Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Cal…” I felt adrift, helpless in the face of his pain, no longer sure what the correct course of action was with anything in my life.
“Maybe being right isn’t worth it.” Taking a long swig of his black coffee, he slumped against a nearby pillar. “I probably shouldn’t have come. I don’t belong here.”
“Of course you do.” I’d been dreading this moment for weeks, the point when Cal felt constricted by Safe Harbor and wanted to run from harsh realizations and big feelings. And me. “The town should be so lucky to have someone like you.”
I meant myself too, of course, but I couldn’t bring myself to voice that wish, especially not when Cal was already shaking his head.
“Nah.” He straightened back up, gazing past me at the rows of empty seats. “But I’ll do my part. Pay my respects. At least the house looks halfway respectable if anyone drives by after.”
“You’ve done good work.” I dug my teeth into my lower lip, unfamiliar nerves making me desperate. “There’s still more to go, right? Sam’s new suite?”
“Sure. A lot of that is the subcontractors.” His voice sounded a million miles away, made worse when he dug out his buzzing phone and glanced down at it. “Huh. I need this dive shop to stop bugging me.”
“What’s the problem?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“My new suit is in at the shop in Portland. They need me to come in, check the fit and seals. It’s more involved than checking the inseam on a pair of jeans.”
“I can give you a ride. I’m always game for a trip to Portland.” I felt honor bound to offer, even if it meant literally driving him away from me, away from here, this way-stop in his otherwise solitary life.
“Don’t want to be a burden.” His expression was unreadable, fathoms-deep eyes having some sort of conversation with mine, but hell if I could decipher the message.
“You’re not. Ever. All you need to do is ask. My answer’s always going to be yes.” I put extra emphasis on ask and yes. There was no request of his I would ever turn down, but I needed at least a hint of what to offer.
“I’ll take you up on the ride. Perhaps tomorrow? Knox paid me, so I can get you lunch for the trouble.”
“It’s no trouble.” The real trouble was my growing feelings for Cal, the way he’d crawled under my skin, made a home in my heart.
Continuing to stare at his phone, Cal grimaced. “What the heck now? Guess I need to put my phone on silent, but I keep getting website alerts.”
“Oh, I set that up when we updated your site, remember? Does it say you’ve been hacked?” My abs tensed, and I reached for his phone, but he shook his head.
“Not hacked. The messages keep saying I have new donations, but it has to be a hoax.”
“If it’s from the electronic payment service, it’s probably legit. Check the return email address and don’t click any links, but the whole point was donations, remember?”
“Huh. Guess your plan is working.” He didn’t smile, and neither did I. No, no, my plan was definitely not working. I didn’t want to give him yet another reason to hit the road, didn’t want to watch him RV shop, wasn’t ready for him to head on down the road.
Maybe he needed to hear me say that I wanted him to stay. I was loath to put myself out there like that, but I opened my mouth anyway, only to have Earl saunter in with the first crowd of memorial guests.
“Cal! I was hoping you’d be here.” Earl clapped a meaty hand on Cal’s shoulder. In deference to the occasion, she wore a clean work shirt and shiny black boots. “Find me after the service. Got a proposition for you.”
“Huh?” Cal’s eyes went wide.
“Not that kind.” Earl cackled. “You’ll wanna hear this, trust me.”
A prickle raced up my spine, and my hand tightened on my wheelchair rim. One more worry, one more thing that might pull Cal even further from me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cal
Eulogies were weird. I’d sat through far more of them than I’d ever wanted to. That much was for sure. Each time, it struck me how a person could be reduced to a few soundbites. With my dad, it was all about his military service. My mom’s memorial managed to get by with no mention of her addiction and mental health battles, painting a picture even teen me had known was an illusion. Ev’s military-heavy funeral was largely a blur, but the occasion had been tightly focused on family, underscoring my outsider status.
And Melanie Stapleton’s memorial was an ode to a town citizen, dedicated churchgoer, loving wife and mother, with no hint of the complexity I’d discovered in her papers, the woman desperate for an escape, the cautious flattery and flirtation. The various speakers all did a fine job. Poems were read. Sam’s dad gave a rousing speech, and meaningful music peppered the short service.