“I wish I’d been there,” he murmurs. “I should have fucking been there.”
“You couldn’t have done anything.” This is truer than he will ever know. If he had been there when my father discovered our secret, he’d be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life—if he was lucky—and our baby would still be gone.
“Why? Why did it happen?”
I bite my lip, my eyes stinging furiously. “Sometimes it just…it happens, Cal. Sometimes it’s just what’s meant to be.”
He thinks about this for a second, eyes fixed on a distant point over my head, though I can tell he’s not seeing anything. “Fine. I know…I know I probably couldn’t have stopped it, but I should have been there for you, Coralie. You must have needed me.” I nod again. I feel myself crumple, the stoic expression I’ve tried to maintain on my face disintegrating as I burst into tears. “Shit. Come here.” Callan takes me in his arms and holds onto me, kissing my temple and my cheek gently as he rocks us from side to side. I can feel his tears wetting my face, too. I’ve only ever seen him cry one other time—when I climbed into bed with him a couple of nights after Jo told us she was dying. Ever since then, he’s been putting a brave face on, helping her when she’s sick, driving her to and from her chemo appointments. He’s been strong for her, which has meant no tears. Until now, of course.
He holds my face in his hands, bright diamonds hanging from the ends of his sooty eyelashes. “I’m sorry, bluebird. I’m so fucking sorry. I know we didn’t plan to have a kid. I know we’re kids ourselves, but I would have taken care of you both. I would have supported and loved you both, no matter what. Later, when we’re ready, we can try again. If you want to. If you can still see yourself having a family with me.” I can feel his pain radiating off him, aching the same way it aches in me. I was so scared when I found out I was pregnant, but telling Callan changed that. He calmed me, made me feel excited about it for the first time. I want nothing more in the world than to have a child with him, but it’s never going to happen now, though. I know what I have to do, and it’s going to destroy me.
“Lunch is almost over,” he says, leaning his head against mine. “Will you be able to come over later? We should probably talk some more about this.”
I tell him I can and I kiss him goodbye.
CHAPTER TWENTY
CORALIE
Goodbye
THEN
The kitchen at Callan’s place is spotless. In between school, taking care of his mom and basketball, (Jo refused to let him quit) Callan’s somehow managed to keep this place perfectly clean and tidy, too. I can hear him upstairs, talking to his mother while she coughs and splutters. It’s so hard for her to sleep most of the time. She developed pneumonia a while back as a side effect of her cancer treatment, and even though she shook it eventually she’s never really rid herself of the wracking cough that plagues her whenever she lies down.
Malcolm fell asleep early tonight. He seemed relieved that I went back to school and no one questioned me about my time away, or the faint yellowish tinge of the bruises I covered up on my face, and so he left me be. I still hadn’t unpacked the bag I’d put together for my New York trip, so getting my things together had been simple. I’d thrown a few extra t-shirts into the duffel and kicked it under my bed. Then it had only been a matter of sitting on the edge of my bed and waiting for dark for fall.
I spent three hours perched there, wondering if Callan would come with me after I told him what Malcolm did. Now, standing in his kitchen, listening to him upstairs with Jo, it’s all too clear that he can’t come with me. It’s impossible. She needs him here. She could easily afford to hire someone to help out around the house. Have a terminal care nurse come by the house and bathe her, administer her drugs, and make sure she has everything she needs. But she wouldn’t have her son, and that would be the cruelest thing I could do to the woman. The cruelest thing I could do to Callan, too. I can’t even put him in that position.
I stand still for a very long time, the webbing of the duffel strap biting into the flesh of my palm, and I try to soak everything in. The sights and sounds of the Cross household are second nature to me, but soon they’ll be nothing more than a memory. I’ll never be able to come back here. I’ll never be able to see him again.