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Callahan
“Did you talk to the rep from the ASPCA?”
Finn doesn’t bother looking away from his screen when he answers. “Left two voicemails.” He’s getting more frustrated by the minute. I can’t blame him. We’re getting nowhere with this.
The day after we got back from the beach, Lucy came in early for her shift and walked us through what happened with Bob Sopa. According to her, he was only in the store for about three minutes. At no point did he try to get past the sales counter, and she saw him get out of his car, come straight into the building, and leave the same way. He wasn’t out inspecting the grounds, and he never asked for a tour of the facilities; we reserve those for paying customers, but it wouldn’t have been unusual. If he’d asked.
But he didn’t ask for anything, which is why it’s weird. And why we’re having so much trouble pinpointing what might have sparked the complaint.
“What about PETA?”
Finn slams his pencil down on the table.
“How about you, Cal?” he says, pushing back from the table. “You been down to city hall yet?”
I look away. He knows I haven’t.
“Damn it.” Finn runs his hands through his hair, not for the first time in the last hour. “I’m sorry, Callie, but going down there and dealing with them in person would go a lot faster than playing hopscotch all over the Internet on a guess.”
“I know.”
“And I can’t go,” he says, pointing at me. “It has to be you. Your name’s on the license.”
“I know.”
I haven’t left the house since we got back. The invisible counter in my head is only showing five days, but it’s back up and ticking, just like before we left.
Raleigh and West made it easy to talk a big game, when being brave was about being with them. Add the beach, and the ocean, and all the romance of a seaside wedding, and making promises is a lot easier to do in the face of all that. Waking up Monday morning was a different story; same for every morning since. Doesn’t help that I’m going to bed and waking up alone.
Now is not the time.
“You said things were going to change,” says Finn, his frustration gone. Now he just sounds… sad. God help me, that hurts.
“They are,” I say. It sounds pathetic even to my ears. I can’t tell him things have already changed. How can I? I can’t tell him how, or how much.
Looking at the last five days, maybe he’s right. Maybe nothing has changed at all.
Don’t you dare give up. It’s Raleigh’s voice in my head.
This isn’t finished. That one is West.
It’d be a lot easier to take your word for it if you were both here, I mentally reply.
And that’s where we’ve come to. I’m talking to the voices in my head.
Finn shakes his head and turns, heading for the back door.
“Finn.”
“Enough, Callie,” he says, holding up a hand. But he stops at the door, waiting for me to say something.
“I’ll figure this out,” I say. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Tell me something, Callie,” he says, turning around, flushed with anger or frustration or disappointment. I hate hurting him like this, and I know it’s all my own fault. “Have you gotten in touch with that therapist yet?”
I don’t say anything. Finn huffs out a laugh.
“Yeah,” he says, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “That’s what I thought.”
