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"I'm sorry, Abi. This-" he turned to the house and spread out his hands "-isn't what I want any more. Maybe I never wanted it."
"You're the one who bought this house. I don't understand. What's happening?"
Cal shook his head. "I can't stay here anymore. I don't love you and I can't be who you want me to be."
A baseball bat smacked her in the face. Not literally, of course, but it might as well have been. Felt the same.
"You’re leaving me? Like right now?"
"We have to be there by Thursday, so we need to go tonight.” Cal sounded matter-of-fact. Like he was settling a bill or discussing the likelihood the Saints would make it to the Super Bowl.
"Don't do this," Abigail said, dropping the keys to the storage shed and stepping toward Cal. "We're about to open the bed-and-breakfast. We're married. We have a child. You can't do this."
"Everything will be fine," Cal said, his voice soothing, the way he calmed Birdie when she had a nightmare. "You're strong and Birdie will understand. I have to do this. I have to try." He nodded at Morgan, who slipped into the car.
"Try what?"
''Try to be something more than what I am here. Being with Morgan has helped me realize I gave up on my dreams too early. I have to do this. I have to try."
Abigail looked at Morgan's bowed head. "With her? Wait, you'rewithher?"
He looked away quickly and took a breath. "We fell in love. Real love."
"You've been sleeping with her? This is insane. Cal, you can't do this." Abigail placed her hand on his arm. "Don't do this. You have a family. I love you."
Cal patted her hand and pulled out his car keys. "I'm sorry, Abi. I know you don't understand. I wanted to get out of here and save you from a big scene. Just go on back with your family. Let's make it easy on both of us." He removed her hand from his arm and opened the car door.
"Cal. Stop. You can’t. This is crazy," Abigail cried, trying to hold the door.
He tugged it from her grasp. "Don't do this. You're making this hard."
He made it seem like she was the one in the wrong.
"Making this hard?"she screeched, finally losing it as he cranked the engine. "You're leaving me in the middle of a party we're hosting, and you think I'm making this hard? You've lost your goddamned mind, Calhoun."
"Let's just go," Morgan said, her voice rising in a panic.
Cal put the car in Reverse and gave it gas, not saying another word. His handsome face was set in stone, his dark eyes refusing to make eye contact as he applied the brakes and then put the car into Drive.
"Cal, don't do this. Please stop. You can't leave us," Abigail said, feeling the tears on her face, her heart shattering in her chest at the realization her husband was walking- no, driving--out on her.
The car leaped forward, kicking up gravel, and rolled down the side driveway of the house. Abigail jogged behind him, slapping the rear fender. "Stop. Cal, please stop!"
But he looked straight ahead, moving fast toward the front of the house, toward where everyone they knew and loved milled about eating watermelon, drinking bourbon, and lighting sparklers for the kids. Abigail had strung red, white, and blue paper lanterns around the perimeter in order to bring some festive light to the celebration. When Cal's car rounded the house, half the people turned and watched with puzzlement at the sight of Calhoun Orgeron sitting beside the young Morgan, driving away without a backward glance.
Abigail ignored the guests, focusing singularly on her husband racing out of her life.
"Cal! Please come back. Don't do this!" She ran behind him, certain she could change his mind. Make him see what he was doing. Make him understand that she loved him and couldn't live with out him. She had to stop him. For Birdie. For herself.
"Cal!" she screamed as he passed the entrance to the circular drive and picked up speed. "Please don't leave us. Stop!"
But he wasn't stopping.
Abigail jogged halfway down the drive, watching the taillights bounce toward the highway. Finally bending over with her hands on her knees, she gasped for air...and for her sanity.
What had just happened?
It didn't seem possible that the man who had massaged her shoulders that afternoon after she'd rinsed out all the drink tubs had loaded up his car with his guitar and a barely legal karaoke singer.
