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Author: Kristan Higgins
I disentangled myself. “Thank you, Mark. Um…who told you?” I stepped back, letting Bowie go through his ritualistic sniff the visitor routine. My face felt hot.
“I just stopped by the Whoop & Holler,” he said. “Shaunee Cole told me. ” Word did spread in a town this size. “Are you all alone?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, hesitating. “Um…come on in. Would you like something to drink?”
“Sure. Let’s raise a glass to old Noah. ”
Part of me bristled. Old Noah never liked you, Mark. Thought you were pompous. But Mark was being kind. Besides, I guess we needed to talk.
A minute later, we were seated on the old leather couch in front of the fire, each of us with a finger or two of whiskey.
“To your grandfather. A better boat builder there never was,” he said.
“Cheers,” I returned, dutifully clinking my glass against his. Took a sip. I never liked whiskey. Mark drained his, I noted.
“Take as much time off as you need,” he said.
I took a deep breath. “Actually, Mark, I need to talk to you about work. ” I traced Hello Kitty’s face on my pajamas, then took a deep breath. “I’m giving notice. Might be best if it was effective immediately, given the circumstances. ”
Mark didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to breathe. Then he blinked and inhaled abruptly. “Callie, sweetheart, don’t be rash. That’s crazy. You can’t leave. ”
I paused. “Well, actually, I can. ”
“You’re upset. Your grandfather just died. You shouldn’t make this decision now. ”
“I didn’t. I made it earlier today. ”
He blinked, then rubbed his forehead. “All right, let’s be blunt. Is this about me?”
I considered his face, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown, those lovely dark eyes, the ever-rakish hair. The face of Lord Byron or something…romantic and expressive and ridiculously handsome. Ian’s face wasn’t quite so good-looking, but it was far more interesting, full of hidden nuances and almost smiles. Mark might embody male beauty, but Ian…Ian’s face told quite a story. Mark was simply blank perfection.
“Callie,” Mark whispered, taking my hand.
I took it back. “You know what, Mark? You’re right. It is about you. ” I took a throw pillow and clutched it against my stomach. “I want to be honest here, because it’s just dawning on me that I haven’t been honest with you. Ever, maybe. ”
He pulled a face. “Don’t be silly. ”
“No,” I said. “I haven’t been. The truth is, Mark, I…I was in love with you for years. A long time. Well before the Santa Fe thing. ”
Mark opened his mouth, started to say something, then reconsidered. “Uh…okay. Go on. ”
“Well, first there was high school, Gwen’s basement, all that. ” He smiled a little, and I continued. “Then later on, ever since the day I interviewed with you, I just sort of sat there like some hopeful puppy, waiting for you to notice me. ” Bowie yipped in support.
“Of course I noticed you, Callie,” Mark said impatiently. “I’ve always thought you were great. ”
I snorted. “Right. But it took three years and a near-death experience for us to hook up. And the thing was, I didn’t mind. I was completely head over heels, and at long last, it seemed like you felt the same way. For a few days, anyway. When we got back, you got all squirrelly and I thought, okay, well, he just needs some time. So I waited some more, thinking any day you were going to realize you loved me, too. ” I shook my head. “That night…the night you broke up with me, when you made that nice dinner—I actually thought you were going to propose, Mark. ”
He looked at his hands, and a slight flush colored his cheeks.
“And then you gave me that bullshit line about timing. ”
“Callie, that wasn’t bullshit. ”
“Um…bullshit, Mark. ”
He exhaled in exasperation. “All right, fine, Callie. Look. You and me…Santa Fe, that was a mistake. It was special, but the timing was wrong, and I should never have slept with you. I’m sorry. ”
Even though I was over him, the words stung like little bees.
“But, Callie,” he continued, “that doesn’t mean you should quit! You love what you do. And you’re great at it!”
“I know,” I said. “I just…I just want something different now. And quite frankly, I don’t like the way Muriel’s steamrolled everyone at the agency. I just want to move on and make a clean break. I’ve wasted enough time on you, Mark. ”
He shook his head. “I had no idea you felt this way,” he muttered.
“Yes, you did!” I barked, making him jump. “And you played me! You’re still playing me! Just tonight, you told me how special I was. You knew how I felt, and you used it, and you’ve been using it for years. ” He shot me a guilty look, and I sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Mark, my grandfather died today, and to be honest, you’re the last person I want here. I quit. Please go. We’ll talk next week, okay?”
He stood up. “All right. But we’re not done. And I don’t accept your resignation, because I think you’re upset and sad and you shouldn’t make a big decision right now. Just think about it, okay?”
“I don’t need to. ”
“Well…do it anyway. ” He took a ragged breath. “Look, I didn’t mean to make your day worse, Callie. I just wanted to say how sorry I was about Noah. I know how much you loved him. ”
That was always the problem with Mark. He was never all bad. “I appreciate that,” I said more gently. I got up and walked him to the door. “Thanks for coming. ”
“You’re welcome,” he answered, opening the door.
Ian stood on the porch, wearing scrubs and no coat, despite the cold autumn air.
“Ian,” I breathed. Bowie began crooning with joy.
Ian looked at me, then Mark. “I was in surgery,” he said hesitantly. “A dog was…well. ” He swallowed. “I just got your message now, Callie. ”
“I was just leaving,” Mark muttered. “Good night. ” He trudged out to his car, got in and drove away, his taillights harsh in the dark night. Behind me, Bowie whined, then flopped on the floor, offering his belly for a rub, should anyone be so inclined.
“Is it too late?” Ian asked.
“For what?”
“For company?”
“Not for yours,” I answered, and with that, Ian wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the forehead.
“I’m so sorry about Noah,” he whispered.
“Thank you,” I said, and he was so warm and strong and gentle that tears once again sloshed out of my eyes.
“Do you want to talk?” Ian asked.
“I just want to go to bed,” I squeaked, my face pressed against his chest.
“Okay, sweetheart,” he said. He’d never called me anything but Callie before, and it made me cry harder. Ian closed the door, said some kind words to Bowie, and led me upstairs, turning off lights as he went. “Need to brush your teeth or anything?” he asked.
“No,” I wept. “I’m all set. ”
He tossed all my little throw pillows over the side of the bed and turned down the quilt. “In you go,” he said, and I obeyed, feeling so heavy and tired all of a sudden.
Ian pulled the covers up to my chin, then bent to kiss my hair. I caught his hand, and he sat at the edge of the bed, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand, and the thought came to me that Ian McFarland would make a great husband, a great father, a great anything.
“I’m really sorry about last night,” I whispered.
“Well,” he said, smoothing back my hair. “Your heart was in the right place, I guess. I’m sorry, too. ” He looked down at the quilt, traced a piece of fabric. “She’s never going to be easy, Callie. ”
“I guess not,” I said.
“Are we done with that, then?”
I nodded.
“I thought you broke up with me last night, when you left,” he said, not looking up.
My breath caught. “Oh. No, Ian. We just…we just had a fight. ”
“Okay. ” He swallowed, and my heart seemed to swell abruptly.
“In fact, I was going to come over for some wild monkey make-up sex. But then I came home and found Noah, and…and…well…” My face scrunched up.
“Oh, hey,” Ian said, and honestly, nothing on earth ever felt as good as those solid arms around me. He pressed my face against his neck and let me cry.
“Can you stay with me tonight?” My voice sounded small.
Ian pulled back and looked at me with those summer-blue eyes. “That’s why I came,” he said simply.
Then he pulled off his scrubs and came into bed with me, holding me so close that my cheek rested over his heart. Within seconds, I fell asleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THE DAY OF NOAH’S burial was cold and gray. We gathered at the funeral home in the morning. There would be no church service, as per Noah’s orders…just two hours for a wake, then on to the cemetery.
In an oddly beautiful tribute, the River Rats had asked my mom if they could bring in one of Noah’s kayaks, which they set up behind the casket in the Serenity Room. The boat was one of Noah’s most beautiful designs…a long, sleek vessel, the red cedar inlaid with white oak. As it always had, the dichotomy of my grandfather struck me…the rough-talking old man with callused hands who could produce such a thing of lightness and grace. Quite a legacy he left behind.
It was strange, all of us here in the funeral home—our home—all of us together, this time as mourners. I wished Noah could’ve seen Mom and Dad together again. Maybe he knew now. Freddie looked somber and mature in his suit, standing next to Bronte, slipping Josephine butter rum Life Savers and telling the girls jokes when they got too weepy. Mom let Louis run the show, and Dad, handsome as ever, greeted the people who paid homage to his father.
Jody was in the receiving line, too. I’d gone to see her the day after Noah died and broke the news, then asked her to stand with us. “I’d like that,” she’d said in a small voice. Then she gripped my hand with surprising strength. “Thank you, Callie. ”
“Well. Anyone who can do a full split and put up with my grandfather deserves some recognition,” I murmured.
“He thought the world of you,” she said.
“Right back at you,” I said, and then the two of us had had a good cry.
Ian was here, too, standing in the back of the room like a mastiff…quiet and calm and protective. He brought me a glass of water, fished a handkerchief out of his pocket when I got a little tearful.
“Who even carries these anymore?” I asked, wiping my eyes.
“I stocked up after I met you,” he said, looking down at me. He gave my hand a squeeze, then returned to his post in the back of the room, bending slightly as Elmira Butkes asked him a question about that Methuselah of cats, Mr. Fluffers. All the hip-hop yoga ladies had come, as well as the River Rats, not to mention at least a dozen people who’d bought their boats from Noah’s Arks.
“I’m so sorry, hon,” said Annie, Jack and Seamus in tow. She was teary-eyed, too. “You doing okay?”
“Doing okay,” I confirmed.
She wiped her eyes. “Okay. I’m around. I’m on call for you. Will drop everything at a moment’s notice. We can get drunk, eat cake batter, curse, whatever you need. ”
I smiled damply. “I know. Thanks, Annie. ”
“Sorry for your loss, Callie,” Jack said, giving me a hug.
“The least you can do is cop a feel, Jack,” I said, hugging him back.
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