Last night, Cali had prayed she’d dream about her mom, but she hadn’t. She’d dreamed about Brit. She didn’t dwell on it. Instead, she made plans.
Next week, she’d return to teaching and spend her evenings either working on the house or reconnecting with some part of herself she’d lost when her mother got cancer. Funny how the memory of her mom getting cancer brought back memories of Marty.
It took thinking about Marty and his dream job which had ended their relationship, to realize that her own dream of being an artist hadn’t vanished. It had only been sleeping. So during her time off for Thanksgiving, Cali would try to reconnect with her old dream.
Normal. Life would never be like it was. But she’d find a new normal, because the old one didn’t exist anymore.
As good as it had felt to face Stan, and even to fight and win against Nolan Bright, Cali had decided she didn’t want to be a bitch, after all. She just needed to be stronger and more selective of whom she allowed into her life. That meant no more dickheads. Even little dickheads.
She’d already signed up to work at the shelter on Thanksgiving Day. Yesterday, she’d visited Sara and her mother, too, and offered to help any way she could. The woman was scheduled for a mastectomy in two weeks. Doctor Tien had reviewed the test results and recommended she do more than just a lumpectomy. Cali figured if she spent time helping others, she wouldn’t have so much time to feel sorry for herself. Pity parties just weren’t her thing.
She’d also made another appointment to talk to Dr. Roberts. Her mother had said Cali had issues. Maybe it was high time she understood those issues a little better. Maybe then, she wouldn’t have to work so hard to forget Brit.
Forward. She was moving forward.
Chapter Forty-Three
The week after Thanksgiving, two weeks since she’d moved into her mom’s house, Cali stood back as Tanya studied her first two paintings. Until now, she hadn’t had the guts to show them to anyone.
“I’m speechless.” Tanya’s brown eyes grew large.
“Are they that bad?” Cali asked.
“Please.” Tanya rolled her eyes. “This is no time for modesty, girlfriend. These are marvelous.”
“You think?” Cali smiled. The images were of couples—one of them dancing on a crowded dance floor. The other was of a man and a woman soaking in a Jacuzzi. She’d used a washed watercolor treatment to give them almost an impressionistic appearance. They were traditional in style, but contemporary in subject.
Cali didn’t fool herself. She knew where the images had come from, but she didn’t care. Oh, she cared, but this was art therapy. Maybe if she painted enough scenes of herself and Brit, she’d get them out of her head.
Sure, she admitted she’d come a long way. She still missed her mom. She still missed Brit. But she’d gotten down to painting her toenails only once every other day instead of the six daily coats of polish she’d been doing.
And she no longer cried when she replayed his messages on her machine. Okay, she still cried, but not like before. He’d left the first message less than a week after the whole episode went down. “Hey, it’s Dickhead. I miss you so badly I can’t breathe. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. The tequila isn’t working. Call me if I stand a snowball’s chance in hell.”
She hadn’t returned the called. Since then, he’d called two more times and almost repeated the same message.
“You know what?” Tanya said. “I’m going to show these to Tiffany at the gallery. I’ll bet my right tit that she’s going to sign you up on the spot.”
Cali’s answer gushed out. “No. I mean, I just want to paint for a while. You know, get my feet wet again. Besides, I don’t want to sell these.”
Tanya looked at the painting again and her mouth fell open. “Oh, God. These are—”
“It’s just art therapy,” Cali insisted, but her tears formed and gave everything in the room an impressionist appearance.
Tanya hugged her. And in the embrace, Cali felt their shared pain. Eric had called it quits two days ago when an old girlfriend had moved back into town. Tanya swore she hadn’t been in love with him, just lust.
Cali wished she could say the same. Of all the things she missed about Brit, it wasn’t sex. It was feeling a part of someone, feeling as if she were important to someone. It was feeling connected. It was his smile, the way laughing with him had felt like she’d discovered some new toy. Okay, she lied—she missed the sex a little, too.
“Oh, Cali. Has he called again?”
Cali wiped the tears from her face. “Not since last week.”
“Have you erased them yet?” Tanya knew her too well.
Cali sniffled. “Not yet, but I’m close.”
Tanya let out a huffy breath. “Oh, fudge. I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but maybe you should call him.”
Cali straightened one of the paintings on the easel. “No.”
“Why?” Tanya asked. “You obviously love the dickhead.”
Cali shrugged. “Yeah, but he’s the one who left.”
“But he’s been calling you.”
She shook her head. “My mom said I couldn’t fix Brit. And I’m not sure if he walked in that door right now, that I wouldn’t attack him with a twelve pack of fix-it glue. I’m not even sure I’d know if he managed to fix himself.”
She looked away from the painting because suddenly it hurt too much to see the emotion captured on the canvas. The fact that her work was good enough to show emotion did make the artist inside of her happy, but it still hurt.
“I’ve got two more sketched out,” Cali said and squared her shoulders. “I’m moving forward.” Even Dr. Roberts agreed. Cali needed to think only of herself for a while. She wiped a few more tears from her eyes. “Forward.”
~
Quarles waved as Brit stepped out of the Customs area. Brit had extended his stay in Mexico for another week, which gave him four weeks in Cancun. He’d hoped time, the beach, the sun, and the tequila would heal the wounds. No luck.
Wearing a smile, Quarles took one of his bags and gave him a thump on the back. “Welcome home, stranger.”
Brit stretched his shoulders. “Thanks. How is everything?”
“Damn good. Except Adams is going to crawl your ass for thinking you can just call up and leave a message saying you won’t be back for another week.”
Flashing a grin, Brit asked, “So what else is new?”
“Well, Homicide is back in our own building. We’re mold-free. I found homes for all your kittens, except Mama Bitch. I’ve already taken her back to your house. Your sister is moving back to Hopeful and, oh, yeah, Rina decided to quit hooking and went back home to her folks in Tennessee.”
Brit studied him. “And I’m supposed to assume that you have something to do with this?”
“It wasn’t me. Rina checked herself into rehab and I think this time it worked for her.”
“I didn’t mean Rina,” Brit said.
“Oh, you mean Susan.” He grinned. “I damn well hope I had something to do with it.”
“Does she need a place to hang her hat?” he asked.
“Nope.” His friend’s chest seemed to puff out.
“She’s moving in with our mom?” Brit’s suspicions grew.
“Nope,” Quarles said, sounding rather proud.
Brit eyed his friend and partner, and prepared himself. “With you?”
“Yeah.” Quarles smiled like a man who’d won the lottery.
Brit debated how he felt, then voiced his concern. “And you don’t think this is kind of soon?”
“No. Since you’ve been gone, she’s been here more than she’s been in Austin. We’ve gotten close. Real close.”
He eyed Quarles. “Remember, my threat still stands.”
Quarles laughed. “I love your sister. I’m not going to hurt her.”
They drove straight to Brit’s place. Quarles talked about work and about Susan. Brit half-ass listened. Once home, he dropped his suitcases and went into the kitchen. Ma
ma Cat came to the threshold of the laundry room and peered out.
Brit edged a little closer, but she darted back inside.
“Be careful,” Quarles said. “She’s scratched me every time I’ve even tried to get close to her. She hates people.”
“She doesn’t hate people. She’s just scared.” Brit opened the fridge. His sister had bought groceries again. He got himself and Quarles a beer and they settled at the kitchen table.
“So?” Quarles asked. “You over her?”
Looking at the beer, Brit started to deny he had anything to get over. He ran his finger along the condensation of the bottle, then he answered, “As much as I’ll ever be.” He paused. “Have you heard from her at all?” Hope still vibrated in his chest, but he fought it.
Quarles shook his head. “Rumor has it that you were hard on her.”
The bitter pill hung up on Brit’s tonsils. “Yeah, I’m pretty much an asshole. I come by it naturally.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’d probably have reacted the same way if I’d found her trying to see her ex.”
It didn’t make him feel better, but Brit nodded. “Any news on Nolan Bright?”
“DA thinks the case if rock solid. I’m hearing whispers of them asking for the death penalty.”
Brit nodded, and just stared at his beer.
“Do you love her?” Quarles downed a sip of beer.
Brit stood up and opened the fridge. “You want a sandwich?”
“Do you love her?” Quarles asked again.
Emotionally flinching, Brit shut the fridge. “No, I just spent four weeks in Mexico staring at the damn phone, praying she’d call because I don’t feel a damn thing. What do you think?”
“Then for God sakes, fight for her.”
Brit’s frustration level climbed, but it was toward himself and not him. “You don’t understand.”
“What do I not understand?” Quarles hunkered back in the chair.
Brit ran a hand over his face, unwilling to put the truth into words. “I called her every week. She didn’t call me back.”
“Hey, a few weeks ago, your sister stopped taking my calls. You want to know what I did?”
Brit scowled. “I told you not to hurt her.”
“I didn’t do anything. She just got scared because I said I loved her. But the point isn’t that. The point is that when she didn’t answer my calls, I got in my truck and drove three hours to see her in Austin. She’s that important to me.”
“Well, Mexico to Houston is a little farther than Houston to Austin.”
“What? The tequila fry your brain? You’re not in Mexico anymore.”
Brit raked a chair across the floor, but didn’t sit down. “It would be wrong.”
“Why?”
Dropping his ass in the chair, he closed his eyes, wishing he’d stayed in Mexico. “I messed up. I said terrible things to her. I hurt her. She deserves someone who can get it right.”
Quarles stared. “Sounds like you’re trying to get it right. And as for what you said, well, that’s what apologies and expensive jewelry are for. Look, I’m just saying that if you love her, fight for her.”
That damn hope stirred again. “How? She doesn’t want me.”
“Well, I’d start by going to see her. Then I’d suggest you be a real man and put your tail between your legs and beg. Get down on your knees if you have to.”
Brit crossed his arms over his chest. “Beg, huh?”
“How do you think I got Susan to open the door when I got to Austin? Did you know your sister was that stubborn? But damn, if I don’t love every stubborn inch of that woman.”
~
Brit went to bed as soon as Quarles left. Sleep had been a rare commodity in Brit’s life, but he always tried. He lay there, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Cali—about all the things he should have done differently. One word kept playing over in his head. Beg. He closed his eyes, exhausted, and prayed for sleep.
A thump on the bed brought his eyes open. Standing next to him was Mama Cat. She let out a deep meow.
“Yeah, I’m back,” he said.
She dipped her head and took another step closer.
“You know I don’t like you, right?” He held out his hand.
She meowed again as if to say, “Yeah, and I don’t like you either.” Then she bumped his hand with her head. She actually let him touch her.
Brit smiled and ran his fingers over her chin. “Admit you missed me, and I’ll admit that I thought about you, too.”
She purred and brushed up against his hand again.
“Okay, here’s the deal, you can stay. But if you tell anyone we actually like each other, I’m taking you to the shelter.”
The cat meowed and then leapt off the bed. Brit lay back down. Beg? His eyes drifted shut.
“Do you want to talk about Cali?” a female voice asked.
Brit shot straight up. A middle-aged woman—red hair, big blue eyes, dangling a cigarette between her fingers and wearing a navy business suit—sat at the foot of his bed.
“Who the hell are you?” Brit wiped his eyes.
“If it waddles like a duck, quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck.”
“So you’re a duck?” He raked another hand over his face. This had to be a dream. He had locked his door, hadn’t he?
“No. And neither are you.” She inhaled a puff of smoke and let it out slowly. “That’s a big part of why you’re so scared.”
“What am I scared of?” he tossed out, now pretty certain this was a dream.
“Why, love, of course. But you’re not like him. Or her.” A row of about six gold bracelets jiggled on her arm. “You got a good heart. Sure, you’re hard-headed, but you play fair more than most people do. And you care a hell of a lot more than most. You’re a softy.”
Confusion settled in his gut. “What are you talking . . .? Who are you?”
“You’re no duck, Brit Lowell. You speak before you think, I’ll give you that, but my daughter isn’t milquetoast either.”
“Daughter?”
“You want to be forgiven. Then you best learn to forgive. It’s part of the fixing process.”
A ringing noise sounded as his mind began piecing together the question. “Are you Cali’s mom?”
Brit suddenly woke up to the sound of the ringing phone. He looked at the phone then back at the foot of the bed. No woman. He inhaled. Air scented with cigarette smoke hitched in his lungs. He snatched the phone, his heart thumping. Had he just seen a ghost?
“Hello?”
“Brit? It’s your mom.”
He continued to look around the room.
“I know your voice, Mom. Is something wrong?” Had Frank or Fred or whatever his name was hurt her? His chest gripped with concern.
“No. Yes. I’d love to see my son.”
His first impulse was to come up with some excuse, but he heard the woman voice from his dream. You want to be forgiven? You best learn to forgive.
He gritted his teeth, then said, “Can you make some coffee? Strong coffee. And I’ll be there in about an hour.”
~
Later that day, after an almost pleasant visit with his mom, Brit knocked on Cali’s door, holding a bag in his trembling hands. A man about Brit’s age—a good looking guy, maybe too good looking—opened the door and Brit’s stomach dropped.
Was this why she hadn’t called him back? Was he too late?
Jealously rolled over Brit’s heart. Pride made him want to walk away, love kept his feet planted in front of the door. Beg.
“Is Cali here?” His voice rang hoarse. When the man’s brows creased, Brit continued, “I’m not leaving until I see her.”
“But—”
“There are no buts. I love her, even though I was stupid about it.” Damn, this hurt and the thought of this man with the woman he loved just about chewed up his insides. “I’m not a duck.” Shit! Had he said that aloud?
“You smoking something, buddy?
” the man asked.
“Just let me see her.” Brit stepped forward.
The man’s posture grew defensive. “Look, you’ve got—”
“I know, I got a set of balls to show up here after I screwed up. But I’m not walking away. I’m fighting for her. And if that means you and I go to fist city, right now, right here, I’m fine with it.”
“Fighting for who?” A woman appeared at the door, holding a bowl of soup. She glanced at the man standing next to her. “Are you seeing someone else?”
“No,” he said. “I swear. This idiot is talking about ducks and some chick named Cali.”
“I told you if you ever did that again, I was leaving,” the woman said, sounding angry.
“But I didn’t do anything.”
“Cali doesn’t live here?” Brit asked, as the couple started to throw verbal punches.
“Who’s he seeing?” The woman stopped screaming long enough to ask Brit. “Is it that bimbo at the gym? It is, isn’t it?” She turned to leave, but decided it wasn’t enough and she swung back around and slung the bowl of soup at the man. Only half the soup missed the man and landed on Brit. Not that he didn’t deserve it.
He looked down at the bits of alphabet pasta clinging to his jacket, then at the number on the door to make sure. “You guys just moved in here, didn’t you?”
The man knocked bits of carrots off his face and frowned at Brit.
Brit shrugged. “Sorry. My mistake. My girlfriend used to live here.” He said it loud, hoping the woman could hear.
The woman popped back at the door. “So he isn’t…?”
“No,” Brit said. Then before the man decided to take Brit up on his trip to fist city, he shot down the apartment’s steps, trying to think of the quickest way to find Cali.
When the idea came, he wished it hadn’t, but he started his car, and headed that way. Five minutes later, stepping up to Tanya’s door, he prepared himself to get an earful. But as long as that earful included Cali’s address, it would be worth the verbal beating.
~
Tanya answered his knock with her purse and keys in her hands. A spark of satisfaction lit her eyes. Lucky for him, she didn’t try to rip his heart out and feed it to the roaches.
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