What's Left of Me

by Kristen Granata

  Brandon nods. “Are you sad because you can’t have kids, Callie?”

  “I am.”

  “I’m really sorry.” He wraps his arms around my neck and pulls me into a hug. “You would make a good mom.”

  Tears flood my vision as I tighten my grip around this sweet boy. “It’s okay, B. I have you and Miles and the twins. You guys are like family.”

  And the thought of losing them to my fight with Josie only twists the knife in my heart deeper.

  Fourteen

  Cole

  “Callie!”

  She swings her car door shut and turns her head in my direction.

  I jog across the street, pulling off my hard hat. “Hey. I’m glad I caught you.”

  She glances up at her house before looking back at me, and I can’t stand how nervous she looks.

  “What’s up, Cole?”

  “I wanted to come by your house earlier this week, but I didn’t know if you’d answer the door.”

  “I don’t think that would’ve been a good idea.”

  I heave a sigh and kick a pebble with the toe of my boot. “Look, Josie has been upset all week, and I feel like it’s my fault. I didn’t mean to cause a fight between you two.”

  Callie shakes her head. “It’s not your fault. She’s your sister. I don’t blame you for saying something to her.”

  Of course she doesn’t blame me. Callie Kingston never blames anyone but herself. It’s infuriating. I wish I could rip those stupid sunglasses off her face and see her.

  “Why didn’t you tell her the truth, Callie? Why are you pushing your best friend away?”

  “I can’t do this right now.” She attempts to walk around her bumper, but I step in front of her.

  “She wants to help you. You shouldn’t go through this alone.”

  Her lips form a hard line, nostrils flaring, frustration rolling off of her. “You’re one to talk. You’ve been treating your sister like crap since you got here, and you’re hiding away in that damn pool house.”

  “Yeah, and then someone pointed out how shitty and ungrateful I was, remember?”

  “Is that what this is?” She huffs out a humorless laugh. “You’re here to tell me what a bad friend I am?”

  “No.” I edge closer. “I’m telling you that Josie just wants to help you.”

  “Well, she can’t.”

  “Because you won’t let her.”

  “Can she help you, Cole? Can she help you with whatever you’re going through right now?”

  “That’s different.”

  She plants her hands on her hips. “Is it? Because I don’t think it is. I think it’s a hell of a lot easier to dole out advice than it is to take it. Maybe you should listen to yourself.”

  I dip my head down, grinding my teeth together. “What I’ve gone through is done. There’s no undoing it. My sister can’t help me. No one can. But there’s still hope for you. You don’t have to live stuck in this pathetic excuse of a life. You can get out … before it’s too late.”

  She lifts her chin. “I love my life. I don’t want out.”

  “I think you do.”

  “You don’t know anything about me to even make that statement.”

  I snatch her sunglasses off her face, cursing myself for making her flinch. “Go ahead. Tell me again how much you love your life.”

  “I do.”

  But her eyes betray her. They well, and I can see her pain beneath the depths of the lies she tells herself just to survive.

  I shake my head. “I’m not talking about a walk-in closet or marble countertops or a luxury fucking car. I’m talking about your life, Callie. Those things you recite when you feel anxious? They’re just for show, meaningless shit that you collect to justify your existence.”

  Her bottom lip trembles, and she turns her head to look away from my knowing stare.

  “You might tell everyone that you’re happy, that you love your life.” I carefully turn her chin until she returns her gaze to mine. “But I know you’re lying … to them and to yourself.”

  “How do you know that?” she whispers.

  “Because I was you once. I let myself live a lie because I thought it was easier to stay comfortable where I was, easier to put on a show. But it ate away at me, day after day, and it will do the same to you.”

  Her eyebrows pull together, her eyes searching mine for more information that I’m not willing to give.

  I’ve already said too much.

  “Why do you care about what happens to me?” she asks. “About what I do?”

  I’ve been asking myself the same question all week.

  I drop my hand from Callie’s face and run it through my hair. “I think the question you need to ask yourself is: Why don’t you care about what happens to you?”

  Her mouth falls open, but she quickly clamps it shut when the door to her house swings open, drawing our attention.

  Paul steps outside. “Get in the house, Callie.”

  She looks from him to me, worrying her lip between her teeth. “Goodbye, Cole.”

  I lower my voice and lean in. “Josie will still be here for you when your husband hits you again. And he will hit you again. You’re deluding yourself if you think he’ll stop.”

  “Callie,” Paul calls. “Now.”

  She turns and scurries up the driveway while Paul stalks down the steps toward me.

  Callie whips around. “Paul, what are you doing?”

  He keeps his eyes fixed on me. “Going to have a chat with Cole. Go inside.”

  I smirk, crossing my arms over my chest.

  Please. Give me a reason to hit you.

  He stops when he’s almost toe-to-toe with me. “You need to stay away from my wife.”

  “Didn’t realize she wasn’t allowed to talk to her neighbors.”

  “She can talk to whoever she wants.” His eyes narrow. “Just not to you.”

  “And why is that? You feel threatened by me, Paul?”

  He chokes out a laugh. “Hardly.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “You’re a lowlife, and I don’t want Callie around a piece of shit like you.”

  My teeth gnash together. “Yet she’s with you.”

  Anger flares in his eyes, and he takes a step closer.

  “Paul, enough.” Callie appears at his side, wrapping her slender fingers around his wrist. “Let’s go inside.”

  We remain in a stare down. I use my height to my advantage, glaring down my nose at him, begging him to make the first move so I can lay him out here and now.

  “Paul, please.” Callie tugs on his arm again.

  Finally, Paul relents, backing away. “Stay. Away. From my wife.”

  I flash him a sadistic grin before I turn and stride off his property, my grin curling into a snarl.

  For the life of me, I’ll never understand how kind-and-gentle Callie ended up with a prick like him.

  I only hope she comes to her senses before it’s too late.

  “Let’s break for lunch. I’m starving.”

  I toss my hard hat onto the ground and replace it with my worn baseball cap.

  Billy’s face contorts in disgust. “Ah, come on. Take that shit off.”

  I pull the brim down with a smirk. “Not gonna happen.”

  “You’re in Cali now. You can’t be wearing that New York Yankees shit.”

  “I’m only here temporarily.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  Billy is about the only guy here I can stand. Most of the workers are young, arrogant muscle-heads who think they know everything about everything. I tried sticking to myself on this job, but Billy wouldn’t have it. Followed me around the first week like a stray dog, going on and on about some stripper he’d fallen in love with last year. Made it impossible to ignore him. He talks a lot, but at least he keeps my mind occupied.

  We head to our spot for lunch at Gertie’s Diner.

  I actually like this part of California, though I’ll
never admit it to anyone. Lake Arrowhead. It’s a touristy town, and it reminds me of the crowded streets of New York. I feel comfortable here. It’s about an hour and a half from Josie’s house in Orange County. The drive sucks when I’m tired, but it’s a job, and I need the money.

  Anything is better than working for Penny’s father.

  Gertie, the owner, greets us when we arrive and take our seats on the retro red bar stools at the counter. “Hello, boys. I’ll put in your usual. Filling up your ice waters now.”

  “Thanks, Gertie.” Billy dabs his forehead with a napkin. “It’s hot as hell today.”

  I wave my hand. “Nothing compared to the humidity in New York.”

  “Ah, yes. And the mouth-watering smell of garbage.”

  I chuckle. “Knock it all you want. There’s a reason New York is referred to as the greatest city in the world.”

  “He’s not wrong.” Gertie places two tall glasses of water in front of us.

  “See?”

  Billy shakes his head. “You’re both nuts. I’m hitting the head. Be right back.”

  Gertie pats my forearm. “Don’t you mind him. Some of us need to get away so we can forget about the things that happened back where we’re from. Though, I suppose it helps us remember all the things we appreciate too.”

  I gulp down my water and nod. Gertie might be an elderly woman, but she’s got her wits about her. She’s sharp—too sharp. Sometimes, she looks at me as if she can see my heartache playing like a movie across my face.

  She leans in. “How are you doing today, sugar?”

  “Fine. How are you, Gertie?”

  She wags her long, wrinkled finger at me. “One of these days, you’re going to tell me the truth. None of this fine bullshit.”

  “Not likely.”

  “Well, you’d better tell someone. Can’t bottle it up and let it eat away at you. You’re too handsome to wither away and waste the rest of your life.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “So, it’d be okay if I were ugly?”

  She grins, showing off her sparkling-white dentures. “No, but don’t you go making jokes. It breaks my damn heart watching you walk in here every day looking like a lost soul.”

  “I’m fine, Gertie. Don’t worry about me.”

  She shakes her head and clicks her tongue before she returns to the kitchen.

  When Billy gets back from the bathroom, he yammers on about nothing. I try to listen, but my thoughts keep pulling me toward Callie and the encounter with her husband last night.

  What will it take for her to realize that she needs to get away from him? What if she doesn’t want to get away from him? What if he hurts her—really hurts her? What if I can help her? What could I even do? She keeps pushing Josie away. Why would she want my help?

  Mom always used to say, “When someone pushes you away, you need to find the strength to hold on tighter.” Maybe Callie just needs someone to fight for her, to show her how she should be fighting for herself.

  Why do I want that someone to be me?

  “Earth to Cole.” Billy waves his hand in front of my face. “Come back to reality.”

  Gertrude deposits our plates onto the counter. “Well, I’ll be damned. I’ve seen that look before.”

  I lift my gyro and take a mammoth-sized bite so as to not answer any questions she throws my way.

  “What look?” Billy’s head whips between the two of us.

  “Ask your friend.” Gertrude winks at me. “Maybe you’re not so lost after all, kid.”

  “What’s she talking about?” Billy asks.

  “Don’t know.”

  He sighs before digging into his BLT sandwich. “You’re in outer space today, man. More so than usual. What’s going on with you?”

  I take my time chewing and swallow. “The neighbor across the street from my sister is getting hit by her husband. The guy’s a real piece of shit.”

  “Damn.” Billy whistles. “I bet she doesn’t want to leave him. Women always want to stay with the men who abuse them.”

  My head jerks back. “Really? Where did you get that information from?”

  “My cousin’s friend gets beat on by her boyfriend. He proposed to her last month. Guess what she said.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t understand it. Why would anyone stay with someone who’s physically hurting them? It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “What doesn’t make sense?” Gertrude drags her stool over so she can sit and chat with us.

  “Cole’s neighbor is in an abusive marriage.”

  Gertie gives me a solemn look. “My first husband used to hit me.”

  I almost choke on my gyro.

  Billy sputters too. “You? But you’re such a badass, Gertie. How could you let a man put his hands on you?”

  “Now, there’s your first problem. Passing judgment when you don’t know the first thing about it.”

  I lean forward, placing my elbows onto the counter. “Help me understand, Gertie. I want to understand.”

  She runs her red fingernails through her silvery teased hair. “It was a long time ago, but I don’t suspect much has changed for women today. You’re fed a fairytale when you’re younger, and so you try everything in your power to make that fairytale come true. You don’t see the signs along the way, the red flags. Or maybe you do, and you just don’t realize how bad things will be until you get there. When someone hits you, someone you love, someone that claims to love you, you take responsibility for it. You blame yourself. You don’t want to see the person you’ve grown to care about as a monster. You want to believe in the fairytale, that everything’s going to work out in the end.”

  She huffs out a breath. “But strong or weak, it doesn’t matter. Anybody can be a victim of abuse. Getting hit doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. It means you haven’t learned your worth yet.”

  I stare down at my fries, contemplating for a moment.

  How could a woman like Callie be so unaware of her worth?

  As if she can read my mind, Gertrude tips my chin up until my eyes meet hers. “And it’s not up to you to show a woman her worth. You hear me? That’s a journey she needs to make alone.”

  I’ve said it from the beginning. Callie’s life is none of my business. I have my own shit to focus on, and I’m no expert on relationships. Look how my own marriage turned out. My help would only make things worse for Callie.

  Maybe instead of holding on tighter, I need to let go.

  Fifteen

  Callie

  August 2nd

  I had another panic attack today. The exercises Melissa gave me are no longer helping. Not since the fight with Josie. Still haven’t spoken to her. It’s been two weeks. This is the longest we’ve gone without talking. I miss her. I want to reach out to her, but I don’t know what to say. She made it clear that she doesn’t want to be my friend as long as I’m with Paul. Maybe once things between me and Paul get better, I’ll give her a call. I wish I knew when that’ll be.

  Paul has been drinking every night. I take a bath and go to bed early just to avoid any confrontation while he’s in that state. It seems to be working to keep his temper at bay. I can’t figure out what else I can do to get us past this. It’s exhausting trying to be perfect, and my stomach is in constant knots.

  Maybe there’s nothing I can do.

  Maybe things will never get better.

  What does that mean for us?

  What will it mean for me?

  “You’ve been writing in that thing a lot lately.”

  I jump at the sound of Paul’s voice. He strides across the room, and Maverick’s tail thumps against my leg.

  “Melissa told me to write in it every day.”

  “What a good student.” He leans one knee onto the white comforter and presses his lips to mine.

  I laugh and shove his shoulder. “Don’t patronize me.”

  He grins and yanks his tie over his head. It’s been a while since he’s come home from work in a good mood, since he hasn�
�t gone straight to the bottle of scotch. I miss this Paul, the person he used to be when we first got married. Happy. Sweet. Full of life.

  Is it possible for that man to come back?

  I have to try.

  My eyes follow his fingers as he undoes each button on his shirt, and I reach out to take over for him. Kneeling on the mattress, I push his shirt off his shoulders and pull the material down his arms until it falls to the floor. I brush my lips over his bare chest, placing kisses along his skin as I make my way to his cubed abdomen. I work the buckle on his belt and drop his pants, palming the growing bulge in his boxers.

  Paul’s lips are on mine in an instant. His kiss is slow and sensual, and he takes his time peeling off my clothes. Then he lifts me in his arms and carries me into the shower.

  It feels like it’s been so long since Paul has made love to me like this. Like this isn’t a means to an end. Like he isn’t just taking what he wants. We’re showing each other how much we care for one another and making each other feel good. Loved. That’s what sex used to be about. His gentleness spurs me on and opens me up to the possibility of getting over this rocky time.

  Things can get better.

  He can get better.

  With our bodies pressed together under the hot spray of the water, I’m filled with hope.

  Hope can be dangerous, but it’s all I have left to hold on to.

  After Paul exits the shower, I take my time washing my hair, basking in the sated after-sex glow. Then I towel off, letting my hair air-dry, and walk back into the bedroom.

  All that hope dissipates when my gaze lands on Paul, standing over my night table with my journal in his hand.

  Open.

  A mixture of confusion and anger contorts his face. “This is what you’ve been writing in here?”

  “Paul, that’s private.” My voice is a meek whisper, fear constricting my airways.

  “Our marriage is private. Yet you’re writing about me, about us. What the hell, Callie?”

  I wrap my robe around my naked body, knotting the strap as if it will protect me. I venture closer to Paul, my body trembling with every step.