by Skyla Madi
Clearing his throat, Dad scratches at his eyebrow with his thumb, his stare downcast to the floor. “You never told me you were struggling,” he utters, and somehow, his soft-spoken words take away my jagged edges. “I would’ve…I could’ve…”
“You were struggling too.” I rub at the back of my neck as thick guilt sprouts inside my veins. “No point grabbing onto someone who’s also drowning. It wouldn’t help any.”
More silence brews between us, and I don’t know what to do with it. Is that it? He’s not going to help? Are Cassia and I on our own? Can I even find someone to marry us on such short notice? Groaning, my father mutters something under his breath, breaking the silence, then he pushes his fingers through his dark, dirty blond hair and exhales. “I'll speak to the Bishop and ask for some kind of dispensation from canonical form, but it might take me a few days.”
I grimace. I want to be thankful—I should be thankful. “A few days? I need it tomorrow. Dad…”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Caleb, these things take time.”
“Agnes doesn’t have time. I’m not usually this unreasonable, I wouldn’t normally push for something like this, something I know takes time, but I can’t risk it,” I point out. “Forget the dispensation. Do it for me. Marry us tomorrow—even if it’s fake—and I swear I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”
He groans and wars with himself. I know I’m tearing him apart, forcing him to choose, but fuck, everything will be so much simpler if he just gives me this one thing.
“Dad—”
My phone rings, and its repetitive noise cuts through the tense air of Dad’s office as it vibrates against my thigh, demanding to be answered. Shit. It’s probably Cassia. I stuff my hand into the pocket and hit one of the side buttons. I’ll call her back in a few. I’m close to getting what I want. I know I am.
“A dispensation—”
My phone rings again, cutting my father off. Growling, I stuff my hand into my pocket and yank my phone out. My stomach sinks when I see Bree’s name, not Cassia’s. I mutter a “sorry” to Dad, then turn my back and answer the call. “Bree?”
“Oh, Caleb,” she sniffles, then sobs, and I still as my heart lodges in my throat. “I’m sorry to bother you so late.”
“It’s fine. What’s wrong?”
She speaks and cries at the same time. I squint as if it’ll help me understand what she’s trying to say through her relentless sobs. “Bree, I can’t understand you. Is it Agnes? Is she okay?”
Sniffles, one after the other, come through the earpiece and echo in my ear. “Something’s happening. She won’t wake up, and there’s nothing they can do. They think she’s…she’s dying. You need to get here n-ow if you want to be here when she…when she p-passes.”
Swallowing hard, I lower my phone without hanging up and whirl on my heel to face my father, who watches me with wide eyes. I step toward him, tightly clenching my phone in my hand. Deep, painful tendrils of dread burrow through my chest. I’ve never been one to beg, but I’ll get on my knees and do it right now if it meant he’d help me.
“Change of plans,” my voice cracks under the pressure, and I quickly clear it from my throat. “Forget tomorrow. Come with me now.”
He drops his head back in exasperation. “Caleb—”
“Dad, please.” I purse my lips and rub them together. A thin, glassy layer of tears blurs my vision. I’m not a crier, never have been. I haven’t cried in so long, I was under the impression my tear ducts had closed up, but I’m desperate now. I don’t know how else to show him this is important to me, that one of the most important people in my life is dying. “Agnes is dying.”
“Don’t ask me to betray my faith. As a priest…I can’t.”
“I’d understand if you were just a priest, but you’re not. You’re a father too—my father.”
I stare at him, gritting my teeth together as impatience bubbles in my blood. I’m five seconds away from paying someone on the street to play the part instead. I would have already if Agnes didn’t prefer my father to be there.
Raking his fingers through his hair, he begins to pace. Back and forth, back and forth in his untidy all black getup. I don’t take my eyes off him. With my stare, I apply the pressure until he tugs at his hair and throws his hand ups in exasperation. “God, help me. Get your keys and let’s go.”
I tear from the doorway of my father’s office and rush through the house, my heart pumping blood through my veins faster than ever. Penelope sticks her messy head out of the spare bedroom room as I stomp by, dialing Cassia’s number.
“What’s happening?” she shouts after me, but I don’t have time to answer.
Cassia doesn’t pick up, and I curse, trying her again.
“Put a coat on,” Dad tells her, his voice a colorful mixture of irritation and disbelief. “Caleb’s getting married.”
“Really? Well, wait for me.”
“Can’t wait,” I call over my shoulder. “You can catch the next one.”
I snag my car keys off the surface of a thin chest of drawers that line the wide hallway and call Cass again.
“The next one?” Penelope calls, her voice closer. “How many times do you plan on getting married?”
“Twice,” Dad answers for her. “To the same person.”
“Well, that doesn’t make much sense.”
I snag the front door handle in my grip, tug it open, and step onto the large, stone porch as I reach Cassia’s voicemail. Again. Why isn’t she answering? I get she’s reuniting with her parents, but fuck, if someone’s calling you over and over, there’s obviously something wrong. I try her again as I unlock my truck and Dad and Penelope climb inside. Fuck it. Since Cassia’s not answering, I’m going to have to show up unannounced and spoil their reunion. Given the circumstance, I don’t think they’ll mind…unless she hasn’t broke the news about our engagement and what we’re planning to do for the wedding.
When I’m behind the wheel, I toss my phone in my father’s lap, naughty photo camera roll be damned, and demand he call Marcus and tell him we’re on our way. I reverse out of the drive and floor it in the direction of Cassia’s house, and as he only just manages to pull up my contacts list, my phone rings. I hold my hand out, but he swats it away.
“You’re not talking on the phone while driving,” he grumbles at me. “It’s Bree.”
“Well, answer it!” I snap, not meaning to.
My insides clench. I force my foot harder against the gas, surpassing the limit. Penelope makes a comment about me going too fast, but I ignore her. I know these streets like the back of my hand. I’ve driven them sober, out of my mind, at slow speed, at a fast speed, alert, exhausted, and while engaging in both oral and normal sex. She’s got nothing to worry about.
He answers it. I try to focus on the sounds of my engine instead of the silence that follows his hello. I try to focus on the harsh whistle of the wind as it enters my truck from the little gap I’ve left with my window…but the silence in here takes precedence. It’s deafening, so deafening it makes me grimace.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he utters, then hangs up. “Thank you, Bree.”
My stomach takes a punch, my heart too, but I keep my back straight. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I breathe rapidly through my nose and grip the wheel tight, so tight my knuckles turn white, and the deep, painful tendrils of dread in my stomach leave empty, cavernous holes in their wake. Dad turns his head to look at me, his eyes burning holes into the side of my face, then glances back to the road. He shifts awkwardly in his seat, and it’s distracting.
“Caleb,” he says, his voice tight, frightened even. “Slow down.”
“Try Cass again.” I keep driving, my foot hard against the gas, the pedal to the floor. “We’ll make it in time. It’s fine.”
“Caleb…”
I grit my teeth and ignore him. Then the curve of the road’s corner comes fast, and I yank on the wheel and ease up on the gas, letting the truck gli
de along with the turn. In the back, Penelope shouts, prompting my father to grip the overhead handle in one large hand and squeeze my bicep with the other. “Caleb, slow down!”
The panic in his voice, mixed with a cry from my sister, snaps me out of a headspace I didn’t know I was sinking into. My eyelids flutter. I lift my foot further off the gas as the bend straightens out and ease it onto the brake before pulling my truck over.
“Fucking hell, Caleb!” Penelope yells, kicking the back of my seat. “You scared me!”
I shut the truck off and get out, scratching at my head. I’m stuck in this…this limbo, wedged between caring too much about what my father is about to tell me and not caring enough. I’m numb…but that numbness has jagged edges that cut into me with every breath I take. I’ve never felt like this before.
And it scares me.
I pace back and forth, drumming my fingers against my thigh, my lungs burning for a cigarette I don’t fucking want. My truck door opens, then closes, and I wince, bracing for the inevitable. A part of me wants to run from him, like a child. If I don’t hear the words fall from his lips, then it’s not real, right? I stop pacing and turn to look at my father, who tucks his hands under his arms and looks me dead in the face, his head tilted on a sympathetic angle.
Wrong.
I don’t need to hear him say the words. I see them displayed plainly in the shadows and highlights of his face, exposed by the bright, winter moon. Dead. My chest tightens, my lungs suddenly unable to move against my heavy ribs.
“I’m sorry. She’s—”
I hold up my hand and suck in a sharp breath, desperate to expand my lungs. It doesn’t work. If anything, my lungs shrink further, my ribs grow heavier as her croaky, little voice rings in my ears. I held you while you cried. You clung to me so tightly, you left small bruises on my skin that stayed for weeks…
I remember it. Agnes found me hiding underneath a table at the funeral. She was the only one looking for me. Tears well in my eyes, and I grit my teeth, refusing to cry in front of my father or Penelope, but memories of my last conversation with Agnes before I moved to New York won’t stop coming.
I knew exactly why I could never have children. God was saving me for you, but in order for me to help you, he needed me to gather the wisdom and the life experience to guide you through the hardest parts of your life. There were plenty of those, weren’t there?
There were so many. Too many.
I wouldn’t have made it through without her. I force in another inhale and glance up at the sky as my lungs fill to capacity. Holding it, I crouch low and drop my head.
I’d have died a long time ago if not for you. You bring a smile to my face every week, you make me laugh when I shouldn’t, and most importantly, you make me burst with pride.
A firm hand rests on my shoulder.
“She’s gone,” Dad almost whispers, and I slump. “Agnes has passed on.”
She was there for me. Always.
You are a good boy—the best boy…
…but I wasn’t there for her.
Chapter Seventeen
C A S S I A
My stomach rolls as Caleb rings me for the one hundredth time. What could he possibly want that can’t wait until later tonight or tomorrow morning? I sneak my hand into my pocket and hit the reject button on the side, next to the ring he gave me over an hour ago. My grandmother’s ring. I’d snuck it off my finger before Nick could see it. The last thing I need is him blowing up at me in front of my parents.
“You need to get that?” Nick asks, eyeing my pocket suspiciously.
Shaking my head, I reach for my tea and take a nervous sip. Why is he here ruining everything? More importantly, how’d he get my parents’ address? He knew I wasn’t on good terms with them. Why would he come here? Of all places? And what are the odds he’d show up tonight, of all nights? I can’t ask them to be there when I get married, not now.
My cell rings again, drawing everyone’s attention. I lower my teacup to the glass coffee table and shift uncomfortably. I’d put my cell on silent if Nick didn’t insist I sit next to him. He’s so close he can read my screen. Our thighs rest against each other and his arm is slung along the back of the couch behind me. It draws my father’s attention every now and again; so does my bare ring finger. He’s definitely aware I’m supposed to be engaged to Caleb and, judging by his confused expression since I walked in, he has no idea what’s happening or why there’s another man sitting on the couch beside me. Nick’s demeanor suggests we’re more than friends and it’s eating at me. If he doesn’t give me space, I’ll explode.
I chance a glance in my father’s direction. This isn’t the reunion I’d been hoping for. He was supposed to apologize to me, tell me he regrets every negative interaction we’ve ever had since that Sunday morning I was caught with Thomas. He was supposed to tell me he’s changed, that I mean more to him than the opinion of others, that believing in any kind of religion is a personal journey, and that he understands every brick in the path I take in life is paved by my own decisions, not his. Nick is a good example of a bad decision I made. His section on my path is frail and cracked, unable to bear my weight twice. Caleb, on the other hand, has two sections. The first part was a good decision but poor execution. The path is shaky, the bricks loose in their grout, but it was enough to get me through. The second part is made of Earth’s toughest stone and most resilient grout. Without breaking a sweat, he wove his path with mine, and it’s strong enough to carry me the rest of my life—to carry us.
Against my other side, Mom pats my knee. “It might be C—”
“It’s not,” I cut in, my cheeks flaring. They cannot say Caleb’s name. If they do, it’s all over for me. Nick will cause a scene—God knows what he’ll do to my stuff back in New York—and Dad…I want to gulp dramatically. He hated me dating one boy. Imagine if he’s thinks I’m dating two? It would validate every hurtful thing he’s ever said to me.
“It’s a friend from New York,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.
“Who?” Nick asks, angling his torso in my direction as he eases back against the arm rest.
Swallowing hard, I turn my head to look at him and fight the twitch under my nose that threatens to upturn my lip in disgust. I say the first name that pops into my mind. “Lauren.”
“Wade’s girlfriend?” he asks. His voice is calm, friendly even, but his dark stare glows with accusation. “The angry one?”
“She’s not angry.” I awkwardly try to shift closer to Mom. “She’s just…introverted. We’re good friends.”
“It’s late,” Nick adds. “What does she want?”
“That’s none of your business.” The words leave my mouth in a frustrated snap before I can stop them, making my mother’s spine straighten.
I don’t bother to look at Dad. I’m sure he can see the disdain on my face; Lord knows I feel it. Clearing her throat, Mom leans forward and peers into our teacups. Mine is practically full, but Nick’s cup has been empty for a while. It’s not unusual for him to drink fast. I bet he wishes it was an alcoholic beverage. He’d feel right at home then.
“Nicholas,” Mom speaks. “Do you want more tea?”
I thin my eyes at him, demanding him to say no and leave. Instead, he grins sardonically at me, his dark brown gaze never leaving my face. “Please, Linda.”
When she moves from her space, I shuffle away from him and pull my phone from my pocket. I check the multiple missed calls Caleb has left, but none of them link to any voice messages. I hit his name, then send him a quick text, asking if everything’s okay. I want to call him. If it were just my parents here, I would. Suddenly, my stomach turns. What if Caleb had a falling out with his father and he’s on his way here? Blood drains from my face and pools in my toes. Nick has to go.
I look at Dad as he sits there in his favorite armchair, drumming his fingers against the wood trimmings. Not for the first time tonight, I marvel over how much younger he looks. He’s lost weight, at least thirty
pounds, and his skin is no longer that constant, sore shade of pink. I can see my face in his now his structure is better seen under his skin.
“Dad, can you please give us a minute?” I decide to be honest. “Nick and I aren’t on good terms, so his visit is a shock to me. I’d like to speak to him in private…”
Dad flicks his stare between us before he nods and lifts himself out of his seat with a lot more ease than he used to. “I’ll help your mom with the tea.”
I watch him leave the room and enter the kitchen. The second his back disappears behind the wall, I snap.
“What’re you doing here?” I demand in a harsh whisper. “How’d you get my parents’ address?”
I clench my fists against the urge to hit him, to squeeze his hair in my hands and pull until the follicles separate from his skull. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate Nick, not in my life.
“You gave it to me.”
I pause. Did I? No. I know I didn’t. This is what he does. He says I’ve done things, said things, that I swear I never did. I mean, I wouldn’t have given him parents’ address. Would I? In what conversation would my parents’ address even come up? In fact, the only way he’d know my parents’ address is if…he went through the blue storage box under my bed. It’s the only explanation. There’s no way Fiona would’ve told him.
“You snooped through my things?” I hiss, pushing myself to my feet.
He exposes his palm to me with a lax smile, as if my reaction to his prying through my personal belongings is over the top. “Relax. It was a box full of paper. There wasn’t anything private in there.”
I blink at him. What’s not private about a box hidden under a bed?
“You don’t get to decide what’s private and what isn’t.” A clang of dishes in the kitchen forces me to swallow my volume. I hold my breath, and when neither of my parents emerge, I blow it out. “What are you doing here?”