Twilight Page 6

  A little before nine that night, he called Rita James. “Here’s the scenario. We’re having a picnic, roasting fish on a campfire. The kids are toasting marshmallows, and a spark flies up, maybe toward the kid, maybe not. I freak out, tackle her, and sit there panting like a rabid dog so I won’t burst out crying.”

  “Sounds like a natural reaction to the situation, given your history.”

  “I’m a pyrophobic fireman.”

  “You’re not pyrophobic. Fire triggers post-traumatic stress and causes panic symptoms. It’s not fire you’re afraid of, it’s failure. Let go of the guilt, and you know the rest.”

  Cal leaned against the counter. “As easy as that, huh?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “How about telling me I’ll be normal again.”

  Rita sighed. “What’s normal? You had a death experience with extreme personal trauma. You already take on more than the usual responsibility for things beyond your control, and you have a marked inability to separate the possible from the impossible. Given all that, you have to play the hand you’re dealt.”

  “Can I bluff?”

  She laughed low. “Probably. Knowing you.”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  “Cal, it hasn’t been that long.”

  “Hasn’t it? Feels like forever.”

  Laurie rocked back and forth, back and forth, Maddie’s cheek hot against her chest, the little hand on her arm limp and soft. But even though the child had fallen asleep over an hour ago, Laurie hadn’t moved to put her to bed.

  She stared at the crack on the wall that meandered like an old waterway from the corner to the floor. What was wrong with Cal? What had caused his reaction, his lunge for Maddie, the tone in his voice when he told her to leave …

  What had happened to him? She felt as though the earth had shifted. Somehow the sand had been sucked out from under her feet. “People change.” Had he been telling her? Had he warned her he wasn’t what he’d been? “It depends how closely you look.” Was he saying underneath the same old Cal was a man she didn’t know, wouldn’t understand?

  No one’s perfect, he used to say. Accept yourself the way you are. Of everyone she’d known, he was the most sure of himself, the least concerned about what others thought. He always did things his way. She pictured him again, crouched, hands pressed to his ears like claws, blocking what? What did he hear?

  Maddie slept. Laurie closed her eyes and rocked. She wanted to puzzle it out, to find the answers, but she couldn’t. She’d been away too long. Cal had lived his life while she lived hers, and now there was a whole critical piece of it she knew nothing of. But it couldn’t be helped.

  She had Luke and Maddie to think of. Nothing mattered as much as they did. Nothing. She stroked Maddie’s hair. Cal was right. She hadn’t planned on children. She wasn’t prepared for the joy when it happened, the miracle of holding Luke’s tiny head cupped in her palm, and again with Maddie.

  The love was so deep, so encompassing. She had never loved like that before, had not known she was capable of it. Something inside her had been starved for it, yet when it came it brought as many doubts and fears as joys. But she wouldn’t trade one minute of it. Love that deep was worth the pain.

  It should have knit her and Brian together. But it hadn’t. The children were little trophies to him, something he kept on a shelf and looked at when he wanted to brag. He was too busy maintaining his image. She and Brian were swept up in the mirror maze of appearances, the express lane of power. With Brian’s semi-fame, his father’s senatorial influence, and corporate success Laurie had attained her dream. She belonged to the elite. And the elite had rules of their own, or none at all.

  Laurie dropped her cheek to Maddie’s head. It was late. She gathered the child up and carried her to bed. In her bathroom, she pressed a cold washcloth to her face. Fame, power, wealth. How fleeting it all was. She climbed into bed. How fleeting and ultimately worthless.

  Closing her eyes, she pictured Cal, stiff and tense, his back turned to her, his voice a grating croak. “Would you mind going now?” Never once, in all the time she’d known him, had he ever asked her to leave.

  The alarm jolted Laurie awake. For once her body clock hadn’t wakened her ahead of it. Small wonder with the thrashing she’d done. She sat up and raked her fingers through her hair, then headed for the shower. She turned the white, cross-shaped enamel faucets that sent water up the metal tube to the head. The plumbing groaned.

  She draped her gown over the rack, stepped into the claw-foot tub, and pulled the curtain around her. She tipped her head back to submerge her hair. The paint around the upper edge of the wall was stained a burnt orange and peeled. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head farther and let the water run over her face, feeling a heaviness inside she couldn’t put words to. Listlessly she lathered her head with arms like weights.

  Was she depressed? Three years ago she’d seen a therapist who warned against stress factors. If Laurie made a list today, she’d topple the scale. But she could not go there. She couldn’t afford to. She had to be strong for Luke and Maddie.

  As she rinsed, the pipe started a high-pitched whine that set her teeth on edge. She hated old houses: cracked tiles, noisy pipes, faulty wiring. So why had she come back and chosen one? Beggars couldn’t be choosers, but it was more than that. She jammed the faucets into the off position. The cold one slipped back and started dripping, and she pushed it harder. This time it held. She climbed out.

  Wrapped in a towel, she blew her hair dry, then pulled it into a French braid. She dressed in the skirt and blouse she wore to Maple’s, plain enough to satisfy Maple, fitted enough to encourage tips. The thought alone depressed her. Even in college she hadn’t waited tables. She had done work study in the library two semesters, and after that Daddy had taken up the slack since she’d proven she could handle academia.

  Of course, what does one do with an art history degree in Montrose, Missouri? Or anywhere else for that matter. If she had gone for fine arts or commercial art … but Daddy wouldn’t hear of it. “They’re all drop-out losers.”

  Mother’s focus had been finding her a suitable husband. And oh yes, Brian was suitable. Wealthy, known, good connections—better than Mother had dreamed. Not even her imagination could have conjured the son of a retired senator for her daughter. No, Laurie had done that for herself.

  And wasn’t Brian the epitome of all she’d wanted? No matter the indiscretions, infidelities, illegal substances. Laurie hadn’t known about any of that at first. She’d been raw … bleeding really, though no doctor would have detected it. Grams’ death had driven her to an intimacy with Cal that made her need him too much. So she had left him, returned to UCLA, and rebounded.

  Unequally yoked. The phrase came to her mind now like a foreign language. Yes, she’d felt unequally yoked, never measuring up to the senator’s son. Had he intentionally chosen beneath him to keep the upper hand? Had she intentionally chosen to perpetuate her unworthiness? But that wasn’t how Grams had meant the phrase. She had talked about a spiritual yoke.

  How Laurie had laughed, picturing the yolk of an egg. What did she know of oxen and the careful matching that must be done one ox to another to keep the yoke from wounding one or another of the beasts. But Grams had said, “I’m praying for your husband, child. You’re a daughter of the kingdom. You must marry a prince.” Well, she had, hadn’t she? At least he had the trappings. But then, trappings could deceive.

  Laurie looked at herself in the mirror. She tucked the hair behind her ear. In the white blouse and denim skirt she was a far cry from Mrs. Brian Prelane. Good. The farther the better. She went to wake the children. They’d have a muffin at Maple’s before Mother picked them up for church. At least she hadn’t tried to force the issue with Laurie. Luke and Maddie had enjoyed Sunday school last week, so she didn’t make it an issue either. After the service they would stay at Mother’s until Laurie got off work. Soon she would need to find a daycare. But there wa
sn’t money for it yet.

  Laurie crossed her arms, resting two fingers between her eyebrows. How many years had it been since she worried about money? She’d signed the checks at the club, charged her clothes at the boutique, dined and shopped and entertained herself without a thought for the cost. And the children had Gail: warm, efficient, ever present when Mommy had to slip out.

  She hadn’t left them often, not nearly as often as her friends left their offspring. They’d laughed at her midwestern roots that still idealized the traditional family. “Honey, that’s what we have nannies for. Just because we birth them doesn’t mean the umbilicus hasn’t been cut.”

  Laurie bustled the children into the car, and looking into their cherubic faces, still sleepy eyed and puffy, she was glad she’d left those friends behind. At least when she left Luke and Maddie now, she had a worthy reason for it. Survival.

  She drove to the run-down diner and parked in the back, then lifted the children out. “Now remember your manners and be quiet for Mommy, okay?”

  Maple was in rare form. Laurie had gone right to work even before Mother came for the children, but now she stood while the wiry woman rummaged through the discarded fruit. Maple pulled three apples from the trash that Laurie had scraped from the bag rather than touch. “These are perfectly good. Cut off the soft spots and dice up the rest.”

  Laurie took them and eyed the oozing spots. Normally she didn’t work in the kitchen. Lord knew she didn’t belong there. But Barb had walked out, leaving Maple alone this morning. Looking at the apples, she was tempted to follow suit. But, God help her, she needed the job.

  Maple snatched the fruit. “Go on out front. I’ll do them myself.”

  Laurie pulled off the apron and escaped. The doors didn’t open for ten minutes yet, so she made the coffee and wiped off the counters. Then she made sure each table was stocked with sugar, saccharine, and Equal, wiped down the salt and pepper shakers, and filled the napkin dispensers. Closing her eyes, she pressed a palm to her forehead. How long could she stand it?

  4

  SOME HAVE BEEN THOUGHT BRAVE

  BECAUSE THEY WERE AFRAID TO RUN AWAY.

  English proverb

  REGGIE CLOSED CAL’S DOOR behind Rita and Rob as they left for the night, then turned back to Cal. “So what is it, bro?” Rita could not have missed Cal’s mood, but it didn’t take a psychiatrist to see the trouble in that man’s face. She’d said nothing, but Reggie felt compelled. He’d been as much a part of Cal’s “cure” as Dr. Rita James, and often as not, he’d been the one to initiate things.

  “What’s what?” Cal scooped up the poker chips and put them into the cabinet.

  “What’s got you holding fours against my straight, and not seeing Rita’s bluff to your full house?”

  Cal shrugged. “Not my night.”

  Reggie looked around Cal’s place. It showed a distinct lack of effort. Not that he hadn’t seen it worse, and he wasn’t particular. Like Peter to Cornelius, he went where the Lord called him, and, like Paul, he did as the Romans. But so he didn’t get a big head comparing himself to them, Suanne always shook her finger and said, “You just see you don’t enjoy it too much.”

  And truth be told, he did enjoy these nights with Cal. The Lord had a mission with that man. But even unredeemed, Cal Morrison was a pleasure, the sort of man you could call a friend with no hesitation. No one Reggie’d had the grace to meet matched his sense of humor, a sense of the absurd and the ability to appreciate it, even when it involved him. Except tonight.

  “If your face was any longer, you’d polish your boots with your chin.” Reggie settled down at the small walnut table in Cal’s kitchen.

  Cal leaned against the counter. “Reg, do you ever wonder what’s the use?”

  Reggie’s spirit quickened. “Don’t have to wonder. I know what’s the use. To all things under heaven there is a time and a purpose.”

  Cal rubbed a hand through his hair. He looked shaky.

  Reggie’s instincts kicked in. “You clean, bro?”

  “Yeah, I’m clean. But I’m thinking hard about changing that.”

  “Rough week, huh?” Reggie eyed him. Something had brought him low since he’d seen him last Friday, but it wasn’t fear, and it wasn’t guilt. If he were to guess, he’d name the demon despair. “Don’t let those thoughts in. You don’t need that stuff.”

  “It’s not a question of need.” Cal closed his hand and cupped it into the other. Both were shaking. “I just want to bury it all in a long, deep stupor.”

  Reggie hunched over the table. “Bondage of the mind and spirit can be as debilitating as any physical addiction.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “What’s causing it?”

  Cal turned a chair and straddled it. “I saw an old flame.”

  Reggie guessed he meant the female sort, though with Cal it could be literal. “It happens.” He’d run into one or two himself.

  Cal chewed his lower lip. “Yeah, it happens, but it doesn’t always burn you.”

  “How’d it burn you, bro?”

  Cal straightened, dropping his wrists over the chair back before him. “I had her and her kids over Saturday and gave a performance.” He raised an eyebrow. “She looked at me as though I’d lost my mind.” He clenched and released his hands. “Which of course I had … again.”

  Reggie had seen the performance Cal meant. PTSD, shell shock, whatever you wanted to call it. People wouldn’t necessarily understand, especially a woman who’d known him before. “God has a time and a purpose for everything. I know that’s not fair for me to say when I have Suanne to snuggle with each night.”

  Cal’s eyes took on a hollow intensity. “Do you think there’s one right person, one woman for every man?”

  Reggie considered that. He believed God ordained marriage between one man and one woman. He couldn’t imagine any other woman besides Suanne. But did that mean there was no other woman he could have loved, built a marriage with? “I take it this one was special.”

  Cal dropped his chin with an exhaled breath. “How does the ‘love of my life’ sound?”

  “Overdramatic.”

  Cal laughed, but Reggie could tell it was forced.

  “I’m not kidding, Reg. It’s like she’s the flame and I’m the moth. But here”—he tapped his right temple—“I know what fire does to me. And I don’t want to crash and burn.”

  “Then you gotta hang tough. God created the laws of nature and the heart. Just like gravity, things gotta work a certain way. You can’t mess with the order.”

  “Yeah? Wish I’d known that before we …” Cal closed his lips and clasped his fingers together. “Before it went so far.”

  Reggie blew the breath between his lips. “There’s not one of us doesn’t have things we regret. But God’s bigger than that. He hung our sin on a cross, and we just gotta believe He’ll take it and make us new.”

  He watched Cal struggling with that, knew the battle raged, forces neither of them could see and only Reggie knew were real. Cal wasn’t a wicked man. In fact, he was a good man, better than many. But it didn’t matter, because in the end he couldn’t do it himself. Cal’s eyes came up to him, hollow and tense, and Reggie knew before he spoke which side had won this time.

  “I wish I could, Reg. But then I see a little girl with pigtails going up in flames.” His voice got raw, and he wore the haunted look that Reggie had seen before. “I hear her screams.” His throat worked.

  Reggie sagged. Some things had no explanation. He could tell Cal God’s ways were above man’s, His wisdom supreme. He could tell him somewhere in the scheme of things even horrors had their place. But there was a hand to his lips. Cal wasn’t ready to hear it.

  “Hang tough, bro. Don’t give in.”

  Cal nodded slowly. “Can you sit for a while?”

  “I can sit all night.” And that’s what he’d do if it kept Cal out of the bottle, or the pills, or whatever he might find to take away the memories.


  Gradually the shaking stopped, and Cal looked bone weary. He put his head down on the table and closed his eyes. God may not have the victory yet, but between them they’d won this skirmish. Reggie stood, towering over Cal’s hunched form. With the tenderness of a father, he helped Cal to his feet and got him into bed.

  “You made it, Cal. One more time.”

  Cal shook his head, then sank into the pillows. “Thanks, Reg.”

  Reggie looked at him lying there. People didn’t understand the courage it took for an addict to stay clean. Everyone had bad days. But a bad day to a drunk could be the start of the slide. Reggie looked up and closed his eyes. No dreams, tonight, Lord. Guard his mind and his soul.

  As soundlessly as possible in that old house, Reggie let himself out. If Suanne was waiting up, he’d explain. But chances were, she’d gone to sleep hours ago. Funny, but Reggie hardly felt tired at all.

  Two days later, Cal stood behind Ray as he lay on the red vinyl bench in the shed. With three hundred and ten pounds of weight, counting the bar, across his chest, eyes bulging and his face aflame, Ray puffed out his cheeks and pushed it up. Cal hoped Ray wouldn’t drop it. The bar held one hundred and twenty pounds more than Cal’s total body weight, and his biceps already pulsed from the curls. The bar dipped, and again Ray pushed it up before Cal grabbed and helped him sink it into the brackets.

  “Whew, Ray. You’re a better man than I.”

  “Your turn.” Ray sat up, his perspiration pungent as an onion patch.

  “I think I’ll pass.”

  “Come on. I’ll make it lighter.”

  “By fifty pounds.”

  “Forty.”

  “Okay, forty. But you be ready.”

  Ray grinned. There was something in Ray’s grin that was less than convincing. Cal took his place, smelling Ray as he did. Ray adjusted the weights, and Cal gathered himself, then eased the bar down to rest on his pectorals and shifted his hands. “How many reps?”