Chapter 71
Gram
Farrah and I got home from a trip to my sister’s, eager to hear about the reunion. We’d left the day before so they could have a little time for themselves, but I wasn’t willing to stay gone for longer than that. I knew that those things rarely went how lovers envisioned them, and when I couldn’t reach Callie on her phone I’d decided to head north.
I didn’t know why I had such an awful feeling, things had seemed fine when we’d left, but I’d learned over the years to never ignore what my gut was telling me.
It was almost dark by the time we parked, and I was worried when I didn’t see Asa’s bike.
“Farrah, you see Asa’s bike parked at the curb?” I asked as I dragged my old bones out of the car. Those long trips were coming to an end for me soon if my sore body had anything to say about it.
“Nope. Looks like he isn’t here.”
We trudged up the stairs, and she headed to her apartment as I pushed the key in to unlock my door. The hair on the back of my neck was standing on end, and I listened closely as I pushed the door open.
I hadn’t taken one step inside before Farrah’s terrified voice drifted through the night.
“Gram!”
I spun around, hitting my shoulder on the doorjamb before I hurried down the landing, cursing my old body for not letting me move faster. When I got to Callie’s door, I stopped abruptly.
Farrah was gaping at a dead man lying in a large pool of blood on the kitchen floor.
“Callie!” I whispered to myself, looking away from the dead man and making my way hurriedly through the apartment. “Where are you?”
I found her quickly, but I thought I was going to have a heart attack when I did.
I’ve seen a lot in my seventy-three years on this earth. I’ve stitched gaping cuts on my children and I’ve set my own arm after an incredibly bad fight with my husband. I’ve identified four of my children’s dead bodies, two from knife wounds and two from gunshot wounds. But nothing on this earth, no experience in my life, could have prepared me, or hurt as badly, as what I found in Callie’s bedroom.
She was sitting on the floor, and Farrah’s .45 was resting within her reach on top of the dresser, surrounded by bloody bullets and the cardboard box they came in.
Her face was almost unrecognizable, her nose and eye so swollen that the latter was completely closed, and she had blood all over her body. One of her arms was hanging at her side, and the other—
It was running through Will’s hair as he lay next to her, his head on her thigh.
For the first time in his life, the boy was completely still, lying on his side with one palm flattened near his face on Callie’s leg.
I covered my mouth in horror as I realized they were both covered in blood.
Dear God.
“Mama? Owie,” Will mumbled seriously, turning his head slightly so he could look at Callie’s face.
“Yeah, son. Mama has an owie,” she answered gently in a tone that indicated it was a conversation they’d had before.
“Will kiss,” he told her softly, turning his head so he could kiss her thigh before he settled back against her.
“Thanks, Will,” she commented, closing her good eye as she leaned her head against the wall behind her. “Mama feels so much better now.”