he takes the plastic cup from my hand. My eyes follow his movement when he sets our waters on the wooden ledge against the wall. Butterflies soar in my belly, and I’m struck speechless when he grabs my hand.
He leads us to the center of the barn. Every tap of my boots syncs with the beat of my heart, and we weave between swaying couples. Eventually finding a sliver of vacant space to park under the string lights.
When Brant turns to face me, we seamlessly fall into one another. Our palms cradle, my free hand landing on his shoulder while his lands on my lower back. My eyes shut, surely as his do, and that last dance we shared under those pine trees continues with this one.
The first verse kicks in, and his chin kisses my temple. His woody scent envelopes me just as snugly as his limbs do, his chest melting to mine.
He’s a sanctuary. Protective and peaceful.
My hero.
Always.
“Remind me,” I say. The pads of my fingers lick the thin chain of his necklace before returning to his shoulder.
“Italian ices.” He murmurs the words, and a grin erupts across my mouth. “Studying for Mr. Pallack’s class. The station wagon.”
She raises her brows in challenge, and I inch my face closer to hers. “Callie Rae, you’re truly insufferable sometimes,” I say, shedding a playful grin. “Give me this.”
I snatch the binder from her lap. A light huff escapes her lips when I do, but I pay her attitude no mind.
“Here’s my trick,” I state. I use my pencil to circle the letter c in the phrase “completing the square.” “Now that I have it circled, I can remember to move the c-value outside the set of parentheses. It’s right in front of your face, so you can’t miss it. Problem solved.”
“Look at that!” Callie’s eyes gleam with a sudden sparkle. She laughs, and I snap a mental photo. It’s not often Callie’s green eyes light up, but when they do, I swear I feel like I can walk on water. Especially knowing I’m the source of that glow.
My fingers slide along his hair at the back of his head, caressing it. “Christmas Eve,” I offer.
The long, slender branches of the pine trees cut through the darkness. The Christmas lights reflect on the glass, illuminating the trees we’ve played under since we were eight years old.
I rotate my body away from his. My limbs are more confident in their motions as the heat continues to blare. I bend my knees up to plant the bottom of my boots on the seat, and Brant’s arm drapes across my chest.
“This is the best Christmas,” I say.
Brant rustles behind me for a few moments until he dangles a small piece of wood in front of me. “You’re spoiling the grand finale. Why would you do this?” he teases lowly.
The corner of my mouth elevates. The colorful array of lights casts a spotlight on the wooden ornament Brant’s suspending from his fingers. In the palm of his fingerless glove, there’s a pair of two turtle doves carved from light-colored wood.
They’re facing each other. Wings expanded to form a round border.
“Of all places, I found it at the grocery store. Can you believe it?”
His mouth lingers against my temple, his palm pressing into my lower back as he surely reminisces with me. The vibrant lights. The backseat. The ornament. The fingerless gloves. All the images orbit around us, and our fingers intertwine at our cradled hands.
“Your birthday,” he adds.
My legs break out in goosebumps when he drags the fabric over my thighs and calves. He tosses the garment to the carpet, and my hands instantly clutch the hem of my skirt.
I lift my butt to hike the garment over my hips, scrunching the denim at my waist. Until my bare sex is displayed before him.
His eyes flare with thirst, his hand greeting one of my raised knees. “My favorite girl to play with,” he husks, tenderly nudging my knee before kissing it. “Under pine trees. In a station wagon.” He mimics the same gestures with my other leg. “In every way,” he whispers.
He slides his hot palms under my bare butt, and I softly whimper when he squeezes my cheeks.
“Can I play with you here, Dove?” he rasps.
I gulp, nodding through a trembling breath. “Always.”
He was so frustrated with himself. When I tried to guide him, he wasn’t as appreciative as I thought he’d be. But surrendering to him was always as easy as the wind blowing.
Or the seasons changing.
My lips tuck as I recall our rendezvous in his bedroom. The pads of our fingers nudge each other, our digits skating up and down after. His skin is coarse against mine. Rougher and manlier than the boy I once knew.
Like I could stick my heart to it, and it wouldn’t slip away.
His stubbled lips land against my ear when the first chorus kicks in. He murmurs Brad’s lines, and a smile buds on my face. I pull back to peer at him, my chin angling up before softly singing Carrie’s lines.
Remind me.
His brows dip, his head whipping with the intensity of Brad’s next lines. He mouths the words, releasing my hand to drag my bottom lip down with his thumb.
I inhale as we merge closer, and we stare through each other. I respond with Carrie’s words, the string lights framing Brant just like they did that Christmas Eve.
Like the angel I always had.
He never left.
Remind me.
I plant a palm on his chest, fingers curling into his flannel before he cradles the back of my head. My cheek parks on his brick chest, and I’m reminded that there’s no safer place to land than right here.
Our bodies sway just as Carrie’s voice rings through the next verse. All my trust is packed into his soul. I don’t have to dig for it because I see it in his eyes and I feel it in his embrace.
Right now.
That’s another thing I counted and compared.
Trust.
I never found it on the other side.
I never found this on the other side.
A laugh pops from me when he leans me back to sway us. It’s exaggerative as we swing back up. And then he’s angling me down once again.
We repeat this cycle for the rest of the song, our arms snuggling us closer as our eyes close. And even though he’s not voicing it, I know we’re imagining the same picture.
We’re dancing for those two kids living on a prayer across the dirt path.
Without warning, his hand snatches mine, only for his grip to loosen just enough to spin me under his palm. My free arm shoots out, eyelids dropping as the dewy breeze whisks between the strands of my hair.
I twirl and twirl and twirl until his other arm snakes around my lower back. He plants me on his bent knee, my eyes bursting open. My free palm lands on his upper arm as I kick my right leg out, and we pause for a moment. Locked in a classic dip you’d only see in a romance movie.
A wide smile paints my lips, the stars above forming a halo around Brant. “How’d you learn that? I thought I’d be the only one with rhythm.”
Steadily, he lifts us upright while he says, “Doves fly in perfect harmony. Haven’t you heard?”
Laughter punctures through my lungs, and once we gain our footing back, he seizes both my hands in his. We step away from each other, only for him to spin me until my backside is pasted to his chest.
I drop my head back, eyes shutting as I lean into him. Our tangled arms settle in front of me as we sidestep, only for Brant to spin me around once again.
“Whoo-wee!” Brant hollers just as he unlocks me from his grip. I’m cackling when he playfully coaxes me over to him with a finger, and I decide to play into his game.
I strut in my boots, throwing a few line dance moves as I inch closer to him. And all the while, I realize that maybe, just maybe, we don’t look that different than the people on the other side of this hill.
* * *
We walk up the hill across from The 1984 Barn, turning when we land on the summit. I lower just as Brant does, sitting on the dry grass.
I lean back on my palms, and Brant’s knees bend up. His elbows are propped on each one as his hands dangle between his legs.
I slope my chin toward the charcoal sky; the twinkling stars scarcely spread across the dark umbrella. The acoustic guitars and fiddles vibrate from the distance, puncturing the silence.
“She’s gonna die, Callie.”
My head whips to Brant’s voice, my belly sinking.
I watch his stubbled jaw lock with grief. His hazel lenses glisten with pending tears, but his thumb catches a stray at the corner.
He lightly sniffles, masking it in front of me. I scoot myself closer to his side, palming his upper arm through the fabric of his shirt.
I pivot so my chest can lay against his bicep, but my throat clogs. I want to respond. I want to say something, but words are remiss right now.
They don’t mean anything.
I decide that he needs me to listen. Just like he listened my entire childhood. Maybe it’s time the roles reverse, and my eyes linger on his side profile.
Lending him an ear as I wait.
As long as I have to.
His eyes are glued to the barn when he speaks.
“I spent most of my college years keeping my distance because I was so fucking angry with her.” His chest rumbles through an intake of breath.
“I wanted to be far away from her, and now I can’t stop kicking myself for not being next to her sooner.
If I had, maybe she wouldn’t be dealing with all this. ”
I shake my head, sitting up straighter. “No. You’ve been there for her, and this is not your fault,” I breathe through tattered lungs. “Maybe you lost a few years, but you didn’t lose all of your time, Brant.”
He finally turns, suffering crocheted into his irises. “She missed all of my teenage years, Cal. Some of my childhood. All of it that matters,” he whispers. “It’s way more than a few years.”
My head barely nods in empathy.
I know he’s right.
He’s right.
“But the more you dwell, the more you punish her, Brant.” I tense, tears pooling in the lower lids of my eyes.
“And the more you punish her, the more time you lose.” I keep my palm on his upper arm, kneading him there.
My other hand slips behind his head, and my fingertips stroke his hair. “You understand?”
I pop my gaze around his face, praying that my words stick somewhere inside him.
He ingests a sharp breath through his nose, pivoting his attention away.
“She’s fifty-five. She’s young, but at least if I had a memory to cherish, I could consider accepting it.
” Then he wags his head, defeatedly shrugging.
“But I don’t.” His head dips, his tongue licking his lips as he quips the next statement.
“The first memory that comes to mind is her mouth around a glass of vodka. Not a hug or a laugh with her. A fucking bottle of alcohol. That’s what’s left. ”
His thumb swiftly snatches another tear from his cheek. My hand dips from his hair to the hard planes of his back. “Then make new memories,” I say, hovering my lips above his ear. “She’s not gone yet. You’re in the driver’s seat now, Brant. You’re not a kid anymore. You have the power now.”
His arm crosses over so his large palm can land on the back of my head. My eyes close when his fingers curl into my wavy tendrils, and then he’s caressing my scalp.
He rattles under my touch, and my heart plummets through the ground beneath us.
I always needed him. There wasn’t a day I could survive without his existence. There wasn’t a scene I could’ve imagined where I’d see my hero crumble.
Until this very moment.
He sits up, sniffling his emotions while still stroking my hair. I press my cheek to his shoulder, my watery eyes skating over the barn.
We sit just like this for thirty minutes. No words. Just us and the stars.
I needed him back then, and he needs me now.
It turns out, Brant was right.
The heels of my weathered boots shuffle against the lawn as the blaring acoustic instruments tap my heart.
It’s not often Brant and I sightsee, but when we walk into the main part of town, we always like to find the hidden gems stationed here.
Mainly to soar low under everyone’s radar. But also because we like simple.
“You think any of them are going through stuff?” I ask.
My eyes squint. I’m scanning the throng of people in Wranglers and swing dresses along the hay bales outside the entrance.
“Everybody goes through stuff, Callie,” Brant sighs, reclining back on his palms. “You can’t actually believe anyone’s life is perfect. That’s just insane.”
Whether you’re dancing in the middle of a rustic barn where the lights are bright, or sitting on a hill under the dark sky in a worn-out pair of boots. It doesn’t matter what side of the dirt road you’re on.
The boots may have upgraded in this image.
But we’re still going through stuff.