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Oh? Homework? Sure, Benji. It can wait.
Thanks.
Benji?
Yeah?
I think… I think everything is going to be all right.
Of course you do, I thought. Of course you do, you bitch. How dare you forget him like he’s nothing. How dare you. Sure, Mom. Whatever you say. I gave her another smile as she left the room.
And for the next few months, I focused on what needed to be done not to draw attention to myself. I buckled down. I worked hard. The police reports, the coroner’s reports, the photos, the little chunk of metal that supposedly came from his truck, twisted and black—all stayed locked up, secreted away. They would have my undivided attention later. I would give them all the time they needed once the focus was no longer on me.
But the longer they stayed hidden, the harder it was to find the courage to look at them again. Maybe I was seeing things that weren’t there. Maybe there was no evidence to suggest anything happened other than what the investigators said. Maybe my father was going to Eugene to meet with friends. Maybe he lost control of the truck (a deer? slick roads? distracted?). Maybe he crashed down the embankment, flipped his truck, and drowned just like they said. Maybe that’s all it was.
Adrift. My mother and I were adrift, occasionally colliding and bouncing away. The wounds scabbed over but never healed, just waiting to be torn open again. That’s the thing about grief: the longer it festers, the harder it is to cleanse.
So I’m not surprised that my mother isn’t there the morning after Cal returns.
She’s seen something that has altered her perception of the way the world works and needs time to work it out on her own. It helps me that she had the exact same reaction I did when Cal first revealed himself: shock, denial, then anger. She and I are more alike than I like to admit, and I would do well to remember that.
Mary rejoices at seeing Cal again, much like her twin. Christie seems more subdued and gives a less warm reception, but Cal still has her smiling by the end of breakfast, charming her completely. If my mother has said anything to either of them, they don’t show it on their faces. I like to think that they wouldn’t be able to hide the shock of something so life-altering from me, especially given they are blood relations. I watch closely for any telltale sign, any flicker of fear or amazement based on anything other than the conversation at hand.
There’s nothing.
Cal and I spend the rest of the day in bed. I don’t hear my phone ring later that night, my mother leaving a message in a flat voice that she wants me to open the store tomorrow, but that Cal should stay at Little House. Like hell, I think when I listen to the message. Cal’s running his big hands up my thighs, cradling my balls. Like fucking hell. I toss the phone to the floor as he leans down and swallows me whole. Fast learner, he is.
The second day, Roseland rejoices at Cal’s return.
It doesn’t take long for word to spread that the big guy is back. What starts off as a quiet morning soon leads to the bell above the door ringing steadily. I begin to recognize the looks that people give when they walk in: a brief smile for me, almost as a courtesy, their gazes darting until they find who they are looking for. Their eyes light up, and they step forward, hand outstretched if they are male, arms wide open for a hug if they are female. “It’s good to see you,” becomes the mantra of the day. “Glad to have you back. You sticking around this time?” Cal glances at me every time before he answers, as if seeking my approval, as if I am the one making the decision for him. And every time I nod. “Sure am,” he says. “Benji’s going to let me drive the Ford. It’s so cherry, you know?”
They know.
Rosie comes to steal him away later in the afternoon, taking him back to the diner, wanting to show him the green-clover marshmallow cupcakes she made just for him. His eyes go slightly dreamy at the thought (not an “I don’t know if I’m going to like that” uttered) and she glances at me, as if asking my permission. I shove down the slight panic, rolling my eyes and muttering that she’s going to be responsible when he’s destroyed the town due to his sugar high. She laughs and has started pulling him away, the other ten people in the store waiting to follow them out, when Cal stops. And turns. With a determined look in his eye. I know what that look means. I have about four seconds to make up my mind on whether or not to stop him before he’s on me, leaning across the counter, hooking his hand around my neck, pressing his lips firmly against mine. The world goes white around us as he nibbles on my bottom lip, briefly touching his tongue to mine. He pulls away and presses his forehead against me. “Okay, Benji?” he asks quietly, kissing my cheek. “I’ll be back. I promise.”
“Sure,” I manage to say. “Have fun.”
He pulls away and turns toward Rosie, who has the biggest shit-eating grin on her face. “Looks like someone has been holding out on me,” she says, eyeing me over his shoulder. “Cal, it appears you owe me a story or two.”
“I know a lot of stories,” he assures her as I groan, already wondering what the hell he’s going to tell her. Or them, as the rest of the people begin to follow as well, like they’re his little groupies. For the most part, they smile at me, reaching out to pat my hand as they walk by, ignoring the furious blush on my face. “How lovely for you, dear,” Eloise Watkins says, she of the Friday Virginia Slims. “He does have quite the ass. And that red hair….” She sighs and follows him out the door.
“Good for you!” Doc Heward says cheerfully. “It’s about time.”
“About time?” I call after him. “He hasn’t been here that long!”
“Bah!” I heard him call back through the door, following the rest up to Rosie’s.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter.
That bastard knew exactly what he was doing when he kissed me in front of everyone. I’m fine with being out, but that’s different from everyone knowing my business. Granted, I expect half the town assumed we were already fucking the first day they met him, so I don’t suppose it’s anything too bad. Well, not until the gossip wildfire reaches my mother and she finds out my… well, whatever h
e is to me… kissed me in the middle of the store in front of half the business owners on Poplar Street. That should make for a lovely time at the next meeting of the Roseland Chamber of Commerce. Hysterical.
The bell rings overhead and I roll my eyes without looking up from going over the delivery invoices. “If you’re looking for Cal, the party’s moved up to Rosie’s.”
“Cal?” a man says. I look up, not immediately recognizing his voice. I’m instantly wary of the stranger standing before me. He’s a lot older than me, probably in his forties. He’s on the losing side of fat, his middle thick, his arms like slabs of concrete in the gray collared shirt. He’s balding on top, his dark hair thinning in little wisps. His eyes are small, and he almost reminds me of a fish, the way his lips pucker as if he’s bitten into a lemon. His face is doughy and pale.
“Can I help you?” I say. He doesn’t seem like one of the Strange Men, but given the last few days, I don’t want to take any chances.
