“Victoria?” He isn’t sure what he is asking. Are you okay? No, she is not okay. Can I help you? No, he cannot help her. There isn’t a good enough question to ask.
“Victoria?” he repeats, because she needs know she isn’t alone.
Finally, she hears him and looks into his face with fear in her eyes. It is the first sign of fear he has seen from her since the day they met.
“Callum, we have to go back. I’ll call Lacey. I want my house back. This was a mistake. I thought I could do it, but I can’t. I’ll wake Marina. You get the car out of the valet.” She walks inside toward the bedroom and she almost reaches the door before he can stop her.
He tosses the crutches aside and silently lifts Victoria off her feet into his arms before she can wake her daughter. It is awkward and there is some hopping involved, but he carries her back to the sofa and sits with her across his lap. She curls into him and cries thirteen years of tears for the night that changed her life forever.
Her mother had died three months before. The aneurysm took her suddenly, and Victoria and her father were reeling from the shock and grief. He tried to pretend everything was fine. He smiled, worked, read the paper, played tennis. She couldn’t fake it. School was torture. The rest of her time was spent in her room. She quit cheerleading, gave up her weekend job at a horse farm and refused to see anyone.
George pushed her to go out with friends. He didn’t know what else to do. She was so social before. She got her energy from other people. She was never a loner. His boss’s son had a formal dance and he asked Victoria to join him. George wanted his sharp-witted, happy girl back. She would remember how to be the belle of the ball. Before her mother died, she was full of laughter and every day was a celebration. He wanted her to remember how to be that girl so he pushed her to go to the formal.
She came home four hours after her midnight curfew. She stumbled in the door, covered in filth with blood running down her legs.
“Daddy,” she said before she fell to the floor.
When the tears and panic subside, she drinks the bourbon down, pointing at her glass for Callum to pour another. She drinks that one down too but keeps her seat on his lap and leans into his chest.
“How did she know Callum?”
He tells her about the night they cooked the lobster penne. He shares everything he remembers about his conversation with Marina and the rape crisis center talk at school.
“Should I have told you then?” he asks. “It didn’t seem right either way.”
She turns her eyes to his and he can feel the heat from her bourbon warmed breath, they are that close. He feels a shift inside himself and it is not physical. He feels himself sliding to a different place.
“No,” she says. “Marina trusted you and you were right to keep it between the two of you. You did right telling me now though. It is clearly eating at her the nearer we get to Asheville.”
He holds her close. He likes having her close. Under any other circumstance on the planet, he would kiss her, undress her, lay her on the floor and devour her. Instead, he plays with the curls at the back of her hair. This is probably how people fall in love, he thinks. Fuck. This is what happens when you don’t fuck. The wanting to fuck leads to talking and caring and makes you fall in love. FUCK.
He must go tense because she sits up straighter. “Callum?” she asks.
There is too much going on here, too much emotion, and he doesn’t know what to do. This feeling of wanting to be here for her, not just in her, is growing. How do you comfort a woman when you can do literally nothing to help her? Nothing. Sex? He could make her feel so good. Sex is the best he has to offer her.
“Callum, thank you for caring for Marina enough to be honest with me. You have been such a good friend to us both.”
He smiles at her sentiment. Maybe he can give her more than a fantastic orgasm. “Do you want to talk or get some sleep?”
She looks genuinely torn. “Sleep, I think?” she asks, more than she says.
They both know talking means talking about the rape. That seems the next logical step. Callum finds it hard to believe that rehashing it and reliving it would be cathartic for her, but he isn’t ready to give her up yet. “Just sit another minute or two.” Under any other circumstances, he reminds himself.
And then she does it. Despite the fact she is reliving horrors, maybe because of it, her lips find his for the second time. Her lips are warm and soft and when her tongue touches his, he can taste the bourbon. My god he loves bourbon. He’s never going back to scotch. His hands reach into her hair to pull her closer and her hands find his chest, finally. She unbuttons three buttons, without moving her mouth from his, then a fourth, to get her hands on his skin. When she gets the angle she wants, she exhales with a sigh of satisfaction. Her hands are like a fire on his skin.
He takes his hands from her hair and holds the small of her waist, using his thumbs to lift her shirt an inch at a time. When he finds her skin, he loses the air from his lungs and pulls her closer with a hand on each hip. The smallest sound of acquiescence escapes her lips. But. He wants her, but he doesn’t want her while she is thinking about a man who hurt her. Suddenly sex as a distraction doesn’t seem enough.
“Victoria,” he whispers into her mouth.
She appears to take his whisper as a confirmation of his passion and bites his lower lip, just a little. That same delicious sigh escapes his mouth. There is no stopping it. He pulls her hips closer and imagines what it would be like to be inside of her. His hands raise along her back, feeling the heat from her skin. But. Damn it.
“Victoria,” he says again, more dispassionately, lying his forehead onto hers, breathing deeply.
His tone stops her cold. She slides her hands from his shirt, buttoning four buttons back up again before she rises from his lap slowly and regretfully. His dispassionate voice is not reflected by the fit of his jeans.
“I know,” she says. “I know.”
“Do you know how much I want you?” He doesn’t so much speak the words, as exhale them.
“Of course I do,” she gestures to the obvious. “Now is not the time though.”
“Sometimes I think you are going to react very differently than how you do. You often surprise me,” he says in admiration. This was likely to end with hurt feelings and slammed doors.
“Callum, I hate to tell you this, but you are about as transparent as that glass door.”
“Meaning?” he asks, not sure he wants to know.
“You are still working some things through from England. I have to get back into mine in Asheville. When all that is sorted out, we’ll see what is between us.” With that very accurate assessment, she kisses his lips and goes in to join her daughter, closing the door quietly behind her.
He refills his bourbon once again, drowning his sorrows and his passions. He wonders what Victoria will do about Marina. A girl can’t go through life knowing her father was a rapist. Then again, she’ll want the truth. They’ll arrive in Asheville in less than twenty-four hours. He imagines a little old house on a big hill with peeling paint and an old tire or two in the front yard.
The next morning Callum sleeps later than usual. The bourbon is better than a sleeping pill. They have left him a note about bringing back some breakfast. He showers and dresses and then hears them come in. Marina walks straight to Callum and hugs him tight around his waist.
“Thanks Callum,” she says “You were right about telling her.”
The smiles surprise Callum. Victoria sends her off to pack and hands Callum a large coffee and a bag from a nearby bakery. “Balcony? Bacon, egg and cheddar croissant,” she says. Just the way he likes it. They sit at the table outside despite the cold. “Callum, I had a long talk with Marina.”
He leaves the food untouched, waiting for her words.
“I was up most of the night figuring out what to tell her. I can’t have my girl growing up thinking her Daddy is a rapist.” He realizes she lied and starts to feel judgey.
>
“I don’t want her thinking of me as a victim, Callum. Or that she was unwanted. Or that genetically she is a monster. I can’t have any of that. You understand, don’t you?” she asks and there is only one answer to give. He nods because he doesn’t know what her alternative is. Judgment is easy, solutions are nearly impossible.
“I lied to her Callum. I told her that I got pregnant after high school and that her Daddy joined the military and died. I told her I loved him and he loved me and we were going to get married. I told her my father and I argued and I told her that I left Asheville because there were too many memories. I told her he was an only child and her grandparents have been dead for years. I lied and lied Callum. God forgive me.” She holds back her hair in a fist to keep it from the cold wind.
“Does anyone in Asheville know what happened? Is there any way she could learn the truth?” He examines all the angles since he has a fair bit of experience with lying.
“No, my father made sure of that. No one knows anything. Except the boy who did it and maybe his father.” She shivers against the cold air, remembering.
“Where is he now?” Callum asks.
“Dead I hope. But I don’t know. He never knew about Marina. I didn’t want him making a claim on her. My father wanted me to have an abortion. It was his boss’s son. My Dad wanted it quiet and forgotten. I wanted to press charges, but he didn’t want the embarrassment. At the time I thought he was embarrassed.” She pauses and releases her hair. It blows across her face as she looks out over the city. “Now that I have a daughter of my own, I know he was trying to protect me.”
“Victoria, is there a chance he is still in Asheville?” He doesn’t know how she could handle that.
She nods, showing more confidence than he thinks she feels. “It’s a big enough city for both of us,” she says, but she isn’t convincing. “Callum, I have to go back. Its time. I’m sticking with this story. She never needs to know anything more. If he’s there, he’ll never know she is his. My Dad would never have said a word about a baby.”
They pack up and drive the last leg of their trip through the mountains, into Asheville. By the time they arrive, the sun is low in the sky headed toward evening. They pull into a neighborhood that is not at all what Callum expected. The little old house on a hill is more of a huge beautiful old house on a corner. A low stone wall frames the huge corner setting for this majestic home. Brick chimneys top the turreted roof. A freshly painted white, wraparound porch looks bright against the gray of the house.
“This is where you grew up?” he asks, looking stunned. “It looks out of some southern architectural magazine.”
“Mom, this is really beautiful.” Marina seems just as surprised as Callum.
“What did you two expect?” Victoria asks, putting the car into park.
“I thought you were poor,” Callum says, not bothering to pretend.
“Why?” she laughs.
“The accent,” Marina answers before he has a chance to. “It sounds like bad teeth and a long beard.”
“And a refrigerator on the front porch,” Callum finishes for her. They high five before getting out of the car.
“My teeth are perfectly fine,” Victoria says absentmindedly as she watches her father walk the wide front steps to greet them.
Victoria’s first thought is that he is too old to be her father. His gray hair has gone white and he doesn’t stand as tall. Thirteen years have been hard on him. Her second thought is that his heart is failing. Congestive heart failure ages you fast. Why the hell did I stay away for so long? He opens his arms giving her the choice for how to greet him and she throws herself into his embrace.
“Daddy,” she says and she cries for the second time in two days. He holds her for a long time before she pulls back to look at him. “You are so old,” she cries. It’s funny how regret and anguish can sit side by side with hope and joy.
“Same little shit as always,” he says and hugs her like he’ll never let go, but he does and he holds her at arm’s length to take her in. “You are so beautiful. Just look at you.”
Marina stands next to the car, hiding behind Callum. Victoria holds out her hand for her daughter to come and meet her grandfather. Marina steps forward tentatively and examines him with critical blue eyes. This is the first relative she has ever met and there is a lot to take in.
“Hello,” he says, without forcing a perfunctory hug on her. She doesn’t know him from Adam and there is no need to pretend.
“Hello,” she says back and Callum steps forward to rescue her from the awkward.
He holds his crutches aside, offers his hand. “Callum Townsend. Very pleased to meet you.”
“George Bradley. Pleased to meet you too. Looks like you took a hit there.” He points to the leg.
“Apparently I’m not quite the skier I thought I was. Took a little tumble. These two have been a great help to me, Mr. Bradley.” Callum ruffles Marina’s hair.
“Call me George, please,” he says amicably. “Come on in and let’s get you settled.”
“Can I call you George?” Marina asks.
He studies the face of this granddaughter he has never met before like he would bottle up the moon and give it to her if he could.
“Of course darling. You can call me whatever you want. Your Momma used to call me George when she was being sassy. You can call me George or whatever you like.” George pulls a bag from the car, heavier than he should, given his heart condition.
“Daddy, let’s get those later. We’ll just bring in what we need for tonight. We’ve got this down to a science.” Victoria pulls out three overnight bags that they can manage on their own and George leads them into the house.
The house is large with a two story foyer and wrought iron railing, leading up dark wooden steps to the bedrooms upstairs. “I’m not walking the stairs like I used to, so I’ve moved down here.” He points to an office off the kitchen that has been converted into his living quarters. “All the bedrooms are made up. Rosalie still comes in every day. You all can take your pick and I’ll do anything I can to make you comfortable here. If you don’t like the beds…”
“I’m sure they are fine, Daddy,” Victoria says walking the stairs.
“Victoria, wait, there is one more thing. Your old room. Aside from dusting and changing the linens, it hasn’t been touched since the day you left. Now that you’re here, it feels odd. All the other rooms have been done over.”
This stops Victoria in her tracks. “Oh,” is all she says. Marina rushes past her up the stairs and closes the door to Victoria’s childhood bedroom. Even the thirteen year old knows that is too much for her mother to deal with today. Callum would have done it, but speed isn’t on his side these days. Marina impresses him.
They choose rooms more by color than anything. The master is painted in the palest yellow with a small patterned floral quilt. There is a white chair with a leather ottoman and a mosaic stone covered reading lamp by the bay window with a wide view of the mountains. The light wooden furniture is new and has a western flair. Victoria naturally settles there.
Another room is all dark reds and browns with a king size bed and luxurious large, square white pillows. A leather chair and ottoman fill the corner next to a heavy oak desk. A gray stone fireplace covers one wall with large windows on either side. There is also a private bath with a shower lined with jets and Callum is happy not to share it.
Marina runs back and forth between the last two and chooses the blue over the lavender. Both rooms are decorated with a teenager in mind. Victoria thinks a very smart decorator has recently been in this house. Marina’s double bed is lofted high with a desk and chair tucked underneath. The quilt is covered in blues and greens reminiscent of an ocean. Empty white frames in all sizes line the walls so she can make this room her own. There are Bluetooth speakers and empty bookshelves for her to line with the books she brought.
“Knock knock ya’all!” Victoria knows who that is from just three words. She ru
ns down the steps and wraps her arms around her childhood friend and next door neighbor, Mindy Raines. Mindy sets the baking dish she is holding on a nearby table to return the embrace properly.
“Mindy, why didn’t you age? You still look like the homecoming queen.” Victoria holds back Mindy’s arms and takes in her perfectly shiny, stylishly cut shoulder length blonde hair. She is trim and pretty with smiling green eyes and wearing a green dress to match. “You are gorgeous.”
Mindy takes the compliment in stride. This is not a new sentiment for her. She introduces her four sons ranging in age from two to ten and her husband, Will. Despite Victoria’s protests, within five minutes the car is emptied, all of the boxes and bags are in the appropriate rooms, the casserole is warming in the oven and then they are gone with promises of a future dinner together at Mindy’s house.
“Tonight’s just a quick hello not a visiting night. You all get your feet under you and then we’ll see you,” Mindy makes quick eyes up the steps towards Callum. These are the kind of expressions only old friends understand, but Victoria knows Mindy likes him plenty.
“Damn that girl is a cyclone,” George says when he closes the door behind her.
“She sure is. Dad, can we talk on the porch for a while before dinner, just you and me?”
“Sure, sure.” He leads the way out to a large glassed in porch making a quick stop in the kitchen for two beers from the fridge. She frowns at the fact that he is on medication and still stocking beer in the fridge. The porch is filled with ceramic potted plants and a seven foot tall lemon tree. They sit in white wicker rocking chairs.
“A beer never hurt nobody,” he says popping both caps and handing one to her.
They drink and she looks at her mountain. It looks more like Utah here during the winter. Utah is much drier during the summer and the mountains take on earthier tones. Everything here goes greener and greener.
“Dad, I need you to know something,” she starts. “I told Marina that her father died in Afghanistan. I told her we were going to get married after I found out I was pregnant, but he died first. I told her you and I argued and I left.” She tells him so he can keep her secrets, but he does her one better.
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