Page 54 of Something Borrowed

“And Vic,” Cal’s voice dropped to a low whisper. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but there’s something really wrong with your mother.”

She opened her mouth to agree, but he shook his head. “No, I mean other than her being . . . very mean. It’s not normal. I think she’s ill. How she acts . . . It’s a symptom, not just a personality thing.”

Chapter 27

Now that Carrie was trying to fly out, real snow, not just pretty, softly swirling flakes, had finally come to Greenridge. Of course. It was their second time up to the airport; her first flight having been canceled due to lack of visibility. A faint band of chilly blue sky ringed each mountain range now, however, so Cal figured she’d get out this time, no problem.

“I really appreciate this, really appreciate you,” she said, glancing over at him from the passenger side seat, pulling off her gloves.

“Wow, it must be almost Christmas. Look who’s getting all sentimental.”

“Shut up.” She smacked him with one of her freshly removed gloves.

“Won’t need those where you’re going.” Vancouver rarely had any snow worth mentioning, and on the odd chance some did fall, it quickly melted and didn’t stick around.

“I know, I know—and I’m serious.”

Cal turned the windshield wipers down a notch. He darted a glance over at Carrie. “I appreciate you too. And you’re going to have a great time with Jordy and Kelsey.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I guess . . . or I hope. It’s just not how I ever pictured my ‘family’ Christmases, you know?”

“Yep.” He hated how the sadder he was for someone, the more his words dried up. He wanted to make Carrie feel better, just—Poof! Magically not hurt anymore. Instead, he could barely string two words together.

“And divorcing when you have adult children?” Carrie continued. “If anyone had asked me, before all this became my reality, I would’ve assumed it would be easier on them than if they were little.”

Cal nodded.

“But it’s not—or maybe it is. I don’t know.”

Cal gave what he hoped was an understanding grunt, and Carrie shrugged. “Either way, our split hurt them, though. Still does, I think. Makes them question their pasts, how they were raised, and what they thought was true about who Craig and I were—and I get it. I get it. Was everything a lie? Or maybe some parts were true, were good once . . . we’ll never know.”

“Maybe not,” Cal agreed sadly, still wishing he had words of wisdom or encouragement, the way she always seemed to. Hell, he was a man, yet he looked at the choices some men made and he couldn’t understand them.

“It makes them look at their own relationships differently, too,” she said sadly, then added with a self-conscious laugh, “Blah, blah, blah—I’m sorry. I know it’s the same old, worn-out tune from me.”

He nodded—then shook his head. “Some things hurt so deep you have to go over and over and over them, just trying to make sense, to get by.”

She nodded.

“What happened sucks, but you are who you’ve always been, Carrie. You were never faking. If he’d told you he was unhappy, you would’ve tried to fix whatever it was you were doing or not doing.”

Carrie stared into the darkness and the gusting snow beyond the window that kept them from seeing more than a few feet in front of them.

“And how about you?” she asked a beat or two later. “You’ll be okay?”

“I think I can manage the office without you for a day until I close for the week,” he said, intentionally misunderstanding her.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. No, I’ll be grand.”

“You won’t just hole up in your house and not visit another living person the whole ten days I’m away?”

“Ha. No promises.”

A truck with a burnt-out taillight pegged the gas to get ahead of them before the double-lane merged into a single one. Cal had to pump the brakes. He shook his head.

“Idiot,” Carrie said.