“Are you still doing the same kind of work that brought you aboard the Sea Force?”
I hesitate. “I’m using the same skill set. I’m sorry, I really can’t say more than that.”
“That’s fine. Does it give you the same kind of satisfaction the work you did for Alliance did?”
“Yes,” I answer unwaveringly. “The work helps people on a more local level, so I see the impacts much closer to home, though there are still occasionally the instances where I have to travel internationally. And I can talk about 90 percent of my work with Libby. If I’m having a bad day, she knows. If we solved a case…oops.” I grin sheepishly. “Can we strike the last part?”
Dr. Powell grins. “Of course. But continue. I like where this was going.”
“Something as simple as talking can save not just something as defined as a marriage, but something as critical as a heart,” I conclude.
“Well said, Cal. Libby, what about you?”
“Love can be taken from you in an instant. Sometimes we need to remember that in order to appreciate the gift of it. In the process of breaking, I learned the process of healing and forgiveness.” Libby’s voice is rough with emotion.
“And you’re happy? Both of you?”
We simultaneously answer, “Yes.”
Leaning forward, Dr. Powell rests his hand on top of the one I have wrapped around Libby’s. “It couldn’t happen to two people who deserve it more.”
“Damn you, Doctor. I’m pregnant.” Libby swipes her free hand beneath her eyes.
He just smiles at us both before leaning back. “Let me do the sign-off, and then I’d like to give you both a message.”
Libby and I exchange confused looks while Dr. Powell faces the camera to his left. “Five years ago, today, twenty people were rescued from the Sea Force, including Elizabeth Sullivan and Lincoln McCallister. Their lives are bound by these tragic events for all of history. And now, I’ve learned they’re all bound by something else—a newfound appreciation for things we may take for granted every day: love, faith, and freedom. It has been astounding to listen to their journeys. I wish them nothing but the best in their futures. This is Dr. Bern Powell with The Truth.”
“And, we’re out,” a voice calls.
We all let out a collective sigh. “Libby,” Dr. Powell says.
“Yes?”
“I went to see Linc last week in Texas. He asked me to pass on this message to you.” Dr. Powell reaches into his folder and pulls out a tamper-evident envelope. I recognize it immediately from my work at Alliance. “It hasn’t been read,” he assures us quickly.
“I would never think that,” Libby chides him. Tearing open the top, a plain white envelope falls into her hands. It has her name scrawled on it. “Do you mind if I read it here?” she asks me.
“Go ahead, honey,” I encourage her. I know Libby worries about Linc. Our reunion has only one dark spot for my wife—knowing that Camille McCallister died on the Sea Force and Linc will have to wait years to be reunited with her.
Libby flips open the letter and begins to read. As her eyes dart back and forth, I take a leisurely study of her face. Her dark lashes practically touch her rose-colored cheeks. Her perfectly plump lips part in pleasure. “Oh, Linc.” She folds the letter back up and slips it back into the envelope before handing it to me.
I know she’ll tell me what’s in it later.
“He seemed to be doing better when I talked with him. I hope that eases your mind some,” Dr. Powell murmurs.
“It does. Thank you.” We all stand.
“I’d like to wish you nothing but happiness, Libby, Cal. Time, it’s a fickle thing. It fades the memories of those who don’t have heart behind their memories. I don’t know if we’ll meet again.”
I hold out my hand, and Dr. Powell shakes it. “Your story helped more people than you know.”
“Even so, thank you for caring about more than just the story. Thank you for caring about us,” Libby whispers. She leans forward and gives him a quick hug.
“Be happy, Libby.”
She nods, too overwhelmed to talk. Guiding her away, we head back toward the green room to have our mics removed so we can head back to Akin Hill for the rest of our visit.
* * *
It’s done.
Eight hours after walking into the local Charleston TV studio, Libby and I exit the building just before sunset. We’re hand in hand, both of us surviving not only what we endured today but what happened five years ago. I squeeze her hand, still unable to believe that despite the millions of reasons I gave her in the early years of our marriage to give up and walk away, it happened only once.
And somehow, I found the path to bring her back home.
Love. Honesty. Trust.
Tucking Libby tightly against my side, I feel her stop in her tracks. Right in front of us is an amazing view of the Atlantic Ocean laid out in front of us. “And right there is the reason that calls to me each year why I should keep remembering the past. But now, I have a brand-new one that’s going to keep me focused on the future.” Her voice is almost serene as her hand drops to cover our child.
Carefully, I murmur, “Nothing we do will bring them back.”
“No, but it helped keep their spirit alive in the hearts and minds of those who forgot.” Even as I hold her, Libby’s mind goes to only places she can go. After a minute of doing exactly what she’s needed me to do from the very beginning of our relationship—just be there for her—she blinks. And smiles.
I turn her more fully into my arms. “Each time you smile, my heart falls in love with you all over again.”
“Aren’t you lucky I’ve been blessed with so much to smile about?” she teases.
But there isn’t anything resembling laughter in my voice when I choke out, “Yes. And I thank God every day you still consider me one of them.”
Libby presses against my chest tightly, her own wrapping around my back. Her head rests just over my heart. “And I thank God you were brought into my life.” I feel her warm breath through my shirt.
Each beat of our hearts is louder than the slap of the waves against the sea wall next to us.
After first speaking with Dr. Rhumed after Libby and I first reconciled, he reminded me about a quote attributed to Buddha—that the two mistakes we make when it comes to telling the truth are not doing it or only doing it partially. I shudder. I have little doubt my wife was able to come out as adjusted despite what happened on the Sea Force because she was in the middle of an alternate trauma all because of my arrogance and narcissism and my inability to recognize that the strength of convictions of the woman cradled in my arms.
I could have lost it all through my deception and half-truths. Instead, I found the right reason to go to battle—love. I wasn’t about to give up without the fight of my life.
“I love you, Libby. Always,” I conclude, my breath moving the fine pieces of her hair.
Libby’s head tips back. “And I love you, Cal. I always will.”
When our lips come together, I taste the salt air between them. Or are those my tears as the emotions overwhelm me?
In the years since we started over and rebuilt our lives on a foundation that will withstand the battering that life’s day-by-day will throw at it, I’ve learned life is precious; love is a miracle. And protecting it by lying is harming it from the inside out. And the harm will continue to spread just like a ripple effect.
Epilogue
Calhoun - Five Years Later
I’m sitting at my desk when the video comes through as a text to my phone. Pressing Play, the air rushes out of my lungs in a single whoosh. Her sweet voice comes through perfectly clear over the screeching laughter of the other children at the playground. “I love you, Daddy!”
Then, the camera pans over to where Libby’s pushing the swing in a ray of sunshine, her body gently ripe with our next child, who’s due in a couple of months.
Before I can send a text to thank Ali for sending me the v
ideo, my boss strolls through the door as if he owns the place. Well, since he and his best friend actually started the company and still own the majority of it, I can understand why his attitude wouldn’t necessarily change. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.
My counterpart in our Connecticut location tells me it’s worse for him. “At least you don’t have to deal with him stealing food on a regular basis just because he used to work in your office. You’ve got a sweet new one,” Colby grumbled good-naturedly.
“I didn’t, until Keene happened to be here for a routine visit last quarter,” I retorted.
A chair creaked in my ear. “What happened?” Colby asked curiously.
“Libby baked my favorite cake for my birthday. She surprised me with it at work. I was gone for ten minutes to answer a question on the floor. Half the cake was gone!”
Colby laughed in my ear.
With a bemused smile, I face the man who a lifetime ago told me I’d find him when the time was right. He made it easy and sought me out instead.
“Are the girls having a good time?” Keene drops his tall frame into the chair opposite my desk.
Holding out my phone, I show him the video. His normally stern countenance softens when Leah’s sweet little voice calls out to me. “She’s getting so big, Cal,” he tells me as he passes the phone back.
“I know.” Shaking my head, I admit, “I’m in awe every single day.”
Keene taps the file he came in with against his leg. “There’s a million reasons why none of this should exist for either of us.” Pushing to his feet, he tosses the file on top of the others on my desk. “And there’s one why we have it all.”
Curious as fuck what Keene Marshall—who normally embodies the term “sanctimonious prick”—has to say, I ask, “Why?”
“Because for some incomprehensible reason, they love us as much as we do them.” Making his way to the door of my office, he smiles. Something I’ve learned he does as rarely as I do unless he’s talking about his wife and daughters.
Just like Libby’s love managed to pull mine out of me.
Even as Keene’s closing the door behind him, I’m dialing Libby’s cell.
She picks up breathlessly on the third ring. “Hey, honey.”
“She has to go to daycare at some point, Libs,” I admonish her gently.
Libby’s peal of laughter warms all the spots of my soul that are swamped with guilt when I still have to travel or work keeps me late at the office. I never want us to ever get back to that place we were at ten years ago.
When I voiced my concerns in our bed late one night, Libby scalded me with a glare that should have filleted the skin from my body. “That won’t ever happen again. That, I can assure you.”
“It’s one day, Cal. Besides, all of Ali’s girls are here. Truth be told, it’s like we’re running our own daycare.”
Laughter roars out of me. “And there’s that sass.”
“You know you love it,” she replies pertly.
“I know I love you, Libs. Always.”
Her husky “I love you too” only temporarily derails me. “Leah is never going to get potty trained, Libs. You were the one so adamant about sending her to this daycare because they had a ‘potty whisperer.’ How can Agnes work her magic if our child isn’t there?”
“Fair point,” she concedes. “But it’s two days, Cal.”
“Two days where she’s going to wet the bed,” I mutter.
“Fine, I’ll be the one to change the sheets,” Libby sighs.
I stand up and pump my fist up and down, grateful the glass that takes up an entire wall of my office so I can monitor the ops center is one-way. “Good. Do you need me to get Jax from school if you and Ali have all the girls?”
“No, honey. We have two cars. Ali said she’ll follow me to the school and then to the house.”
Sitting back down, I muse, “I never thought I’d be on a double date with my boss on a night like tonight.”
“Me either, but I’m definitely not complaining. I’ll see you at home by four?”
“Absolutely. Drive safe.”
“Will do.” Libby hangs up, and I dive back into work so we can be finished by the time I have to leave to head home.
* * *
“I’m so nervous.” Libby twists her fingers together as we all sit in the back of the car taking us to the Harman Center for the Arts where the annual Premier Design Awards are being held. Deja Vu is nominated for the complete overhaul of the 80,000-square-foot space that now houses the mid-Atlantic headquarters of Hudson Investigations.
“You shouldn’t be,” Keene declares.
“Normally I’d tell Keene to stop being so arrogant, but he’s right, Libby.” Ali reaches over and pats Libby’s knee. “It’s a spectacular space.”
“It must pain you to say Keene’s right,” I joke.
“To no end, Cal.” Ali beams a smile at me.
We all laugh, but I still feel Libby’s anxious movement. “Libs? Aren’t you the one who told me just being nominated is a huge honor?” I slide my arm over her shoulder and squeeze.
She rests against me. “It is. It’s just…I don’t just want to win just for me.”
“Is it because of all the people you had working on the building?”
“Something like that,” she says mysteriously.
I frown but don’t get the chance to say more as we pull up. Our door is opened by a helpful valet. Keene helps Ali from the car. Quickly, I slip out and hold my hand out for Libby, who looks brilliant in a black maternity suit with a shiny silver camisole beneath it. My heart quickens. Silver? She hasn’t worn anything silver since she was pulled from the ocean after she was aboard the Sea Force.
What’s going on?
Taking her hand, I feel the fine trembling she’s trying to hide. I squeeze it. Just as we enter the glass doors, I lean down and whisper, “I love you, Libby. Always.”
Her hair is pulled back from her face with a pair of combs. It’s rippling down her shoulders like perfect mahogany waves. But her eyes are filled with every minute of love we’ve ever shared since the moment we’ve met. “I love you too, Cal.” Turning, she lets out a nervous breath. “Let’s do this.”
* * *
A little less than two hours later, the awards for designs in the 60-100,000-square-foot space are being announced. It comes as no surprise to me when “Project: HI DC Headquarters” is announced as the winner. Nor am I terribly surprised when Libby’s hand claps over her mouth as she’s overcome with emotion.
She and the members of her design and construction team stand to head toward the stage to receive the award. I’m applauding and whistling as Libby takes the stage. She’s handed a black frame that almost dwarfs her luscious frame. And the spotlight catches the light off the silver camisole peeking above it.
“Thank you all so much.” Everyone sits down as Libby starts to speak. “You all know the pressure to go through the blind bid process; imagine my surprise when I found out exactly what I was bidding on! I didn’t know who the client was, only to find out it was my husband’s company.” She’s interrupted by the titter of laughter around the room. Leaning back into the microphone, she tacks on, “Trust me, it’s much harder than you think to design this kind of space knowing the kind of work your husband does every day. Because it has to be perfect. Lives are on the line. I should know. At one point, mine was one of them.”
Silence descends upon the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ali reach for Keene’s hand. Libby keeps talking. “Ten years ago, the week we cut the ribbon on the DC headquarters of his new office, my husband and some of his colleagues saved my life and the lives of twenty other people on the Sea Force. The work they do requires long, arduous hours. And it often requires sacrifice as these men and women often spend time away from their loved ones to save people they’ve never met. People like you and me.”
My eyes begin to sting as Libby continues. “When I designed HI DC, I knew the workspace had to be sli
ck, but there had to be places to unwind. Technology was paramount as were state-of-the-art training facilities. And above all, I wanted to create a space where the men and women who worked there would always remember who they were fighting for.” Libby takes an enormous breath. “So, I designed the saltwater reef in the lobby. After all, water is probably the best demonstrator to remind people that no matter what happens, you can recover from the effects of what happened to you. Rippling water is always moving, always changing—just like life is. And these men and women are determined to alter the course of people’s lives for the better.”
From my seat in the fourth row, I’m certain Libby can’t see the tears I can taste on my face. She goes on. “What made the HI DC project even more special was the contractor I had the pleasure of working with. Again, as if it was meant to be, this contracting firm had only recently expanded their business to the mid-Atlantic from Texas. It must have been fate when she put her bid in. Then again, maybe it took her father that long to be able to let her out of his sight considering she looks so much like her mother.” Libby smiles. There’s a tinge of sadness to it.
The anxiety.
The silver.
The woman standing just behind my wife who she beckons forward has long blonde hair.
And I don’t know how I know, but I do. And I want to run up on stage and kiss my wife senseless for her vast pride, her overwhelming courage, and her constant ability to show the world she’s a survivor.
And so is Linc’s family.
“If it wasn’t for the incredible wisdom of McCallister Construction about all the necessary security requirements, headed by the amazing project lead, Bethany McCallister”—Libby confirms my guess as her voice moves on and gets stronger—“the things we wanted to accomplish would never have been possible. So, my profound thanks to them. To my own design team—Stacie, Jennifer, and Milicia, every day I’m grateful for each and every one of you. Deja Vu DC would not be the same without your brilliance. And of course, none of this would have been possible without the support of our family and friends.” Holding the frame aloft, she calls into the microphone, “Thank you all very much!”
Ripple Effect Page 30