“I prefer ‘realist’ if you don’t mind.”
“Realist my ass . . .” The door from the office opened and shut in its all-too-familiar swoosh-bang. Steve didn’t even flinch, but Amelia’s gaze went right to the entrance. The sound, a sound that used to mean that Steve was home, had become one that made her heart race in the past week.
Caleb used to knock, but recently he’d been coming in at random times, stepping boldly across the threshold and into the kitchen. Sometimes she was making dinner or fitting in a few dishes, but once she’d been sitting at the kitchen table in her pj’s tank top and no bra. It wasn’t like he ever said anything, not even, “Sorry for freaking you out twice in the past few weeks. I swear I’m not a crazy stalker.”
Amelia was still wrapped up in her worries about Caleb’s overt interest in not just her but her kids. She’d been meaning to bring it up to Steve, but there was no way to be sure how he’d respond. Actually, she’d been thinking about it a lot and had concluded that there were really only two ways he’d react.
One, he’d laugh and tell Amelia she was overreacting. Or, two, he’d get angry and yell at Caleb, maybe even fire him. And Caleb didn’t have much to fall back on. Barely finishing high school and then taking a few community college art courses didn’t prepare you much for real life.
No. Everyone loved Caleb, so it would probably be scenario number one, and Amelia was tired of being told she was overreacting. Steve had already had a good laugh at her thinly veiled jealousy toward the insurance agent the week before.
Today, Caleb was staring at his shoes, and had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, which were several sizes too big and held up only by an ancient leather belt with extra holes pounded in it, probably with something sharp like a nail. Was he losing more weight? There were extra lines in his cheeks and around his mouth. Obscure circles sat like the dark side of a crescent moon under his eyes. Something was off with this version of Caleb. How had she missed it earlier? He’d always been shy and a bit standoffish, but he’d never been creepy or sickly before.
Amelia kind of expected Steve to let her go and back away as soon as Caleb came through the door, but instead, he tightened his grip and kissed her neck in that spot again. But it didn’t cause her weak knees this time, only embarrassment.
“Steve, Caleb’s here,” she mumbled, wondering if he hadn’t noticed. Without looking up, Steve laid another kiss on his wife’s exposed neck and then cheek.
“What do you need, Caleb? Can’t it wait?” His hands were now flat against her stomach and starting to feel less like an embrace and more like a hold. Part of Amelia wanted to wrench away from what felt like some he-man show of territory that she totally didn’t understand. But when she thought about the ensuing embarrassment, she tried to relax all her muscles and submit instead. Maybe Steve had noticed the change in Caleb, and this was his way of putting him back in his place, reminding him that although they’d been having some problems lately, Steve was still her husband. Maybe.
“I just need you to open the safe.”
Steve was obsessive with security. The safe held a large amount of cash at any given time; he often had to pay workers and suppliers in cash in order to get a discount. Amelia had no idea how much was coming in, how much was going out, or how much was sitting inside that safe. He also kept all their important documents, passports, and birth certificates in it. He changed the combination once a week, usually on Monday nights, just to be careful. Every week he’d write that number on a blue Post-it with a black Sharpie and put it on the inside of his underwear drawer, and only he and Amelia knew exactly where he kept it. Steve said it was good for her to know where the information was in case something happened to him and they needed to get into the safe. It was a SentrySafe, and the only way to break into one of those lovelies was using a blowtorch or maybe the Jaws of Life.
But no one but Steve was allowed in the safe. Ever. Ever. Though she knew where the combo was, Amelia never had the nerve to spin it in herself. Even when she’d had a line of workers out the door on payday a few months ago and Steve had been running late.
When Caleb finally lifted his gaze off her dingy kitchen tile as Steve went upstairs to recheck the new combination, the cool blue of his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. She didn’t want to feel this way about Caleb. Maybe, just maybe, she was overreacting, and she should let him clear the air.
Eyes still connecting them, she tipped her head to one side, trying to see Caleb from another angle. He worked in an office attached to her house. He was going to be family soon. Deep down, he really was a good man; she knew that without a doubt.
“Hey, can we talk?” The words were easier to say than she’d thought they would be, but her timing was bad. Steve would be back any second. How could this conversation bring closure or clarity in less than two minutes? She glanced up the stairs and then back at Caleb, who looked too stunned to speak. Then he took a step forward, a shaking hand reaching out toward her like he was trying to reassure her.
“I’m sorry, Amelia. I have a lot I need to tell you. I’ve been looking for the right moment, but . . . there aren’t really right moments to say something like this . . .” He took another step forward, his forehead turning red and glistening with nervous sweat. Amelia’s heart started to thump loudly in her chest and ears.
A tumble of footsteps stopped Caleb far better than any words Amelia could have come up with. His hand retreated, and he took one or two steps backward, and immediately Amelia knew that whatever Caleb had been trying to say, he didn’t want Steve to hear it.
Caleb was already in his submissive pose, back behind the table, staring at his toes and the off-colored grout. Steve rushed down the stairs with Kate on his back, bouncing up and down like she was riding a pony.
“Faster, Daddy. More bouncing!” she shouted, pretending to smack Steve on the back like he was a racehorse and she was a tiny little jockey. Cora followed behind the raucous pair, somber, overly mature, and intentionally serious.
“Mom, I can’t focus when everyone is so loud. I have to finish my homework.”
Amelia always loved it when her ten-year-old acted like the one page of math and twenty minutes of reading she received every single day were equivalent to a college freshman’s whole course load. Maybe it meant she’d be a natural when it came to school.