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Brynn tells me I’m overreacting when I tell her about the black BMW.
“Do you have any idea how many people own black BMW’s?” she asks.
I’m sure I looked criminally insane when Callisto walked me to my car. All I could think about was the man who delivered the obituary and the fact that he was in Suppato’s parking lot.
She shrugs and takes a bite of her mozzarella log. A long string of melted cheese drags from her mouth to the uneaten half of the stick. She takes it and twirls it into her mouth. “So what if it was Jeeves? People get hungry. They go eat. Restaurant owners smile at customers all the time. That doesn’t mean Cal knows him.”
Oh, he definitely knows him.
“The hoodie. The baseball cap. It’s too many coincidences.” My voice shakes.
“So, he wears a hoodie sometimes. That doesn’t mean he was the other person in the car that day.”
I want to ask him about it—about the driver—about the hooded passenger, about all of it. Brynn is right. It couldn’t have been Cal. He would’ve told me. Right?
Is a lie by omission still a lie? There’s so much I still don’t know about him, yet I can’t seem to stay away.
How do you ask someone if they drove to your job to deliver an obituary without sounding like you’ve lost your marbles? He probably already thinks I’m mentally unstable. So, I take Brynn’s advice and leave it alone.
For now.
This week has been especially grueling because school is out, and my days are long and empty. I try to remember if I was ever this frustrated with Reid, which leads me to visit his monument, eventually telling him about Callisto. I laugh when I imagine his reaction to learning that the guy who had such an intense effect on me from the first night I saw him—the night Reid came home from boot camp—is Carlos’s son, which is about as far from his dishwasher theory as it gets.
“He reminds me of you,” I tell him, picturing Reid’s face while I talk to a marble stone with his name on it. The ground is damp from the afternoon rain, making it inconvenient for me to settle into my usual spot on the grass.
“He’s stubborn and cocky. He’s privileged but not spoiled. And he lives to please his father.” I smile at the similarities. “But then, in so many ways, he’s completely different. You were always so real, so honest. You never held anything back from me. With Cal, there’s so much I don’t know. He keeps so much hidden inside and it drives me crazy.”
A single tear falls from my eye as I trace the letters engraved in stone. “I’m sorry, Reid. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to tell you no. No, don’t take the car. Let’s stay in tonight. I’m sorry for blaming you. I’m sorry for being angry.”
The tears are falling consistently now. “And I’m sorry I’m having these feelings for someone that isn’t you.”
After leaving Reid’s grave, an unseen force pulls me to Suppato’s. Before I know what I’m doing, I turn into the parking lot hoping Callisto is there. My mood lightens when I see his Range Rover.
I walk in and head straight to his office, not surprised to find the door closed. Anxiety overwhelms me as I knock softly. What if he’s not alone? What if he’s mad at my intrusion?
He opens the door with a smile, and I relax.
“It must be my lucky day,” he says.
“You might not think so in a minute,” I reply, hoping I’ve found him in a good mood.
The smile leaves his eyes when he looks down at me. “You’ve been crying.”
I clear my throat and immediately regret coming here after having such an emotional visit with Reid. “I’m fine. We need to talk. I have questions.”
He leans his butt against his desk, folding his arms across his chest, and gives me his full attention.
“But not here,” I add.
“Would you like me to take you home?” he asks, and there’s a genuine interest in his voice.
“Not right now. I have to get ready for work soon. I just needed to do this while I had the courage. Tomorrow I work the morning shift, so I have the night off. But it’s also Thanksgiving, and I’m sure you probably have plans—”
“I’ll pick you up at six,” he says before I have a chance to make any more excuses for him.
Thanksgiving Day at work is uneventful, causing the minutes to tick slowly by. When the clock finally strikes three, I scurry out the door and to my mother’s to briefly show my face. She and my stepfather have really overdone it on the cooking this year. Even with most of his family spending the day with them, they’ll have leftovers for days. Everything smells delicious, but I’m too nervous to eat more than a few bites. My mom makes me fill a Tupperware bowl before I leave, then makes me promise to go Christmas shopping with her Saturday after work.
My bedroom light bounces off the diamond on the dresser, reminding me of the fork in the road I’m now facing. I take the piece of jewelry between my fingers and will it to erase all my unspoken doubts. I’ve never gone a single day without it. Leaving it behind is like leaving a part of me, the heaviest part, behind. I know what I’m walking into tonight. I know what I’m asking for. The real question is, am I truly ready? Then, as if the universe can hear my thoughts, the doorbell rings.
