“Let me know. The job’s yours if you want it,” he said, and a lump had risen in my throat. People were awfully nice, but Hammill Farms was a little too far to commute. Then again, a move might not be the worst thing for me.
A soft knock came on the door. I looked up. Mark. “This is a tough day for us,” he said quietly. “Losing you.”
“Thank you,” I said, turning back to my packing.
“Is there any way you’d stay, Callie?” His voice was forlorn.
“No.”
He flopped on the couch where he’d sat so many times these past four years. “I wanted to apologize for the other day, Callie.”
“Go right ahead,” I said frostily, wrapping a picture of Bronte in tissue paper.
“To tell you the truth, I’d have said anything to get you to stay here.” He toyed with his cuff and didn’t look at me.
“Yeah. I got that.” I reached for the lumpy mug I’d always used for coffee.
Mark sighed, leaning forward and clasping his hands between his knees. “I’m sorry I didn’t fall in love with you, Callie. I wanted to. Back then, I mean.” He looked at me, but I just kept packing. “I wanted to feel the way you did, but I…didn’t, so I said it was a timing thing. Figured it would be easier that way.”
“What about Muriel?” I asked. “Did you really love her, or was she just part of the BTR account? Because that would make you a whore, of course.” I felt an unexpected wave of sympathy for the ice princess.
“I…I thought I loved her. She was…” He paused. “Different. Confident. In California, she seemed really…well, smart, and she didn’t seem to care about anything except work. Like me. I thought we were kindred spirits. I didn’t expect her to be quite so…clueless.” He looked down. “Maybe the only thing I’ve ever really loved is this company.”
“Don’t forget your reflection,” I said.
“Touché,” he muttered. “I deserve that.”
I sat down in my chair and looked at Mark, the first boy who’d ever kissed me. He was so handsome. And shallow. And heartless, not in a ruthless way, but just…lacking heart. At least now he was being honest.
And just like that, I decided to forgive him. Because I’d learned something from Ian. Forgiveness is what really sets a heart free.
“You were a great boss, Mark, and I really loved working here. Thank you for the opportunity.”
He looked up, startled, and after a second, his eyes grew wet. “You’re welcome. Good luck with everything, Callie.”
Then he stood up, extended his hand. I shook it, and then there was nothing left to say.
As I was just about ready to go, Fleur returned to her office, smelling like a wet ashtray and clutching a container of yogurt. She pretended not to see me, despite the fact that our work areas were separated by glass. I grabbed the gift I’d brought her and knocked loudly. “Hi,” I said.
“Callie! Right! Someone said you’d be in today. Well. Best wishes and all that.” She smiled, remorseless as a great white. Just following her instincts.
“Listen,” I said. “I know that scene at the regatta was awkward, but…well…” I faked a smile. “I always enjoyed working with you. So here’s a little farewell gift. I know living in Britain got you hooked on tea.” I handed over a little basket containing a china cup, a tea ball and a little bag of loose tea, all wrapped in cellophane and tied with yellow and orange ribbons.
“Wow, Callie, thank you!” she said, forgetting to sound British. Her face flushed. “That was really nice of you.”
“You’re welcome. Good luck with your career.”
“Same to you,” she replied, untying the ribbon. “I’ll have some right now.” She seemed to remember her accent. “Right. Could murder a cuppa.” She sniffed the tea. “Yummy. Herbal, is it?”
“It sure is,” I replied. “One hundred percent, all natural organic.”
Then I hefted my box into my arms and left Green Mountain Media for the last time, somehow forgetting to mention that the tea just happened to be Dr. Duncan’s Cleanse ’n Purge Weight Loss Jump-Start. When Fleur discovered an alien in her stomach about twelve hours from now, I hoped she’d think of me.
“BOWIE, DO YOU FEEL OKAY?” I asked my dog as I got dressed a few days later. “Do you need a checkup? Huh, buddy? Feeling a little off?” Bowie leaped in a circle, howling with joy, then froze, motionless, quivering with attention. Do I smell bacon? Somewhere, someone is cooking bacon!
Okay, apparently my dog was just fine, so no excuse to see Ian. Drat. Last night, clearly desperate for affection, I’d scanned YouTube for huskies who could say “I love you,” and then tried to teach Bowie to do the same. “Say you love Mommy,” I said now as my dog wagged furiously. “I love you! I love you, Bowie!”
Rehrahruuu, Bowie attempted gamely.
“Good boy! I love you! Say you love Mommy!”
“Jesus, Callie, this is sick! Can’t you just find a prostitute like everyone else?” my brother demanded, stomping into the room
“You’re more and more like Noah every day,” I said. “Not that he ever encouraged me to seek out a hooker.”
“Just go to Ian’s and do him, for crying out loud.”
“And he never said that, either. But the spirit is the same.”
“When are you moving?” Freddie asked grumpily.
“I’m looking for a place this afternoon,” I answered. “Just keep in mind that Noah left this place to me, young man, and just because I’m renting it to you doesn’t mean you get to be all bossy like Hester.”
This got a smile. “Okay. You can stay as long as you want. Just try to be out by next week.”
As tempting as sharing a house with Fred was…well, it wasn’t tempting at all. And though I loved Noah’s place, I didn’t want to live there without the old grump.
One of Jody Bingham’s many hobbies was real estate, and she was taking me house-hunting after lunch. “Okay, Bowie, I have to go, buddy,” I told my dog. “I’ll find the bacon. And I’ll bring it back! Yes, I will! I love you! Can you say that back? I love you!”
Rrrroooruh! was the best he could do. That’s what I got for adopting a mutt.
The first place Jody took me was a condo. It had a lovely kitchen and a sunny little deck, but it was too close to the highway for me. The second place was basically a hovel, and the instant we’d opened the door, the odor had turned us right around. “Sorry,” Jody said. “This third one is a winner, though. From the sound of it, anyway.”
“How are you these days, Jody?” I asked as we drove north out of town.
She sighed. “Well, I’m fine. I really enjoyed sparking with your grandfather. Miss him more than I ought, probably.”
“Nah,” I said. “You miss him as much as you want.”
She smiled fondly at me, and a warm glow of affection filled my chest. Nice to have a new friend, even if she had pirated my bathtub.
The third place was just off a twisting little road up Mount Kiernan. It was indeed a winner—a tiny, fairy-sized house with faded green shingles and a blue tin roof, hidden in a clump of massive pines. Some brave little marigolds were still toughing it out in a pot by the yellow front door. Yellow was my favorite color…a sign, maybe? There was a minuscule front porch…big enough, however, for my rocking chair and a little table and a cuppa joe.
“Sold,” I murmured before I even got out of the car. There were no neighbors, just the pines and the view…woods and fields, the glint of Trout River to keep me company, the spire of St. Andrew’s marking my town.
The inside was snug and cozy, a far cry from Noah’s echoing forty-foot ceilings and arching beams. Ample counters in the small but well-designed kitchen, a little table overlooking the backyard, which was just a scattering of pine needles and a decrepit stone wall. Two tiny bedrooms (I could use one for a closet), a serviceable bathroom, a sleeping loft above. “I’ll take it,” I said, smiling at Jody.
“Excellent,” she said. “Callie, have you found a job yet?”
“Oh, I can afford it, don’t worry. I have savings,” I assured her. “And Noah left me a nest egg.”
“No, I was just wondering about work, if you’d found anything.”
I grimaced. “No. Not yet.”
She nodded. “Well, listen up. There’s an opening at the Senior Center. Director. Timmy McMann left for bigger and better things, so we’re looking. You’d have to deal with the town, draw up the budget, manage the entire staff of two, apply for grants…the usual garbage. But I think you’d be wonderful. Not nearly enough people use the place, and you’re good at drawing people to you. Care to apply?”
I blinked. “Um…yes! Thank you, Jody!”
“You’re a shoo-in with my recommendation, so make sure you want it, honey. The description’s online.”
And so it was a productive afternoon… I had a new friend, a new residence and, most likely, a new job. Noah’s was empty when I came home, as Freddie was out with Lily Butkes, Elmira’s daughter. I set my purse and keys in their usual spot and picked up the phone. Almost before I realized what I was doing, Carmella answered. “Georgebury Veterinary Practice, how can I help you?”
“Hey, Carmella, it’s Callie Grey.”
A second or two passed. “Hi, Callie,” she said.
“Um…is Ian there, by chance?” I could just about picture the index card taped to Carmella’s phone: Callie Grey—No. That and a picture of me with a big X through my face.
Another pause. “He is here, Callie, but he’s with a patient. Can I take a message?”
“Do you know if he’s busy later?” I asked, cringing. Hi. I’m pathetic. Want to be my friend?
“Uh… He’s actually going out of town for a couple days, Callie. Maybe you could call him at home?” And leave me alone?
“Okay. Sorry, Carmella. Didn’t mean to bother you.”
“No bother, sweetie.”
Great. She was being nice. Ian must really hate me. Or maybe not. Maybe he just got sick of me. He was a man who was trying to make order out of the chaos of his life, and I was a messy addition, after all, with my crying and blubbering and lateness and slutty shoes and a sister who announced middle-aged impregnations all over town and a brother who attracted drug-sniffing dogs. Ian was…well, he was probably looking for something else.
It was pretty clear he wasn’t looking for me…not when I was just sitting here, waiting to be found.
Rreehhhrruuhrrooo! Bowie nudged my hand with his nose.
“I love you, too, Bowie,” I said, then wiped my eyes and took a look in my closet to see what I’d need to purge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE DAY BEFORE MY parents once again pledged themselves to each other was my last day at Noah’s.
I’d already moved most of my stuff to my tiny house. My big old leather couch, my many houseplants and pictures of my nieces, my shoe collection. I bought café curtains for the kitchen in a green fern print, scavenged a couple of things from my parents…an end table and lamp from Dad, an old brass tub from Mom that looked really sweet outside the front door.
Next week, I’d start at the Senior Center. As Jody predicted, I was offered the job almost immediately. Who knew one feeble hip-hop class would generate so much goodwill? It paid less than I made at Green Mountain Media, but that was okay. Something Ian’s aunt had said had stuck in my brain…my job in advertising had been to make people buy more crap. And let’s be honest; most people didn’t really need more crap.
The Senior Center, on the other hand, gave the older people in Georgebury somewhere to go, something to do. It fostered community and usefulness. The idea of working there just felt better. Cleaner. More karmic or something. Maybe all those yoga classes hadn’t been for naught, after all. I already had great plans. Adopt a Brownie Troop. Memoir classes. Field trips and blood drives. More hip-hop, and this time, by someone who knew what she was doing.
So it was all good. We Greys were better than we’d been in a long, long time. After all these years, my father had gone from bad dog to good man. And Mom…no longer was she the bitter betrayed. Instead, she had done that most difficult and generous thing a person could do…she forgave the man who’d hurt her. Forgave him so deeply and truly that she could even love him again. Tomorrow would be beautiful indeed.
But for now, I had to leave Noah’s and go to my new home. Freddie had thoughtfully made himself absent, and Bowie and I sat for a minute in my nearly empty bedroom, the afternoon sun streaming in through the windows, belying the chill in the air.
It seemed like I’d been here a lot longer than two and a half years. The day I’d moved in here, Noah had yelled at me. “I don’t need a fuckin’ nursemaid, and don’t you forget it, young lady!” He was still in a wheelchair back then, and he slammed it into the doorframe three times before he made it into the workshop, where he sequestered himself for the rest of the day. That night, I found a little whittled chickadee on my bureau as an apology. That bird now sat on the windowsill of my cottage’s kitchen.
The only thing left to bring over was my chair, as I hadn’t wanted it to be scraped or jostled with my other belongings.
I stood up, let Bowie out and then approached my prized possession. Taking it gently by the arms, I carried it downstairs, being sure not to let it bump against the railings. Out the front door, into the back of Hester’s minivan, which she’d lent me for just this purpose.
Funny how it felt to be driving out of town, past the little shops and buildings of downtown, past the railroad station and mill. Past Green Mountain Media, past Toasted & Roasted, past Elements. I wasn’t leaving Georgebury, but I was leaving a lot behind.
When I arrived at the cottage, I let Bowie out, sucked in a few breaths of the cold, piney air, then got the chair. With great reverence, I carried it to the porch and set it down. My own home. This was what my chair and I had been waiting for. I smiled in anticipation and looked at the chair.
Huh. It wasn’t… It didn’t look quite right. I moved the chair to the left a few inches. No. How about here, to just right of the window? Not there, either. I tried angling it, first west, then east. Put it in the far corner, then moved it over near the door.
Something was off. After all this time, the chair was too…much. Too beautiful, too full of grace.
The thought came to me so fast and hard that almost before it was fully formulated, I had loaded the chair back in Hester’s car. Fifteen minutes later, I turned off Bitter Creek Road.
In the late afternoon sunlight, Ian’s house was even lovelier…and lonely, somehow. No car was in the driveway, no dog barked from within. Maybe Ian was still at work…maybe he was truly out of town, as Carmella had said. Heck, maybe he was in Russia, buying a wife. I just didn’t know.
I popped the hatch and took out the chair once more. When I set it on the porch, I knew it had found its home. The happily-ever-after chair belonged here, whether or not Ian and I were together.
I went back to the car, rummaged in the glove box and found a pen and a napkin, which would have to do. I sat for a moment, thinking of all the clever things I’d written over the years. Nothing clever came to me now, nothing perfect or transformative. After a minute, I gave up and just wrote what I meant.
Ian, I want you to have this. Keep it, sell it, donate it somewhere worthy. It’s yours now.—Callie.
I tucked the napkin under the rocker and then, with one more long, grateful look at the chair that had meant so much to me for so, so long, I went home.
TWENTY-SEVEN HOURS LATER, my parents were once again married. The wedding was held at the funeral home, which was just sick, but the furnace at Elements had conked out. Dave sent over the food, but yes, my parents got hitched in the Tranquility Room. Fortunately, there were no wakes booked this day, and Mom had a point…we already had flowers, a damn good music system and plenty of room for dancing.
As my father pledged to love and honor Mom all the days of his life, I sobbed into a hankie. Ian’s hankie, actually. I’d kept it. My
crying was kind of a given, I guess, but Hester cried, too, which was not. Freddie mugged dreadfully as best man. Bronte looked beautiful in her dress, so grown up and stunning that the sight of her alone had brought me to tears. Josephine looked startlingly wholesome, and Louis looked…well, he still looked damp and creepy, but he smiled at my sister throughout the ceremony, and Hester seemed to appreciate that.
“Make a toast, Poodle,” Dad said, beaming and sparkly and in love.
“No. Freddie should do it.”
“Right,” Dad snorted. “Or Hester. Or maybe your dog. No, honey, you do it. Come on. Do it for your old dad. And Mom.”
Mom drifted up, her face luminous with serenity and, er, tranquility. “This is a happy day, isn’t it, Calliope?” she asked, resting her cheek on my dad’s shoulder.
“It is,” I said, my eyes welling yet again. “I’ll make a toast. Sure. You bet, Daddy.”
And so I did, saluting persistence and love, faith and forgiveness, and yes, I did a great job, feeling it was only fair for everyone to shed a tear since my own eyes were working overtime. Then Josephine got the microphone and Bronte did something with her iPod and seconds later, little Josephine was wailing away, “Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me,” and somehow that became the first song my parents danced to.
It was something, I thought, dancing later with my father. Today, there was a lot of happiness in this room of sorrow. Twenty-some-odd years ago, I’d watched my father leave this very building, and now he was back, married to Mom once again, and that sad little girl who’d waved from the upstairs window…she could go jump rope or play hopscotch or Wii or whatever it was that made her happy. Mommy loved Daddy and all was right with the world once more.
Almost.
No. Check that. All was right with the world. Period. If Mark had taught me anything, it was that I lacked the superpower to make a person love me. I could be friendly and helpful and cute, but I didn’t get to control everything. If Ian wanted me, he did. And if he didn’t…well, that was harder. But I’d be okay.
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