chapter Sixteen
Carly was white, her lips compressed in a flat line. She looked like hell.
The doctor offered him her hand. “Thanks for coming in, Mr. Clark.” She was younger than him and nearly as tall, with a long face and kind eyes.
“Carly has elevated blood pressure,” she explained. “We’ve been keeping an eye on it, but it’s not coming down, and combined with the protein in her urine, we need to be concerned about the possibility of preeclampsia. I’m putting her on a modified form of bed rest.”
“What does that involve?”
“She’ll be permitted to leave her bed for bathroom visits, and she can spend two hours a day sitting up on a bed or couch. I don’t want her walking around or climbing up and down stairs any more than necessary. She’s going to need help. She tells me you can be counted on to assist her.”
Carly stared down at her lap, clearly uncomfortable.
“Of course,” he said. “We’re watching for bad headaches, blurry vision, and abdominal pain, right?” His sister Amber had been on bed rest with high blood pressure the first time she was pregnant. He remembered the drill.
“Yes. Also nausea or vomiting, dizziness, or sudden weight gain. I’d like to see her back here on Monday, and you should call the office if she experiences any of the symptoms, alone or in combination, before then.”
“Got it.”
They covered a few other details, the doctor gave Carly a quick pep talk, and she left. Caleb turned to Carly. She was biting her knuckle, a bad habit he’d thought she’d kicked in middle school.
“Sorry about that,” Carly said. “She asked if I had anybody who can help me, and I . . . I said I had you.” Her eyes filled with tears, which she swiped at viciously. “But you don’t need to put yourself out. Just give me a ride home, and I’ll call Nana. We’ll be fine.”
He wondered how many appointments she’d had to come to all by herself. Her husband had walked out on her when she finally got pregnant after years of trying, Nana was too frail to take care of her anymore, and Jamie Callahan had high-tailed it out of town the second their relationship started getting difficult. Carly was effectively alone, and Caleb had been too self-centered to think about how she must feel, stuck by herself in the house she’d grown up in, trying to cope with her losses and plan for the future.
Some friend he’d turned out to be.
He put his arm around her and rested his chin on top of her head. “You’re going to be fine. Both of you. We’ll get you sorted out. This is just a precaution. The doctor said so herself.”
Carly put her face against his shoulder, the closest thing to a surrender he’d ever known from her. He let her rest there, already thinking ahead about how to make this work. Thinking about this new wrinkle to his mission, now that protecting Carly meant a lot more than keeping her out of view of the press.
Nana would want to help, but someone would have to help Nana. He and Katie would need to put together a list of Carly’s friends who’d be willing to take shifts with her and bring food over.
Should he call Mitchell? Did the not-quite-ex-husband have a right to know, given that he was in Baja drinking too much and chasing after board bunnies?
Probably not.
Did Jamie Callahan?
Sorting through the possibilities gave him a nice hit of energy. For the most part, he enjoyed the slower pace of civilian life, but every now and then the shit hit the fan and he recognized how much more alive he felt, more himself, when there was almost too much to deal with. Surround him with cranky people and logistical difficulties, and it was like, Damn, this is what I was trained to do. Bring it on.
Carly wiped her face on his sleeve and straightened up.
“I think I got snot on your shirt,” she said.
“Don’t worry about it. The shirt was already having a rough day.”
He waited while she got dressed, then walked her to his car, which Sean had left in the lot like he was supposed to. She wouldn’t let Caleb carry her bag without a fight, which didn’t surprise him in the least. He hadn’t expected Carly to be a compliant patient.
There weren’t any photographers staking out the car, at least. He went through a drive-thru to buy her a sympathy milk shake and took her home, settling her down on her couch with a glass of water, her phone, her laptop, and strict instructions not to move until somebody showed up to help.
Then on to the next item on his list—Mom. On the drive over to the apartments, he brought Katie up to speed. She promised to find someone who could sit with Carly this afternoon and to start working on a schedule for the coming days.
From the lot in front of his parents’ place, he called Ellen. She didn’t pick up, so he left her a message filling her in on what was happening with Carly and suggesting she might want to think about telling her brother.
He didn’t know if she’d welcome the idea. He didn’t have the first clue what was going on in Jamie Callahan’s head. But if the guy felt anything for Carly, he’d get his ass back to Camelot. And that would create its own set of headaches.
His parents’ place was a converted apartment that took up the entire floor above the rental office. Caleb found his mother sitting at the table eating lunch. “What are we having?” he asked, wandering into the kitchen.
“It’s just leftover manicotti. If I’d known you were coming over, I would’ve gone to the grocery store.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you.” He dished cold pasta onto a plate and stuck it in the microwave. He’d been home six months, and she still treated him like the prodigal son, fixing his favorite foods and keeping beer in the fridge for him as if he might redeploy next week and she wanted his time home to be special. It had been nice for the first month. Now it made him wonder how long it was going to take before Mom accepted he wasn’t going anywhere. “How’s your day been?”
She waved one manicured hand as if her day wasn’t worth the bother of talking about. “Fine. I was over at the Parish House this morning getting ready for tomorrow’s lunch.”
His mother had converted to Catholicism when she married Dad. Overnight, Jannah Haddad became Janet Clark. The shift had scandalized her mother and various Lebanese great-aunts, but Catholicism suited her. She appreciated its emphasis on rules, tangible steps to be taken to endear herself to God. Any faith that rewarded showing up for mass with military precision was, in his mother’s book, a faith worthy of her effort.
“Your father’s gone into town to buy heaven knows what at the hardware store. Washers or something. Carriage bolts? I don’t know, I was only half-listening. You look good today. Very sharp.”
“Thanks,” he said, repressing a smile. His mom was a harsh judge of appearance. If she liked the shirt, the shirt was fine. “So do you.”
She’d been the receptionist in the college admissions office for a couple of decades before taking early retirement to care for his father, and she still cultivated the cool, reserved look she’d always had behind her desk—salt-and-pepper hair cut in a sleek bob, lipstick regardless of the occasion. It was 85 degrees with 90 percent humidity, and his mother was sitting in her own kitchen wearing a pink silk blouse and pearls.
He thought of Ellen in her purple T-shirt and smiled. Unlikely she owned pearls. Though maybe she had a whole closet full of lawyer outfits somewhere. He wouldn’t mind seeing Ellen in a suit if he got to take it off her.
“Katie said you had some work for me.” He settled down at the table with his plate of steaming manicotti. When he tried a bite from the edge, it burned the roof of his mouth.
“No, not really. I was going to call Kevin to come by. There’s some painting, and I know how you hate to paint. Plus, one of the units needs new vinyl laid in the bathroom. You don’t really do vinyl, do you?”
“I like painting, Mom. I’ve told you that. And I’ve probably laid half the bathroom floors in these units.”
“Well, that’s not true,” she said, and the fencing match began. After ten minutes, he’d managed to get her to admit he knew how to lay a vinyl floor and that he was a competent, if indifferent, painter. Five more, and he had the unit numbers that needed the work and a clear description of what had to be done.
He rinsed his plate and put it in the dishwasher. “Thanks for lunch. I’ll get this stuff taken care of right away.”
“You don’t have to rush. I know you have your own business to attend to. How are things going with that Jamie Callahan?”
“Not too bad,” he said, wishing the statement more closely resembled the truth. The job would be going better if the women he was supposed to be taking care of were more compliant.
Actually, that was true of his entire life. Between his mother, Katie, Ellen, and Carly, he was a sheep dog trying to round up kangaroos.
“The reporters have claimed all the good parking spots downtown. It’s terrible.”
“Do you know anything about Richard Morrow?” Mom and her parish ladies knew everyone in Camelot. He’d been hoping she could give him some intelligence on Ellen’s ex.
“Of course I know Richard. Why, is he caught up in this?”
“He was married to Callahan’s sister. Carly’s neighbor.”
“Yes, of course. I’ve met her a few times. Pretty woman. Though I felt sorry for her, being married to him. He’s such a charming man, very bright, but he has a serious drinking problem. Everybody knows about it.”
“I heard he’s been sober a month.”
“Good for him. Though he doesn’t have much choice, does he? The college insisted he go to rehab or they’d fire him. Honestly, they should’ve fired him years ago.”
“For the drinking?”
“More for the professional misconduct.”
He must have looked confused, because she clarified, “Affairs with students. Though I shouldn’t pass that along, I’ve only heard about it through the grapevine. The alcoholism I’ve seen firsthand. The man’s been three sheets to the wind at every university function I’ve ever attended with him.”
“He cheated on her?” Caleb asked, stupefied.
“Habitually, from what I’ve heard.” His mother caught him wringing the dish cloth like it was Richard Morrow’s neck and gave him a quizzical look. “It happens, dear.”
It did, but he hadn’t guessed it had happened to Ellen. No wonder she had trust issues.
He shook his head, trying to refocus. His mother was still watching him.
“I’m going to change and get to work,” he said. “When Dad gets back, send him over to help me out, okay? It’s easier to do the floors with two people.”
That distracted her. Chattering about how lovely it would be to spend the afternoon without having to look after her husband, she sent Caleb on his way with a bag of oatmeal-raisin cookies and a pat on the arm.
The painting didn’t take long. It was quiet, and it gave him time to think about Richard. Even if Richard stayed sober and became an exemplary father, Caleb had to hate him by default, because he’d had Ellen once, and he’d treated her like garbage. Treated her son like garbage, too, from what Caleb could tell.
And Morrow might not stay sober. Caleb had known a few guys in the service with alcohol problems, and when they dried out, they could be volatile, unpredictable. Raising their loved ones’ hopes of permanent change one day, only to screw them over and fall back into the bottle the next.
Plus, the timing was pretty convenient, wasn’t it? Morrow showing up and claiming to want to make amends just when Ellen’s life looked interesting to outside observers. His arrival outside the bookstore at the same time as Plimpton’s.
Caleb didn’t like the way Richard had looked at Ellen. He didn’t like him, and his instincts told him it went beyond jealousy. Morrow was up to something.
While Caleb was cleaning out the paint roller at the sink in the utility room, his dad made an appearance. Today, Derek Clark wore a green John Deere ball cap he’d probably put on for the drive to the hardware store in Mount Pleasant. He liked to express himself through his hats. This one said I’m a local.
“You get those carriage bolts you wanted?” Caleb asked.
“Huh? No. Went in for rat bait.”
“You put it on a high shelf, right?” he asked, thinking about Amber’s kids. You wouldn’t want to leave rat poison laying around where they could stumble on it.
“Sure, sure.”
The supply shed was Caleb’s next destination anyway. While they were there, he double-checked on the rat bait. You never could be too careful.
Together, he and his father lugged out the huge roll of vinyl flooring and cut a piece large enough for one of the units’ bathrooms. Then they gathered up all the supplies they’d need and let themselves into the empty apartment.
“You got the old floor out already?” Caleb asked, surprised to see the toilet sitting on cardboard in the kitchen and the unit’s bathroom barren but clean, ready for the install.
“Sure,” his father said with a frown. “I guess I did.”
This was the problem with Dad these days—he had the same tireless work ethic as ever, but his memory was riddled with holes.
Derek had brought along his beat-up portable radio, so they listened to the oldies as they put in the floor. “How’s the security work going?”
“Good.” Caleb kneeled on the subfloor, staring at a corner where the caulk around the tub had turned gray and pocked with age.
There had been a time when he’d have said more. Let his father in on his troubles. Caleb had been uncomfortable around his dad since the stroke, unsure how to deal with the situation. Katie gave him a hard time about it. He’s just Dad, she’d say, exasperated. He’s the same.
But he was different, and every reminder of it hit Caleb like a physical blow. He pitied his father, and pity didn’t sit right between them. He didn’t want to feel sorry for his dad any more than Dad wanted to see it on his face.
So they did this. The short conversations and the companionable silence thing. They’d always worked well together. As the only son, Caleb had been raised fetching tools and accepting his father’s instructions on how to clean up graffiti and get stains out of carpet. How to keep the roof in good shape and the flower beds looking their best. Hundreds of things.
“Dropped by the office on my way back from town,” Derek said, accepting the piece of flooring Caleb passed out of the bathroom, relief cuts completed, and handing him the tub of glue and a putty knife. “Katie told me something interesting.”
“About Levi?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
They were silent for a minute while Caleb spread glue. Finally, he blurted out, “I wish she’d told me. I could’ve helped her get home to Camelot after he walked out, at least. But I wish she’d told me back when she married him.”
“I’m sure she had her reasons.”
“I could’ve helped,” he repeated.
“Everybody has to make their own mistakes.”
Caleb had certainly made his share, but he’d have preferred to keep Katie perpetually eight years old, untouched by anything hard and dangerous in life. Untouched by Levi Rider, that was for sure.
Not exactly realistic, but that was how he’d always felt about her.
“She tell you not to say anything to Mom?” he asked.
“Mmm-hmm.”
Mom was going to give her seven different kinds of hell when she found out. “She seems all right, though.”
“You know Katie. Tough as nails, that girl. Takes after her mother. She’ll be fine.”
Caleb spread glue. His dad was probably right. Katie was tough. When he handed the tub back to his father and received the flooring again, Derek said, “I’d like to hang that Rider kid from the nearest yardarm.”
“Draw and quarter the little a*shole,” Caleb agreed.
They began to ease the vinyl in place, lining up the factory edge with the long, uninterrupted wall so the pattern wouldn’t come out crooked.
“Make soup from his guts,” Derek said after a few beats.
“Break all his bones, one at a time.”
“Mess up that smarmy smile of his.”
“Cut off his balls and make him eat them.”
Derek laughed. “Now that’s just plain disgusting, son.”
Caleb smiled, and for a while, he forgot about the stroke and simply enjoyed his father’s company.
By the time they finished up, it was two o’clock, and he needed a shower. He stopped home, cleaned up, ditched the black shirt, and went to his office. Katie seemed disappointed that he’d taken away her comedic inspiration.
She dispatched him to pick up Nana Short from her new place and drop her by Carly’s, which he did, and then Nana asked him to drive to the Village Market for groceries. After that, it was home again for dinner with Katie, a casserole to take to Carly, and he was beginning to feel like an errand boy.
“Stay for dinner,” Nana said. She carried the casserole into the kitchen and emerged to say, “Over at the home, I never get to eat with hot young things like you.”
“Don’t call it ‘the home,’” Carly said from the couch. “You make it sound like we’ve stuck you in one of those nightmare nursing homes from the movies where they neglect you and you get bedsores while they steal all your money. You picked this place out, for crying out loud. It looks like freaking Palm Springs. It’s the nicest condo in the county.”
“If it’s so great, why don’t you move there?” Nana asked. “Bunch of old people sitting around playing pinochle. There’s a reason I never wanted to move to Palm Springs.”
“That bad, huh?” Caleb grabbed a seat beside Carly to eat some of the chips and sour-cream dip Nana had set out for them. He enjoyed listening to Nana and Carly spar. It was like watching Ali and Foreman fight—they were pros.
“Everyone is so wrinkly. It’s disgusting. But on the plus side, I’m getting laid left and right.”
Caleb choked on his chip, which made Nana laugh.
“Don’t encourage her,” Carly said. “Honestly, Nana, nobody wants to hear about your sex life.”
“Tough. It’s my duty as a feminist to talk about it. The media perpetuates terrible stereotypes about mature women’s sexuality, like it’s a crime to want to get some if you don’t have perky boobs anymore.”
“Forget I said anything,” Carly muttered.
But Nana was on a roll. “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m neutered.” She wagged a finger at Carly. “And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m going to put on one of those ugly red hats and go on cruises with a bunch of biddies.”
“No?” Caleb asked, having recovered enough to reach for another chip. “I could see you having a good time on a cruise. You know they have open bars, right?”
“Oh, yeah?” Nana’s eyes softened as she forgot about the lecture and started imagining herself on a cruise. “You think I could find myself a boy toy on one of those ships? A rich one who’ll spring me from the home?”
“I think if you find a boy toy, he’s going to be after your money. If you want a rich one, you’ll have to settle for wrinkles.”
Nana sighed. “Story of my life. I can have hot or rich, but not both.”
Caleb winked at her. She walked up behind the couch and squeezed his bicep experimentally. “I think I’ll go with hot. You free, sweet cheeks?”
“Oh my God, shut up, both of you,” Carly said, flopping back onto a pillow.
Caleb laughed, and his phone chirped to tell him he had a text.
It was from Ellen. Done working soon. You like Bogart?
Another one came in immediately after the first. Come over. Bring chocolate sauce.
“Sorry, Nana. I have other plans for the night.”
Nana read over his shoulder and whistled. “I should say so. Is that from Ellen next door? Sweet, quiet, legs-up-to-here Ellen?”
“A gentleman never tells,” Caleb said, tucking his phone away and wishing he’d been discreet enough not to look at it within twenty feet of Nana.
“What’d she say?” Carly asked, sitting up straight again.
Nana ignored her. “You’re a lovely boy, Caleb, but you’re no gentleman.”
“No? I thought I had the whole officer-and-a-gentleman thing going.”
“C’mon, what’d she say?” Carly begged.
“Nah, you have the battle-scarred-soldier thing going. Don’t worry, though. It’s better.”
Caleb smiled. “Thanks. I think.”
“One of you has to tell me,” Carly said.
“Good night, ladies.” Caleb was already heading for the door.
He had to make another run to the grocery store, but this time, he didn’t mind.