by Diann Hunt
They stayed another hour and caught three walleyes—well, she caught one and he caught two.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea. How about I clean the fish and you fry it up for us? Wouldn’t take long.” His eyes studied hers. “You should get to enjoy it, too.”
With their past history, she wasn’t about to accept—they’d just end up fighting again. She looked up at him and he was watching her with hopeful eyes…eyes the color of coffee beans.
“My house or yours?”
Chapter Fourteen
By the time Callie got back to Brad’s place with the groceries, Brad had finished cleaning the fish. And he had on different clothes.
“Hey, no fair. You got cleaned up,” Callie said, pleased that he wanted to look nice for her and even more pleased that she’d touched up while in the car.
“I was in worse shape than you. Fish stench was clinging to my clothes.”
So much for looking nice for her.
He took a bag of groceries from her, pulled the items out and placed them on the counter.
“Would you turn the oven on for me?” she asked.
“We’re not frying the fish?”
She shook her head. “Trust me on this. It’s just as good baked, without all the calories and bad fat.”
“I like bad fat.”
“It doesn’t like you.”
He frowned. “Okay, but if I don’t like it, we’ll have to go fishing again.” He bent down to turn the oven on. “It’s only fair. By the way, I can’t guarantee the oven works. I don’t think I’ve ever used it.”
“You’re kidding.”
“That is pretty bad, isn’t it?”
“Yep.” She grinned and began chopping up green onions. “Make yourself useful and help me out here.”
“You want me to cook—in the kitchen?”
“It will be good for you. I won’t make you put on an apron, I promise.” She handed him the mushrooms. “I need about a cup of these, sliced.”
When the onions and mushrooms were ready, Callie sprayed the baking dish with oil, spread the onions and mushrooms over the bottom of the pan and placed the fish on top. She seasoned with salt, pepper and marjoram, then sprinkled with lemon juice, cheese and crackers, drizzling melted butter on the whole thing.
“Wow, you’re pretty good at this stuff.”
“I told you, I like to cook. Now, step aside, mister.” Callie put the pan into the oven, then brushed her hands together. “We’ll be eating in about ten minutes.”
“Great.” Brad grabbed some paper plates and put them on the table.
“Using your best china, huh?”
His hand stopped in midair, paper plate still between his fingers. “Should I use real plates?”
She laughed. “I guess this means there’s no hope for a centerpiece?”
To Callie’s surprise he said, “Oh, now that one I can handle.” He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out two brass holders for tapered candles. Heat warmed her face. She certainly hadn’t meant for them to eat by candlelight. She watched as he lit them, looking rather proud of himself. “How’s that?”
“Perfect,” she said, trying not to laugh at the paper plates and fancy candles on the same table.
When the ice was in the glasses and the table set, Callie pulled the fish out of the oven. She scooped up the servings, and just as she added a sprig of parsley to each plate, she heard the soft music playing in the other room. This was beginning to feel more and more like a real date. But of course, it was just two friends having a nice dinner. Together. By candlelight. With music.
Over dinner, they each tried carefully to avoid the subjects that seemed to always bring about arguments. Callie had noticed a photograph of Brad and Nicole, and she started to say something but stopped herself. She didn’t want to risk bringing her up.
Brad was clearly protective of his sister’s memory and greatly affected by her death. The depth of his compassion for others moved her. Most guys were into themselves and their own interests, but Brad was willing to spend his life doing good for others. Funny how she could admire that and resent it all at the same time.
“So, where are you?” he asked when they settled on his sofa after dinner.
She blinked. “My mind is a blank screen.”
A smile played on the corners of his mouth. “Wouldn’t touch that one with a ten-foot pole.”
She laughed. “Smart man.” She was suddenly very aware of his closeness. “You know, I really should go. We have a big day tomorrow, what with the playhouse work tomorrow night.”
Disappointment shadowed his face. “Do you have to?”
His question made her heart flip, but she ignored it—well, she tried to, anyway. “Yeah, I really do.” It was far too dangerous sitting here with him like this. She didn’t want to mess things up—again.
She walked over to the door and turned to him. “I just wanted to say thanks for a fun evening.”
He put his hands on her arms, without so much as the slightest blink. “My pleasure. I mean that.”
She gulped—discreetly, she hoped. “See you later.”
Using every ounce of willpower she had, she turned and walked into the night.
“Hey, Cal.”
“Hi, Heather. Did you get your Starbucks coffee yet?”
“It’s in my hand as we speak,” she said with a laugh. “How about you? Did you get your peach scone?”
“Not only was it in my hand—it is now history,” Callie said, walking toward the salon.
“You’re so lucky to have the bakery right by the salon so you can get there in the mornings.”
“I don’t know if lucky is the right word. I have to work doubly hard on the treadmill.”
“Yeah, whatever. Listen, Cal, I had an idea.”
“Uh-oh, why does that make me nervous?”
“No clue. You’re the one who gets into trouble—you know, like not paying your parking tickets.”
Callie cringed. “So what’s up?”
“Well, you know how you’ve been talking about your dad a lot lately?”
Callie’s stomach clenched. “Yeah?”
“I got to thinking, why don’t you look him up? It’s fairly easy these days with the Internet at your disposal. I could help you if you want me to.”
Something didn’t feel right, though she couldn’t put her finger on what. “No, I don’t think so, Heather.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. If he doesn’t seek me, there must be a reason.”
“Okay. Just thought I’d throw it out there and see what you thought. If you ever change your mind, let me know. I’d be glad to help.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m at the office now. Talk to you later, girlfriend.”
Callie stepped into the salon. The truth was Callie had thought about finding her dad before, but the last thing she needed was more rejection. Besides, she had all the men she could handle in her life right now. She was struggling as it was.
“How about coming over for dinner tonight,” Bonnie asked after saying goodbye to a customer.
“I can’t tonight.” Callie hated to tell her aunt about working on the playhouse with Brad, but she knew her aunt would get it out of her.
“Oh?” Bonnie’s eyebrows raised, hope lighting her eyes.
Callie refused to encourage her. “I’ve got some work to do.” Maybe Aunt Bonnie would leave it at that, but Callie doubted it.
“What kind of work?”
“Just work.”
A smile that she didn’t even try to hide lit her face.
Callie wondered if Aunt Bonnie’s imagination was off and running. She could have the wedding invitations ordered by nightfall if Callie didn’t tell her the truth.
“All right, all right. It’s nothing to get excited about. I’m going to the Sauderses’ house to help Brad build a playhouse for Micah while she’s at her grandparents’.”
“Oh.” Such a little word, but she packed it with a
wallop of meaning. Callie had half a notion to scramble the nail polishes around in Aunt Bonnie’s manicure station. That would teach her.
“Well, for goodness’ sake, keep me posted.” Her chuckle resembled the happy tinkling of wedding bells. She probably did that on purpose.
By the time Callie got to the Sauderses’ house, Brad had already built the outer frame in the backyard. “I can’t believe you did that already,” Callie said.
“I had some extra time today to work on it.” Brad handed a rake to Callie.
“Thanks for letting me be a part of it, Brad,” Callie said, brushing the hair from her eyes as she surveyed the yard.
“Of course you should be a part of it. Micah is crazy about you.”
Brad used a shovel to level out lumpy places before Callie raked over it. Once they finished, Brad checked the frame’s foundation with a carpenter’s level on top of the rim joists. They then moved the frame away and spread a sheet of black plastic over the site to prevent vegetation from growing. Once that was done, they moved the frame back into place.
Brad stretched his back, looking at their work.
“You want to call it a day?” Callie asked. She was tired from working all day—she figured he must be, too.
He blew out a sigh. “Yeah, I think I’d better. I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
“You’re as bad as me, you know. We’re both workaholics.”
He laughed. “I’ve noticed that.”
They returned their empty glasses to Andrea and said goodbye, then packed his tools in the truck. He turned to Callie.
“Thanks for your help. You’re a real trooper.”
“Yep. Just call me Bob the Builder.” She laughed.
He grinned. “Tomorrow afternoon, when you get off work?”
“After lunch.”
“Sounds good.” His voice sounded tired and soft. She suddenly wondered what it would be like to be his wife, to hear him at the end of the day, to feel his arms around her.
“Callie?”
“Yeah?” she said, forcing her eyes to focus on him.
“You’re standing in front of my car door.”
“Oh, sorry.” Thankful for the darkness, she stepped aside. A crimson face didn’t suit her. Especially when she wore rust nail polish.
“No problem. But I don’t think you’d want to stay right here. I’m sure you’ve smelled better.”
Let me be the judge of that.
“Good night, Brad,” she said.
“Good night.” He opened his door. Once she’d settled into her car and started the engine, he waved and eased onto the road.
He’d make a nice husband for a woman willing to travel the globe.
Chapter Fifteen
The last appointment on Callie’s schedule canceled, so she stopped by the nursing home to check on Gram before going to work on the playhouse. Usually, she could hear Gram teasing the nurses or residents, but lately when Callie’d stopped by, she was sleeping. Callie hoped to find Gram’s energy up today.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Gram. Callie.”
Gram extended her bony arm. “Oh, come here, sweet Callie.”
She crossed the distance between them and grabbed Gram’s hand. The old woman looked more feeble every day. Callie brushed a strand of hair from Gram’s cheek.
“You keeping up with your meals?”
“Have you seen what they try to feed me?” Gram whispered.
Callie laughed. “Can’t be that bad.”
Gram waved her hand. “Worse.”
“How about I check with the staff and see if I can bring you in something.”
Gram’s eyes lit up as though she’d just been granted twenty extra years by her fairy godmother.
“Well, bring it on, honey,” she said with a weak chuckle. “That cake you brought in was to die for—” Gram cleared her throat “—um, so to speak.”
Callie laughed. “Okay, next week I’ll bring dinner.”
“Now that the house is built, Brad will be itchin’ to leave,” Gram said, plunging right into what was obviously on her heart.
Shadows darkened corners and cast a haze over the room. Callie opened the blinds, allowing the evening sun to fill the room with light.
“Is that too much?” Callie asked.
“No, dear. It’s just fine. Come sit by me.”
Callie slipped into the chair by the bed and held Gram’s hand.
“You love him, don’t you?”
Callie’s breath caught in her throat and threatened to stay there. “Who?”
“I think you know.” Gram patted her hand and lifted a weak smile.
“We’re just friends.”
Gram raised a brow. “I guess they’ve changed the meaning of friends these days.” She turned liquid eyes to Callie. “You need to let him know. Before he goes.”
“He has to go where his heart leads him.”
“I know that boy as well as my own self, and his heart is with you. I’ve never seen him light up like that when anyone else is around. And he’s dated plenty, mark my words.” Gram straightened the sheet around her. “Some of them scared me half to death.”
Callie laughed. “Gram, you’re something else.”
“Just think about what I said.”
“Okay, I’ll think about it,” Callie said, knowing she wouldn’t be able to think of anything else.
The sun had long since slipped from the horizon. The plywood floor and much of the walls had been constructed for the playhouse. Every bone in Callie’s body ached. She rolled her head from side to side.
“It’s time to call it a night,” Brad said.
It was all she could do not to sprint off the job to a hot bath. Instead, she helped Brad pack up.
“Want to meet here on Monday? We could grab a sandwich after work and head on over here,” Brad said, packing the hammer in his toolbox.
“Yeah, that would work. I’m not sure when my last appointment is, but I’ll call and let you know.”
“That would be great.” He stood up and let out a slight groan, his hand grasping his back. When he caught her looking at him, he said, “Guess I’m getting old.”
She smiled. “I know the feeling.”
They’d been quiet for a moment, looking at their work, when Brad said, “I still miss her.”
He didn’t have to say who. Callie knew.
“I’m sorry, Brad.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just that the playhouse—well, when we were kids, Nicole had a playhouse. Anytime it lost a nail or needed a coat of paint, she turned to me.” He laughed. “Guess I was destined to be a carpenter.”
Callie smiled. “You’re a natural, that’s for sure.”
“I shouldn’t have left her. She’d always been so frail, you know?” Brad’s gaze traveled to Callie, as though searching for support.
“Yes, she was frail. But you couldn’t have known what would happen, Brad.”
“I’m sorry I blamed you when I first found out you knew her. Guess I was just so upset that someone didn’t notice her problem, like that jerk husband of hers.”
“People make choices, and we have no control over that.” Callie could tell he was trying to control his breathing. Nicole’s death haunted him daily. If only Callie could help him. She took his hand, causing him to look up at her. “Sometimes, you’ve just got to let it go.”
“Is that what you’ve done? With your dad, I mean?” His question probed Callie’s heart with painful intensity.
“I’m working on it,” she finally whispered.
He squeezed her hard. “We’ll get there one day.”
“Yeah,” was the only thing she said, praying with all her heart it was so, and noticing how nice it felt to hold Brad Sharp’s hand.
Chaos stumbled over the fluffy comforter on Callie’s bed as they settled in for the night. He snuggled into Callie, the clean scent of shampoo coming off him. The tags on his collar jingled as
she scratched his long, floppy ears. He brought her such joy that she wondered how she could ever let him go. Still, visions of Chaos and Micah romping together crowded her mind. Was she being selfish to keep him?
She thought back to what Heather had said about Chaos when they’d been talking about her dad. Of course, Callie wasn’t a puppy, but sometimes she wondered if her dad had felt the same way about her. Maybe he thought she was better off staying with Aunt Bonnie and Uncle George than with him. Obviously, she would never know.
Chaos circled three times and finally fell in a heap at the foot of the bed. Callie reached over to turn on her music and glanced at the Bible on her nightstand, an old friend with whom she had lost touch. It seemed that the more consumed she became with her father’s abandonment, the more she avoided her Heavenly Father. She remembered how she had felt rejected by everyone—including God—at that point in her life. As an adult, of course, she knew better.
She gingerly picked up the Bible, hoping and praying God would give her something, anything, to let her know He had not forgotten her. When she picked up the leather book and flipped through it, a small laminated card fell from the pages. Aunt Bonnie had given it to her long ago. The card showed a little girl kneeling in the middle of a large hand. Across the top was an excerpt from Isaiah.
“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you. See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.”
Callie read the words with disbelief. How had she overlooked it for so long? Why had she? She knew it was no accident that she read the words now. Tears slid down her face with the knowledge of God’s agape love that would not let her go. A love that understood her pain and walked her through it—if she would accept it.
She slid out of bed and knelt down by the floor. Chaos came over to her and nudged her hand.
“Why can’t I let this go, Lord? I’m a grown woman. Dad chose to walk away. Why can’t I just accept that?”
Hot tears of guilt and blame flowed. She knew all her questions would not be answered at once, but with her prayer came the knowing that she would get through the days ahead—without her dad—because her Heavenly Father was there. Always had been. Always would be.