Twilight Read online

  He reached the house and, waving to Mildred whose nose was pressed to the kitchen window checking him for fish entrails or anything worse, headed up the outside stairs.

  The hole in his gut told him more surely than the clock that it was well past lunchtime. After tossing the fish into the refrigerator, he slapped together a ham on rye and sat in the recliner with a Coke. He eyed the can, picturing in its place the silver, red, and blue of a Budweiser. Immediately the crisp, malty taste filled his mind.

  But he’d sworn off booze. It amazed him that his body had retained its strength after the punishment he had given it for a while. He patted his tight, lean stomach. Of course, as Mildred was quick to point out, he walked enough to wear holes in the ground.

  She had once demanded to know what he thought he was running from. Life, he’d said. Just life. Cocking her head like an overgrown peahen, she had informed him that he never would escape. Life would still be there waiting. And so it was.

  The phone rang, and he jumped. In case it was Ray, he answered, “Cal Morrison.”

  “I think I owe you an apology.”

  He sat up taller. “Laurie?” Her voice warmed a place in him that had been untouched for too long.

  “I overreacted.”

  “Nooo … not you.”

  “We can end this right now.”

  Cal almost heard the receiver homing in on her base. “No, wait. I’m sorry. No sarcasm.”

  “I see you made it home.”

  “Did you think I was still wandering?” He gritted his teeth at his lack of control.

  She sighed. “Why do you make it so hard?”

  “Can’t help it, I guess. So how bad do you feel?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Bad enough to have dinner with me? I’ll cook.” He waited through her pause.

  “When?”

  “How about seven? You can bring the kids.” He wished she wouldn’t, though.

  “They’re seeing a movie with Mother.”

  Better and better. It was probably the worst thing for him, but he needed to connect with her. He always had. “You remember where I am?”

  The pause was predictable. “I remember.”

  Hanging up, Cal surveyed the damage: crusted cups and dishes on the floor and coffee table, several weeks’ worth of newspapers, and discarded clothing. With four hours and a backhoe he could do it. With four hours and no backhoe, well …

  Laurie hung up the phone and gripped her head between her hands. What was she doing? She paced across the kitchen and back with her head vised between her palms, then knocked her forehead on the wall. That hadn’t been her intention. How did he turn her simple apology into a date? She knocked her head again.

  “That’s funny, Mommy.” Luke wedged in between her and the wall. “What are you doing?”

  Laurie smiled down at him. “I just asked myself that very thing.” She straightened. Actually it was good. She would use this evening to establish the ground rules. That was necessary with Cal Morrison. Not that he followed them, but at least he’d know.

  Luke reached up and hooked his fingers into hers, then wiggled his thumb back and forth. “One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war.”

  Laughing, Laurie battled him, then let him trap her thumb. “You’re too quick, Luke.” She bent and gave him a squeeze. “Where’s Maddie?”

  “Playing dolls.”

  “Why don’t you go be the daddy?”

  “I don’t want to.” Luke shook his head with solemn eyes, then looked down.

  Laur ie realized her blunder. She stooped down to his level. “Where’s my brave little guy?”

  “Here.” He looked off to the side, not meeting her eyes. And he didn’t sound brave.

  “Uh oh. Sounds like a job for Tickleman.”

  Luke bit his lip, trying not to smile. Laurie seized his ribs with her fingers, and he collapsed shrieking into her arms.

  “I’m brave! I’m brave!”

  She ruffled his hair. “I know you are. Now run and play with Maddie.” She watched him walk away. She’d used simple terms to explain their situation, but it wasn’t simple. She hadn’t told him the half of it, and Luke knew it. And he hurt. Her own chest tightened inside. Had she done the right thing? A surge of anger jolted her. What other choice did she have?

  ————

  Cal pulled the door wide. Laurie looked incredible. Her hair hung loose, and the short-sleeved pinkish sweater hugged her figure. She stepped in and circled the room. Catching sight of a sock in the bookshelf, he snatched it behind his back before she turned.

  “I thought I’d broil some bluegill I caught this morning. That sound okay?” He dropped the sock behind the recliner.

  “You’re a better cook than I am.”

  They stood a moment. “Want something to drink?”

  Laurie slipped the purse from her shoulder. “What I’d really like is a ramble through those woods out back.”

  “It’s pretty wet.”

  She lifted her hiking boot beneath her jeans. “I’m ready.”

  “Okay. You don’t have to ask twice to get me outside.”

  “I remember.”

  Cal grabbed a jacket from the hook. “Here.”

  Laurie opened her mouth to protest, but he hung the jacket over her shoulders anyway, not surprised she still had that stubborn resistance to the practical. But the branches would be dripping and she’d be soaked without it. He led the way down the zigzagging stairs and across the yard. Beyond the gate, he led Laurie into the bracken, then the woods. Walking silently abreast, they breathed the stormy air and the wet tang of the trees.

  They broke into a mini-clearing fringed by yarrow, still nodding flat, faded, heavy heads. Laurie stopped. “Do you remember the night we staked out Breams Road to see if Mary Brite would come out on a broom?”

  He noticed she skipped back to high school to connect, instead of their last time together. Understandable, considering the way they’d parted. “I remember.”

  “You had me convinced she was a witch. Did you believe it?”

  “No. I just wanted to be in a car alone with you.”

  She twined her fingers together. “Is that still all you want?”

  The question threw him. He didn’t think about what he wanted these days. So he shrugged. “What do you think?”

  She started walking again. The shadows slipped in, congregating in the trees as ragged storm clouds congealed overhead, blotting the last of the light.

  Cal pushed aside a branch. “We shouldn’t go far. The woods get thick out this way.”

  She slowed, then turned. “Can we be friends, Cal?”

  Of course that meant “just” friends. “Why?”

  “I could use one.”

  Jamming his hands into his pockets, Cal sensed the shadows scoffing. In his book she was his friend, his best friend, the one he wanted to curl up next to with mugs of hot chocolate. But she wasn’t suggesting that. She was limiting.

  “Okay.”

  “No pressure?”

  He lifted a damp brown leaf from her hair, misted with droplets. “Why didn’t you call when you came back?”

  She ran her fingers over a birch twig, pooling the moisture into her palm. “I haven’t been here long.”

  She had an amazing knack for answering what wasn’t asked. Fresh raindrops struck the leaves overhead, finding the gaps. Cal grasped her hand, leading her back, then loped for the house as the storm gathered force. They clambered up the metal stairs together. Inside, he grabbed a towel from the bath, sniffed it, then tossed it to her.

  She caught it at her face. “Nice shot.”

  “Want to see my three-pointer?” He whipped the towel back out of her hands, balled it up, spun discus fashion, then winged it up behind his back.

  Laughing, she snagged it from the lampshade. “Better stick with lay-ups.”

  While she wiped her hair, he went into the cramped kitchen and laid out the fish. Brushing them with oil and lemon
juice, he sprinkled on diced garlic and dill, then stuck them under the broiler. Laurie was taking her time in the other room. Probably seeing whether he’d graduated from comic books and sergeant thrillers to anything literary. She’d be disappointed.

  He took out the potato salad he’d made earlier. The last thing was to cut the eggs on top, which he did as Laurie took a seat at the table.

  “Want some help?”

  “Nope. You want a Coke? Snapple? Got raspberry and peach.” If she noticed he didn’t offer beer, she didn’t say so.

  “Raspberry. Dinner smells good.”

  The fish were starting to crisp as the kitchen filled with the aroma. While the smell was great now, it wouldn’t be so hot in the morning. He found two forks that matched and dug for napkins. No luck. He tucked folded paper towels beside the plates and held them down with forks and knives. At Laurie’s amusement, he shrugged.

  They sat at the small walnut table he’d built in shop his junior year. It was a good piece of work, but then, his dad had been a master with wood. Cal remembered watching for hours as his father shaped and sanded and stained. Maybe he’d absorbed more than he thought. When he put his own hand to it, he seemed to already know more than the instructor could tell him. Over the years he’d put together quite a few nice pieces and sold them.

  But not lately. He palmed the top from a bottle of Snapple and tossed the lid into the trash in the corner. The timer buzzed, and he took out the fish. They could only have been better cooked lakeside as soon as they were caught.

  Laurie complimented him twice. “I forgot what freshwater fish tasted like. I’ve been inundated with seafood and sushi.”

  “The scourge of the coast.”

  She smiled. “Something like that.”

  “Come back tomorrow, we’ll do it again.” He smiled. “I have more.”

  “I can’t. I’m working.”

  “Where?”

  She forked a fine, translucent bone to the side of her plate. “Maple’s Grille.”

  He stared a long moment. “Why?”

  “I have children to feed.” She sounded defensive, tense.

  He’d pushed a button, but as always, that didn’t stop him. “What about child support?” Didn’t her hotshot husband pay for his kids? What kind of jerk left her in the lurch working at a place like Maple’s?

  “Don’t ask questions, Cal.”

  Something in her tone, warning him off. “I thought we were friends.”

  She set down her fork. “If we are, you’ll respect that.”

  Keep out; don’t touch. The message was clear. He leaned back. “Okay, then what about your pottery?”

  She snorted. “Ever try to live on that? The adage ‘starving artists’ wasn’t coined for nothing.”

  Cal reached over and took her hands, turning them palms up. He pictured them coated with the gray, gritty clay. He remembered the time she’d made a plaster mold of his face, first smoothing strip after strip of wet cloth over all but his nostrils. The feel of her fingers sliding over his features was the most sensuous thing he’d ever experienced. Whatever happened to the mask? he wondered.

  He felt her smooth palms and searched the nails for telltale signs of her work, but found none. “Why the studio, then?”

  She shrugged. “Tell me about you. Why haven’t you married?”

  “What makes you think I haven’t?”

  “If you had, you still would be.”

  He swung around and dropped his plate into the sink. “Haven’t had much time to think about it.”

  “Too busy saving people?”

  A quiver up his spine. “Not lately. These days I’m a clown.”

  She punched his shoulder. “Come on. Are you still a firefighter?”

  He drank long on his tea, not coming up for air until he thought his voice would stay steady. “I’m not kidding you. I’m really a clown. That’s what I do.”

  She waited. He stood and walked to the window. The rain made rivulets on the cracking sill and turned the tan siding muddy. One of these days he’d paint the place for Mildred and Cissy. “The official title is Fire Prevention and Safety Instructor. But the fact is, I put on my clown suit and entertain kids. Puppets, magic, the works.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  Cal watched Mildred’s cat, Sienna, making her way through the underbrush, trying to reach the shelter of the porch. There was one open space she couldn’t avoid, and she crouched low to the ground, then sprang through to safety.

  Laurie’s voice was soft. “I guess you’re entitled to your secrets as well.”

  He turned and watched her drag her finger down the neck of the bottle. Her face looked tight, but when she glanced up, she smiled. He loved that smile. He’d gone to ridiculous lengths to coax it out when they were young, pulling antics he’d rather forget. Maybe he’d been a clown even then.

  “You look good, Cal.”

  “You look better.”

  Her hair fell across her cheek. “Mother drilled me tonight about coming here.”

  “You told her?”

  “Habit, I guess.” Her quick smile was wan.

  “You know, that’s what I never could understand. Here I am, the nicest guy—”

  Laurie laughed. “It’s outrageous. I’m twenty-eight years old, and she’s hissing at me through the screen to remember who I am.”

  “It always came down to that, didn’t it.” He jammed his fingers through his hair.

  She sobered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. The thing is …” She traced her finger around the base of the bottle. “I don’t know who I am. I never have. Do you ever wonder who you’d be if … if one little thing had been different? Where you were born or when, or who your parents are or …”

  “Who you married and who you didn’t.” She sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  “Okay.” He leaned against the counter.

  “Okay, what?”

  “Okay, I won’t.”

  She slid the bottle away. “I have to go.”

  “Because I tread on sacred ground?”

  “Because it’s late for the children. They’re not used to Mother yet.” She pushed back her chair and stood, hooked her purse over her shoulder, then paused. “Thank you for dinner and … for listening.”

  “What are friends for?” He beat her to the door and pulled it open. With the slightest indication, he would kiss her.

  She slipped past. “Well, thanks again.”

  He watched through the window. Her head hardly bent as she passed through the wet halo of porch light to her car. Who would she be if one little thing had been different? Who would they all be?

  Laurie snapped on the radio as she drove. Cal’s place had brought a poignant stab to her ribcage. The last time she’d been there he had changed her life. She flushed with the memory. It wasn’t so much the sight of it as the smell, the old house smell, wood and wool. It wasn’t Cal’s smell, yet it was, too, as though he fit the old place or it fit him.

  He was so much the same—his smile easy, his eyes the blue of cobalt glaze. Out in the sun they lightened up, but inside … She turned up the volume. What was she doing? The last thing she needed was to revisit old ghosts. Before, it would have bothered her that Cal had things he wasn’t telling. Now she was almost glad. It put them on equal ground.

  She drew a long breath and released the tension in her shoulders. She had accomplished what she intended, established the relationship so he knew where she stood. Nothing, nothing could come of it. Not physical, not emotional. A slow ache tightened her throat. Her head knew the inescapable truth, but watching him move about the kitchen adding a sprig of this, a pinch of that, his careless sprawl in the old, creaking chair, the paper towel napkins …

  Laurie smiled, then covered her mouth with her hand. She knew better. This could get dangerous too fast … as it once had. “Who you married and who you didn’t.” Even now, after seven years and six of them married, her time with Cal haun
ted her. Her friend Darla said they’d formed a heart bond. No one had talked about that in sex ed. No one had mentioned tearing out your soul, leaving part of yourself irreparably behind.

  That was her own fault, spending all that time with him, knowing him better than she knew herself. How could she put him away and go on with her life? She had tried to, needed to.

  When she confided to Darla five years after she’d married Brian that she still hurt over Cal, Darla claimed the karma of past lives had driven them together and torn them apart. There was also something about the alignment of stars and planets, things that were vogue in Darla’s circle, but which Laurie didn’t believe. What did she believe? Anything?

  She slowed, then accelerated again as the light changed. The heart bond—that part seemed true. Not because of stars or reincarnated destinies. But because he loved her in a way she needed to be loved. No measuring up; no strings attached. It was still there in his face, that unconditional acceptance.

  The way Grams had loved her. Grams, the one person in her family who had accepted her as she was, who had no plans for her but happiness, who had taken her on her knee and told her about Jesus. Grams had a different Jesus than Daddy’s.

  It was easy to believe in a loving God when she was with Grams. Somehow He came alive, and she felt cherished, just listening to stories about the God she couldn’t see or touch. She believed He could see her, or at least she wanted to. But as soon as she went home her faith evaporated. God became the taskmaster she could never please. God looked like Daddy.

  Laurie stopped in front of her mother’s house and climbed out. Looking up to the window that had been hers, she shrank inside. She hated the house. She had hated it from the day they moved in three days before her sixteenth birthday. No, she hadn’t had a party. She’d spent her birthday touring the high school with the other new kids.

  She had picked up her schedule and met Cal, who was performing as student guide. Yes, performing. He was as amused by his selection as the others were shocked. Cal Morrison, class cut-up turned responsible citizen? Yet his antics were never malicious, and she suspected a bright, creative mind. He was always two steps ahead, quick with a comeback, clever and witty. From the start she wanted to climb inside his brain and learn how he did that.