I nod and, reflexively, the edge of my mouth pulls up.
He holds out his hand, and I slip mine into his. My pulse slows, and my chest opens. I can breathe again.
With my palm wrapped safely in his, he leads me to a small pond at the base of the hill the house sits on. There’s an iron bench there like you’d find in a park. Cal sits and pats the spot next to him.
His eyes are a blue flame in a sky of orange and pink. But the fire there is welcoming and warm—not one I need to put out, even if I should.
I sit close. My head rests against the arm he’s slung across the back of the bench. The water mirrors the sunset, softening its color even more, adding browns and blues. Tall cattails sway nearby. Birds chitter. A light breeze carries a thousand smells, and I wish I could dissect and identify each one.
“Look there.”
I follow the direction of Cal’s finger to where mama ducks and her chicks are swimming, dipping their beaks into the water, coming back up and shaking their heads. I’ve seen ducks before, but there’s something about the way the ducklings stayclose to their mum, following her movements, imitating her that tugs at my heart and my memories.
“When I was a kid, my mum used to take my brother, Archie, and me to this little park where we’d feed the ducks,” I say. “I’d forgotten that until just now.”
“That sounds nice. Must be hard to spend time with her now.”
I nod. “She’s still back in Australia.”
Cal nods in return. “Do you talk to her much?”
I take a breath. “Probably not often enough. The time difference makes it hard, and she’s got younger kids. My half-brother and sister are still at home, so she’s busy with them.”
I don’t tell him how often she reaches out and I don’t reply.
“I didn’t talk to my mom much when I was in Wyoming. Then I became a dad and realized I needed her more than I ever knew.”
Cal’s leg touches mine, and I don’t pull away, but as much as I’m tempted to, I resist sinking into him or letting him take on the weight ofme. That’s not fair to him. It’s not fair to Junie. It’s not fair to anyone.
“How’d she die? Your wife, I mean.”
Flo’s told me the basics, but I’ve wanted to hear the story from Cal. Now’s not the ideal time, but I’ve leaned on him over the past week as my life’s threatened to unravel. I’d like to be someone he feels can hold his story, like he’s held mine.
Cal swings his arm from behind me and leans forward on his knees, clasping his hands together. “Car wreck. Junie was six months old. She was in the backseat, passenger side, when Kayla got T-boned. Hit right on the driver’s side. She never had a chance. But Junie was okay, by some miracle.”
Our legs are pressed together, but I hold back reaching for him. “I’m so sorry, Cal.”
He exhales. “It’s hard to balance out what I feel about losing Kayla with the relief I feel about not losing Junie too.”
Before I know what I’m doing, I brush my hand down his back but stop before I do something really stupid—like hold him. “I can’t imagine going through something like that. You must miss her.”
Cal sends me a sad smile over his shoulder. “To be honest, I don’t miss her like I should. We got married because she was pregnant, and I thought that was the best way to fix the mistake I’d made going to bed with her. Raising Junie alone is hard, but being married was hard too.”
“Relationships are hard.”
Cal scoffs. “Yeah. I should have done more to make my marriage easier.”
“I don’t know anyone who’s been married who couldn’t say the same thing, including me.”
Cal sits back. Our shoulders touch, and I don’t move away. Cal may need to lean on me for once, and I want to be able to support him. “What would you do different?”
No idea why, but that makes me laugh. “Everything. Probably wouldn’t marry Brandon in the first place. I did it as much to get out of marrying who my dad wanted as for any other reason.”
It’s easier to tell myself that than admit I was ever really in love with Bran.
Cal’s brow furrows. He does that when he’s trying to figure something out. “Is that one of the relationships that’s hard for you? You and your dad?”
I nod and swallow. “I don’t speak to Malcolm—my dad. He doesn’t know where I am. I want to keep it that way. Or, at least, I hoped to. There’s no way he won’t find me now.”
