Chapter 5 Grace
GRACE
Chicken pieces sizzle in the pan and I toss them a couple of times, making sure to coat them in the cooking juices.
On the back burner is the rice, and I turn the heat down and cover it up, setting his kitchen timer for ten minutes while I flash fry the vegetables.
Calvin’s place is a wood cabin nestled between tall pine trees. On the way in I spied his Harley out front, the chrome polished and sparkling in the evening sun.
The interior of the cabin is neat and sparse, which is no surprise considering the man I’m coming to know.
His shoes are lined up in a row by the door, the kitchen counter is empty apart from a small fruit bowl, and the counter is clean and shiny, or at least it was until I started cooking.
His cupboards are as bare as the house, and I had to improvise to make the meal I settled on after inspecting the contents of his kitchen.
I tip the chicken pieces into a bowl and return the pan to the heat. The only vegetables I found were a carrot and half a head of broccoli, and after slicing them into small pieces, I now add them to the same pan I cooked the chicken in.
They sizzle in the sticky sauce and I toss them around, getting them nice and coated. At home I’d use my wok, but Calvin’s cooking utensils are of the basic kind.
A few minutes later, I’m serving up two large bowls of rice with sticky honey chicken and vegetables.
Calvin nods appreciatively as he takes his first mouthful. “This is good.”
It’s lacking in flavor due to the absence of any spices in his cupboard. I overcompensated with honey because of the lack of chili paste, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
Calvin lent me a t-shirt and sweatpants, and I’m finally out of the floaty wedding dress and wearing a pair of oversized grey socks. He seems happier now that my offending toes are covered up.
We’re sitting opposite each other at the small kitchen table that takes up the space between the kitchen and living room.
“When did you realize that Tim wasn’t the love of your life?”
I look up sharply at the teasing tone of his voice.
There’s a slight smile on his face, and he looks relaxed.
Ever since he came home and got off duty, he’s been more relaxed, smiling more easily and laughing as we chat.
It’s like he shrugged off the weight of responsibility and left it at the door along with his uniform.
The smile makes the lines on his face seem different, lighter. He looks brighter, younger, and less uptight.
I chew slowly, thinking about my answer. It was all such a whirlwind. I’m not sure when the realization hit.
“It was a few things,” I say. “At first, we were having a lot of fun together.”
Calvin stiffens, and I wonder what I’ve said. A flash of something crosses his face. Is that jealousy? That can’t be right. I’m an annoyance to him. He’s made that perfectly clear. Still, the thought of Calvin being jealous of me makes my heart beat a little faster.
“He was staying at the resort, and he’d meet me after work and we’d go rock climbing or paragliding or skydiving. After his vacation ended, he decided to stay on to be with me.”
My mind strays to the heady days of just a few weeks ago. Everyone hooks up with the guests at some point, but I never had. I’m not sure what it was about Tim that made me break my own rule.
“We just seemed to get on, or at least on a surface level. He was from a wealthy family, but he worked for a charity protecting the local wildlife. We were drunk on tequila when he proposed.”
I take another bite to eat, wondering what the hell it was that made me say yes that night.
Was it because Hope had just dropped her news, and Dad was so disappointed with her that I was trying to cause a diversion?
Did I think that having one married daughter would make it up to Dad, and he wouldn’t think he’d failed us?
Whatever it was, I said yes, and when I woke up the next morning with the mother of all hangovers, he’d already told his family and it was too late to take it back.
“I thought maybe I did love him, but as I got to know him there were little things that irritated me.”
Calvin leans forward, curious. “Like what?”
I bite my lower lip, knowing how ridiculous this is going to sound. “He timed himself when he brushed his teeth.”
Calvin locks eyes with me, and his cheek twitches.
“He had this special hourglass timer, and he’d turn it over when he put his toothbrush in his mouth, and when the sand ran down, he’d spit.”
“Don’t electric toothbrushes have timers these days?”
“He had a bamboo toothbrush. Didn’t believe in electric.”
Calvin sits back in his chair and folds his arms. “You mean to tell me that you jilted the guy at the altar because he has good dental hygiene practices?”
His mouth twitches at the corners, and despite his stern expression I know he’s trying not to laugh.
“And he shaved his chest,” I blurt out.
Calvin’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Not a fan of chest hair then?”
The way he says it makes me wonder what he’s got under his shirt. My gaze dips to his chest and the white t-shirt that’s pulled tight over his pecs and is so tight around his biceps that it’s a wonder the seams don’t split.
“I’m a fan of natural is what I’m a fan of. I couldn’t care less if a man’s hairy or not, but I do care when he shaves his chest.”
“You think a man shouldn’t worry about his appearance?” His eyes narrow, and there’s a teasing challenge in his expression.
“That’s not what I’m saying. I love it when men make an effort. Shave your face if you want to, shave your balls…”
Calvin barks out a laugh, causing his eyes to dance in the most attractive way. God, I love making this man laugh. Each chuckle feels like a victory.
“…but leave the chest as it is. Women lean on that chest when we want comfort, we kiss it, we use it as a pillow, we fall asleep on it. We don’t want to wake up with stubble rash.”
Calvin’s doubled over laughing, and it makes me more animated. I use my fork to punctuate the last point, and a piece of carrot goes flying off across the room and lands on the pristine white wall opposite us.
The laughter stops, and I freeze with my fork in the air. Horror fills me as the carrot slides slowly down the wall, leaving a streak of sticky honey sauce in its wake.
I turn to Calvin, expecting the worst. He looks at the carrot and looks at me, and at the same time we both crack up laughing.
“I’m so sorry.” It’s hard to talk because I’m laughing too hard.
I get a cloth from the kitchen and swipe at the carrot, but it only leaves a bigger streak of brown sauce on the white wall. I stare at it with horror.
He invited me into his pristine orderly house, and I’ve made a mess in the kitchen and now the walls need repainting.
“Don’t worry about it.” Calvin’s tone is calm as he pulls a spray bottle from under the sink and grabs the top cloth from a stack of neatly folded cloths.
He gives the mark a spray. “This is especially for walls.”
Of course it is. Of course he’d have a different cleaning product for each surface of the house, which he obviously cleans on a very regular basis. Maybe daily.
“I’m going to get started on the washing up.” I slink into the kitchen and run the water in the sink while Calvin wipes at the stain on the wall.
Twenty minutes later the dishes are cleared, the kitchen looks almost as clean as I found it, and the stain has been wiped off the wall.
I’ve made a simple pie for dessert using the few baking ingredients I found in the cupboard and freshly picked blackberries from the wild bushes that run along the edge of the woods.
As Calvin bites into it I find myself watching his features, holding my breath to see if he likes it. I want him to like it, and when he gives a throaty groan, a shiver goes through me.
“I can’t believe you just whipped this up. It’s delicious.”
My smile is genuine. I like his praise, and it makes my heart flutter.
“Where did you learn to cook?”
His question makes me wince, and I try to hide it but he notices. “I mean, it surprises me. You don’t seem like the kind who cooks.”
I waggle my spoon at me. “I’m full of surprises.”
“So I’ve been learning,” he mutters.
I take a bite of pie and let the tart taste dissolve on my tongue before answering. “It would be better with cream.”
He shrugs. “I wasn’t expecting company. Next time I’ll be sure to have cream.”
My stomach flutters at his comment. I’d love there to be a next time, but he’s only saying it to be playful.
“I learned to cook after my mother died.”
His spoon clatters in the bowl, and he looks up at me, horrified. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”
“It’s okay.” I cut him off. I don’t want his pity. “It was a long time ago. I was twelve, and my sister was eight. Dad took it hard, dealing with his own grief and suddenly having two daughters to raise on his own. My dad’s a lot of wonderful things, but he’s a terrible cook.”
I laugh at the memory of burnt toast and over-cooked scrambled egg. The beige food he served up that was burnt and crisp.
“I realized one of us was going to have to learn how to cook so we didn’t starve to death. He had too much to do trying to run the household, hold down a job, and ferry us to after school activities. So I decided to learn to cook.”
Calvin’s staring at me with newfound respect, and I can’t say I mind it.
“You were twelve. You shouldn’t have had to cook for the family.”
I shrug. “You do what you have to do. Lots of kids in other cultures cook at that age. It was no big deal really. I enjoyed it. I went through Mom’s old cookbooks and interpreted her notes scribbled in the margins.
It made me feel closer to her. Dad eventually gave in and gave me the grocery money each week.
I loved going to the supermarket and pushing the cart around and choosing all our food, then making meals that everyone would like.
Hope can be a picky eater. I had to sweeten everything up for her.
But Mom loved food and she loved baking; I know she would have wanted us to keep eating well. ”
Thoughts of Mom fill my head. I can still picture her in the kitchen, her apron on and Dolly Parton blaring from the speaker as she wielded a rolling pin like a microphone, shaking her substantial butt in time to the music while me and Hope danced with her, fighting over who got to lick the bowl at the end.
I’m smiling at the memory when Calvin reaches his hand across the table and clasps mine. The contact makes me shiver but it’s a nice shiver, like warm rain hitting my skin.
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
Lots of people say that when I tell them, which is why I don’t talk about it that much. I don’t like pity. But it’s not pity I see in Calvin’s eyes. It’s compassion and understanding.
He’s lost someone.
The thought hits me clear as day. And once I have the thought, I know it’s true.
“It was a car accident,” I whisper. “A car hit her.”
Calvin’s hand tightens on my wrist. He takes a sharp intake of breath and then lets me go. He pushes the chair back and stands up abruptly.
“It’s time you got some sleep,” he mutters as he clears the plates.
I don’t know what I said wrong. But his mouth goes back to the thin line, and his expression is serious. Any ground we’d gained is gone.