chapter Four
Caleb watched his mother extract a Mento from the package in her purse and frown at it before offering it to his nephew Jacob, who popped it in his mouth with a “Thanks, Grandma!” and ran off to tell his brothers.
“It’s really nothing,” she said to Caleb. “I don’t want you to worry about it.”
Dinner long since over, they lingered in his front hallway, conferring at a volume that was quiet only in comparison to the racket the rest of the family was making.
“Why don’t you just tell me what happened and let me decide?” He asked this question in a tone that mostly concealed his intense frustration with her. A small victory. Small victories were the only kind he ever scored in this ongoing passive-aggressive campaign she was waging to drive him up the f*cking wall.
Six months he’d been back in Camelot, and still he and Mom did this polite dance nearly every time he saw her. Let me help you, he’d say. Let me take a look at that bill from the insurance company. Let me see that pile of work orders Dad hasn’t been able to deal with.
And she’d say, Oh, you’re too busy. Really, there’s nothing to help with. Have a seat, let me fix you something to eat.
The whole apartment complex could fall down around her ears, and she’d still insist there wasn’t a thing Caleb could do to help out. Which might be okay if she didn’t also, regularly and at great length, declare what a mess everything was, and how badly used she felt since his father’s stroke. It’s too much, she’d say. And then shove him away with both hands when he tried to take some of the burden off her shoulders.
His mother delayed her reply, surveying the open-plan living room with a pinched, disapproving expression. Dad leaned against the wall by the kitchen, tugging on his U.S. Army ball cap and spinning out some story about the annual Fourth of July fireworks that he’d already told twice tonight. Caleb’s younger sister, Katie, offered him a wan smile as she leaned against the wall beside him, arms crossed, listening.
The boys, Clark, Anthony, and Jacob, chased their barking golden retriever puppy in circles around the dining room table as Caleb’s older sister, Amber, laughed at something her husband, Tony, said and squirmed away as he tried to pull her into his lap.
You wouldn’t know from looking at his mother’s face how much she loved this gang of monkeys, but she did. Her heart was in the right place. If she remained above the fray, withholding and continually finding fault, it was only because she’d been raised that way. Her own mother was Lebanese, and all the women on Mom’s side of the family expressed affection through criticism and an obsession with appearances. Spotless floors and a neatly pressed shirt for the school dance said, I love you. Mom rarely did.
Nothing about her had changed since he was a kid. He knew it wasn’t fair of him to hold the way she was against her, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He was responsible for this boisterous, problem-plagued crew now—or at least, he was trying to be. She made it hard as hell for him to do the job he’d moved home to do.
“Well, it’s your father, of course,” she admitted, casting a baleful look in his direction. “He’s made a mess of things again.”
Caleb bristled, same as he always did when she started in on Dad. “What happened?”
“He took the master key out of the drawer when I wasn’t paying attention. By the time I found him, he’d left an open can of paint in one unit and done something to the plumbing in 4C that I’m going to have to call Kevin in to fix.”
Kevin was a local handyman and one of Mom’s favorite feints in the conversational swordplay she kept dragging Caleb into. He couldn’t understand it. She knew he wanted to help. She knew his father had taught him to do any sort of work that needed to be done at the apartments his parents owned. And yet she persisted in pretending she was planning to pay Kevin money she couldn’t afford for work her own son was perfectly willing and able to do free of charge. Every time, she made him pry the information out of her.
It was both insulting and exhausting, but all very polite. Which was his mother to a T.
At times like this, he missed the simplicity of the chain of command. It would improve matters a lot if he could just hand Mom her orders and be done with it.
Given the way things had been going, she was far more likely to be handing him orders. But even that would be an improvement over the current situation.
“You don’t need to call Kevin. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“Or maybe Tony can spare a few minutes.”
Tony and Amber had their hands full with three young boys and a construction business that had been struggling since the housing market took a dive. “Tony’s got a lot to do already. I can come by—”
“Please, don’t worry about it. I’ll give Kevin a call tomorrow.”
Katie piped up from down the hall. “Let him help, Ma. I swear, you’re going to drive Caleb crazy.”
“Well, he’s busy,” she chided. “He has to focus on his business. June over at the Parish House was telling me last week how many new businesses fail, especially when the owners don’t have the skills or the experience they need—”
“Holy cow, Mom, lay off,” Katie said. “Caleb’s not going to fail. Camelot Security’s doing fine. He can take an hour off tomorrow to do some plumbing, and I’ll make sure the office doesn’t implode while he’s out.”
Caleb threw Katie a tight smile, grateful she was loyal, if not honest. She made a shooing motion behind their parents’ backs. Get them out of here.
He opened the door and told his mother, “I’ll take care of it.”
“All right,” she said, as if she were doing him a favor. She tucked her purse under her arm. “Come by early, though. The tenant needs his shower working.” Glaring at her husband, she asked, “Are you ready yet, Derek? It’s time for us to go.”
Caleb’s father smiled his crooked smile, unperturbed. “I guess I am.”
Eventually, with Katie’s help, Caleb got them all out of the house, though not before his mother had remarked that the lawn needed mowing and the trim could use a coat of paint.
“We are never doing that again,” he said as pushed the door closed.
“It wasn’t that bad this week. At least they left early.”
He checked his watch. Seven thirty. Still time to get over to Burgess Street. Pretty minor, as blessings went, but he’d take it. “She was on Dad’s case worse than usual.”
Already walking down the back hall toward her room on some private errand, Katie didn’t reply. Caleb made his way to the living room, where he took in the devastation three rowdy schoolkids and a dog had wreaked on his house in the span of a few hours. Open magazines covered the rug he’d sent home from Turkey. Couch cushions, blankets, and a folding chair formed some kind of rickety structure in the corner. There was a mystery puddle of clear liquid on the hardwood.
He shook his head at the wreckage and started putting the couch back together.
When he’d bought this place after 9/11, converting his savings and reenlistment bonus into the down payment, he figured he was probably heading into combat. He’d wanted the comfort of knowing that one day the war would be over and he would move home to Camelot and live in his own house.
He’d seen himself with a wife eventually, and maybe a kid or two. Police or security work to keep him busy. He’d never thought he would get deployed to Iraq three times in five years, or that he’d end up staying on in the army for another decade. He just hadn’t been able to walk away. Not when his men still needed him.
Never had he imagined he’d end up back home at thirty-three, a small business owner with his baby sister as a roommate.
Not that he regretted any of it. He’d left home a cocky, aimless kid in search of new people to charm and adventures of the sort the Midwest didn’t have on tap. And he’d found them in Germany, Sarajevo, Iraq—but the military police had also given him the mission he hadn’t known he was craving. A day-in, day-out struggle to make a positive difference thousands of miles from home.
The army had taken fifteen years of the best he had, and he considered it a fair exchange for what he’d gotten in return. He’d served with honor. Now it was time to put his family first.
He surveyed the scene. Better, but he needed paper towels. While he was in the kitchen getting them, Katie came in, wet a rag, and began wiping down the countertop, her short black hair swinging around her face.
“You should try not to get so mad at Mom,” she said.
“She’s mean to him, and he’s weak. It ticks me off.”
“She can’t help it. It bugs her that Dad doesn’t remember things anymore. She thinks he just needs to try harder.”
“Yeah. It’s a problem.”
Before the stroke, Derek Clark had been a model husband and father. He’d managed the Camelot Arms Apartments with a capable good cheer, and he’d provided a decent living for the family. These days, the physical therapists pronounced him recovered, but he remained easily distracted. His short-term memory was pretty much shot. He seemed oblivious to how much his condition had deteriorated.
It made Caleb feel like shit to think about it, so he tried not to.
Katie exhaled loudly, blowing off steam, and opened the fridge door to put away a few bottles of salad dressing.
“I don’t get why she doesn’t just call me when this stuff comes up,” Caleb said.
“She doesn’t want to bother you.”
“She’s supposed to bother me. Being around for her to bother me is the whole reason I moved back here.”
“I know that, Caleb. She knows it, too, but she’s used to you being gone. I think she’s afraid to depend on you in case you decide to reenlist or something. Give it time, huh?”
Unconvinced, he grunted his assent. He’d already given it six months.
Katie pulled the trash can out from under the sink and started shoving used disposable cups and cutlery in it, her mouth set in a grimace he’d seen too often lately. Between working as his office manager, studying for the online college class she was taking, and nursing whatever private pain she’d brought back from Alaska, she had too much on her plate.
All of them did. Mom and Dad’s apartment complex was aging, getting more expensive to run every year, and the price of their health insurance seemed to double every time he blinked.
Someone had to take care of them. That someone was him.
Heading back into the living room, he wiped up the mess on the floor. He’d been hoping it was water, but it didn’t smell like water. Next week, the dog stayed home.
He returned to the kitchen and tossed the sodden paper towels over his sister’s shoulder and into the trash. Direct hit. Katie looked at the bag. Looked at him. “Don’t throw pee towels at me, Buster. I am not the enemy.”
True, that. She was the best friend he had in this town. Most of his old buddies had moved on years ago, drawn away to Columbus or farther afield. Katie had gone all the way to Anchorage with her high school boyfriend and started up an outfitting business, but a few months before their dad’s stroke she’d come back alone, flat broke, refusing to talk about Alaska. Caleb had given her the house to live in rent-free, never expecting they’d end up sharing it.
When he had first moved home, he’d been shocked by the change in her. She spent nights tending bar and sat around listless in yoga pants all day, snacking and watching reality TV. It was as if someone had stolen his sister—usually all restless motion and cheerful wit—and replaced her with a zombie. He’d offered her the job in the office to get her out of the house, and it seemed to have helped. She was much more herself lately.
But he still worried.
He nudged Katie away from the sink with his hip so he could wash his hands. “I don’t have any enemies.”
To his surprise, Katie put her arms around him. “That’s right,” she said. “Everybody loves Caleb.” He turned, holding his wet hands away from her back and looking down at the top of her head resting on his chest.
Affection from Katie was a rare thing. She had a big heart and a barbed sense of humor that she used to keep anyone who didn’t know her well from guessing it. “You’re getting soft,” he told her.
She poked him in the stomach. “Compared to you, everybody is soft.” When she met his eyes, he saw her concern. “You worry too much,” she said. “It’s going to be fine.”
“What is?”
“Everything.”
He sure as hell hoped so. When he started the company, he’d been counting on some business from the college. The woman who ran the campus security office had made enthusiastic noises about contracting with him for the protection of visiting speakers and dignitaries, and they’d developed a plan to set up car and bike patrols of the campus under his supervision—something the college needed but couldn’t afford to do itself, since adding a staff of full-time security employees would cost a fortune in salary and generous Camelot College benefits, whereas Caleb could do it mostly with part-timers.
During the last few phone calls he’d had with her, though, her enthusiasm had cooled. She’d told him student enrollment was down for the coming year, and her budget had taken a hit. In the meantime, Camelot Security had eaten up nearly all of his savings. Business wasn’t coming in fast enough to meet the payroll.
Hoping to lighten the moment, he stuck a wet hand down the back of Katie’s shirt, making her screech and swat at him with a dish towel. He stole it and used it to dry off his hands. “I have to get going.”
“Where are you off to? Hot date?”
There was a thought. “I have to go check on the guys at Carly’s place and maybe talk to Callahan’s sister.” If she’ll let me in the door.
Katie boosted herself up to sit on the counter and leaned eagerly toward him. “Did you meet Jamie yet? Is he as hot as he looks on TV?”
“I already told you, he’s in L.A. I’m probably not going to meet him.”
“The sister’s pretty, though. I’ve seen her around.”
“She’s a job. I’m not allowed to notice.”
Tactical error. Katie’s whole face brightened. “Ooh, you like her! With your luck, she’ll probably throw herself at you, and you’ll have to beat her off with a stick.”
“I’m not a mall cop. I don’t carry a stick.”
She gave him an impish smile. “So improvise.”
“Very funny.” Grabbing his keys from the table by the phone, he slipped on his shoes and headed for the door. “I’m walking. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“See you.”
On his way down the driveway, he let himself imagine a variety of unlikely scenarios in which Ellen actually did throw herself at him. That drill-sergeant mouth softening, her hands gripping his shoulders as she rose to the balls of her bare feet and kissed him.
Never gonna happen.
And that was for the best. He didn’t need to kiss Ellen, he needed to convince her. Whatever it took, he had to find a way to make the woman let him do the job he’d been hired to do so he could exceed Breckenridge’s expectations and save his own ass.
Breckenridge was the key to turning things around. His contact there had told him the nationwide company didn’t have enough agents in the Midwest, and they hired out a lot of work. If Caleb performed well on this job, more contracts would be coming his way.
He had a mission. His family was counting on him.
Caleb wouldn’t lay a finger on Ellen Callahan.