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“There’ssomeone you need to meet.”
Cal turned off the ignition and pushed open his door.
I studied the street of houses. They were nice. Neat. Normal. Kids rode their bikes in the distance. A few people were gathered on front stoops, animatedly chatting.
It was hard to process. This was a row of inanimate objects, yet they felt alive.
When I went to the house I’d grown up in, I always felt cold and hollow.
Here, it was the opposite.
If Mom would have lived, would our house have been different? I had to think it would’ve been better . . . unless Father eventually killed her spirit the way he did everything else.
Cal opened my car door and offered me a hand. Electricity zapped when our skin touched. It always had, but I’d let my anger tamp down the sensation before. Now that I’d let go of some of it, his touch was more potent.
Or was it because we were married?
Meaningless vows wouldn’t change things, would they?
No, but he’d taken me into his protection the minute he said “I do.” And I’d felt the strength of that from that moment too.
Once I was out of the truck, Cal didn’t let go of my hand as we moved up the front walk. My heart pounded. He didn’t have to tell me where we were.
At least when I’d met his father, there had been the element of surprise. I hadn’t had time to worry if he’d like me or if I’d make a good impression.
As short as the walk was from the car to the front door, it was more than enough time for me to second-guess everything.
Cal’s mother was the most important person in his life. What if she hated me? What if she loved me? What if I said the wrong thing or insulted her or brought up something I shouldn’t?
“She’s gonna love you,” he said as if reading my thoughts. “It’s better if we don’t tell her we’re married yet. I don’t want to end up buried in the backyard.”
I snickered. A grown man afraid of his mother. It spoke volumes about him. Good things. Not the ugly ones.
“Are you sure it wouldn’t be me?”
“Nah. She always wanted a girl. She’d keep you around.” He rang the bell once before turning the knob on the front door. “Ma, you in the kitchen?”
My stomach pitched as we stepped inside.
There was the scent of something sweet—maybe apple pie—in the air. And the walls were littered with pictures of their family. School portraits. Vacations. Studio images of their entire family throughout the years.
Home.
This was what a home was supposed to be.
“Is this you?” I pointed at a kid who looked like he was in elementary school . . . and his two front teeth were missing.
Cal’s cheeks turned pink. “I-uh-I thought I was Batman.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “My brothers dared me to jump off the roof if I was. Mike promised he’d catch me. He missed.” He grinned and pointed to his teeth. “They were ready to come out anyway. And they grew back.”
How had his mother put up with so much mischief?
“That’s one of my favorite pictures.”
I jumped at the sound of the woman’s voice.
She pinched Cal’s cheek. “I wanted to kill all of them at the time. Imagine seeing your baby boy flying by the kitchen window.”
“All in one piece, Ma.” Cal pulled her in for a hug.
