Chapter Four Callum
Chapter Four
Callum
Rivers he was furious at the universe for taking his only family.
My mom would fold him into her embrace, rocking and humming to him.
My strong-as-steel dad cried like a baby in her arms, allowing himself to be vulnerable in a way I had never seen before.
That moment of witnessing true safety and vulnerability is ingrained in my brain forever.
Even after their few-and-far-between fights—which they would try to never do in front of me—they would gravitate back toward each other after cooling down and both apologizing with a hug and a kiss and an I love you forever.
My dad moved away from construction into private contracting when I got older and was able to help more.
I remember asking him, when I was seventeen, and we were driving to a worksite, about a fight they'd had the night before.
I asked him why he apologized to Mom again that morning when I thought he had a good point from what I heard.
◆◆◆
He sighed, pulled over to the side of the road, and turned to meet my eyes, his face stone-cold serious. More serious than I had ever seen before.
"Cal, when you're in a relationship, you can't let emotions guide your choices and your actions.
Things like anger, jealousy, or fear can make you do things you'll regret, or say things you'll regret.
When your mom and I have disagreements, we stop and ask ourselves this one very important question. "
I frowned. "What question?"
"'Do I want to be right, or do I want to be happy?
' 'Cause happiness means your mother, means you.
And I'll choose happiness every time, damn my ego and pride.
You know I ain't good with words sometimes, but your mom taught me to be.
Baring your thoughts and feelings is nonnegotiable, even if it's scary.
Especially then. I tell your mom what's on my mind, and she does the same.
We don't lie to each other. That's rot. And what do we do when we find rot in houses? "
"Carve it out."
"Exactly. I love you and your mom more than anything in this world, and I'll be damned if anyone takes you both from me, including me."
I nodded in understanding, and he nodded back, turning the car on and easing it back onto the road. The silence was heavy then, and I couldn't help but say, "I love you too, Dad."
He didn't respond, but I saw the smile out of the corner of my eye.
◆◆◆
My parents had what they call a love story for the ages.
A book worthy romance. They met at our local Starling Cove Harvest Festival—my mom had a stall selling bundles of dried flowers and herbs and charging five dollars to read tarot.
He saw her and just knew. He walked up to her, and she read his tarot despite his friends ribbing him for it.
She said that he would meet someone life-changing today, and he asked her if that's what the cards were telling her.
She just smiled and said, "No, that's what I'm telling you. "
From that day on, they were William and Maeve.
They're still William and Maeve, even if he's gone. My parents' relationship never let me settle. Not that I haven't been in relationships before, but nothing that really lasted or was even substantial. I'd never been in love before.
Then, after my dad died, dating went on the back burner.
The store had been in the process of opening before he died, and he was the one who remodeled the inside from the bait-and-tackle shop it had been before.
And now it’s Rivers & Rhodes—Rivers being my mom’s maiden name, and my dad’s last name of Rhodes.
His touch is all over this place—the bookshelves, the tables, and chairs—all built by him. It's why Mom likes being here so much.
He died two months before we opened, and I hate that he never got to see what it is today.
He'd be proud. I know it.
The music we play in the shop, usually my mom's choice of 70s rock, switches over to "Landslide," and my mom hums in happiness from her spot in her nook. It makes me smile, and I glance down at my watch—twenty minutes to closing. Might as well start counting the register.
"Well, I've been afraid of changin' 'cause I built my life around you.
.." Mom sings softly, standing to water the Monstera in the corner.
She likes to sing to the plants as she feeds them, saying it encourages growth.
This song was one she avoided for the longest time after Dad died.
It's one of her favorites, and it's nice to hear her singing it.
I only get through counting the ones when the bell over the door chimes with a new customer. Sighing, I push the register closed, following the soft footsteps to warn the customer that we'll be closing soon.
Then I hear her.
"Oh, hello there," I follow the voice around the Mysteries section and see a woman with dark brown hair crouching to pet Plot, our resident mouse-catcher and certified asshole.
I open my mouth to give the perfunctory be careful, Plot isn't nice speech when—to my surprise—the little gray goblin lets her pet his head.
He even closes his eyes like he's relishing her touch.
The last time a customer tried to pet him, he hissed like a demon from hell and sprinted under the Horror section.
Had to apologize and give the customer a discount.
Can't really blame the cat too much, considering his previous life didn't seem so great.
Six years ago, I found this little grey beast—only a kitten—meowing pathetically in the garbage out back in the pouring rain.
He was half-drowned, half-starved, and matted to all hell.
I think someone must have dumped him, and Mom wanted to keep him as pest control in the store right away.
Since it was the first time I'd seen genuine joy on her face since Dad died, of course, I agreed.
We took him to the vet, got all of his shots and instructions on how to fatten him up, and let him loose in the shop.
We bounced around a couple of names until Mom landed on Plot, considering he was gaining weight fast, and my mom quipped, "Ah, the Plot thickens..."
So, Plot it was.
And that little kitten is now bigger than some dogs. A Nebelung breed, the vet said—fairly large and fluffy and only likes a few people he chooses, my mom being one of them, considering she keeps treats in her dress pockets for the vicious beast.
And now apparently, this stranger...
"Oh, you are just so handsome, aren't you?" She coos, and I find myself liking her voice. She speaks softly, her voice sweet and warm.
I want to hear her talk more, so I sit back and watch their interaction for a minute.
I haven't seen her face yet, but I don't believe I've ever seen her before.
She's dressed in a cream fuzzy sweater. Despite it being August, it's still Massachusetts, and it can be quite chilly in our little town on the water.