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“I’m so sorry.” It kills me to know how much she’s lost. Gwen pulls back and grabs a handful of tissues, dabbing at her eyes and wiping her nose, inhaling deeply, then letting out a breath.
“Thank you,” she replies. “Zaira lived a life filled with curiosity. I was always scared of making mistakes. I learned so much from my baby sister. Her life was short, but her lessons were life-changing.”
I look over at the picture sitting on the table. “She was adorable. You look a lot alike. I’ve got to admit, I thought she was your daughter.”
“She could have been. Most people thought she was. In the end, I definitely was her mother. She even would call me Mom after Dad died. I didn’t correct her. We both needed each other.” She stands and walks to the cabinet in the corner, then comes back with a small photo album in her hand. “I made a collection of my favorite pictures of my family. I take it out when I get sad and look at it. You would think it would make me more upset, but instead, it reminds me of all the little quirks we laughed about.”
I take it from her hand, motioning for her to sit beside me. We flip through the album for the next hour. She tells me about her mother’s famous chocolate cake, which she promises to make for me. And her dad’s wise sayings, and of course, the loving nature of Zaira. With each story, I find myself captivated, wanting to know everything there is to know about my Gwen.
FOUR
My Mom
GWENDOLYN
This is the first time I’ve been alone since Caleb showed up at my door last night. Maybe it’s the light of day or the fact that Caleb promised to be right back, but today seems less daunting. When I think of all that occurred yesterday, I’m sad for Malcolm and the fact he has yet one more hurdle to go through, but I’m not afraid of the day.
Caleb kissed me before he left to go back to his place to shower and change. Our first kiss was mind-blowing. Our second was sweet and soft, but the one he gave me before he left was all-consuming. I felt it right down to the tips of my toes.
I couldn’t have hidden my passion if I’d wanted to. I clung to him like a woman thirsting for the last drop of water in the desert. Caleb didn’t seem to mind. As a matter of fact, he matched my passion completely. He always stopped before going too far. This time, I didn’t want him to, especially when he had my back against the door and his body pressed into my front, our lips locked and my hands roaming his back, holding him tightly.
I felt the bulge in his pants and wriggled against him, wanting to be as close as possible. It wasn’t me who pulled back, but Caleb who held me at arm’s length.
“We gotta slow this down, my doe.” His voice was raspy and his breathing heavy.
“Okay,” I said, rather breathless myself. I don’t have a lot of experience with men. In high school, I had a boyfriend, but it was purely puppy love that went no further than some kissing. In college, I had a crush on a guy who was a few years ahead of me, but Grant and I had started to date just as things started happening at home and I decided it wasn’t the right time for either of us. When things went from bad to worse with my family, I returned home and attended the local college, and Grant became a distant memory.
None of that prepared me for Caleb, who is a man in every sense of the word. He’s a little older, not that I asked, but I assume he’s almost thirty. It’s not that I’m much younger, just less experienced. But how can anything prepare me for Caleb? He’s everything I’ve always wanted in a boyfriend: strong, smart, and funny. He’s loyal and commands respect. His team admires him and looks up to him. Even just having met Alex, Damian, and Zeke, I can see that they share a special bond.
And last night, he came to my rescue, saving me from my darkest thoughts. He was kind and sweet. Based on how gruff he’d been in the past, I thought he might tell me to get ahold of myself and move on. Instead, he held me tenderly and let me get it out, then stayed with me all night. I mattered. It’s been a very long time since someone cared for me like that. Not since before Mom died.
Dad tried, but his hands were full with Zaira and working a full-time job. He took on extra jobs on weekends to bring in more money to help with the cost of Zaira’s medication. He did it happily for his little girl. That just meant I had to step up and take care of the house, laundry, and cooking.
When Dad died, we were lucky to have the life insurance payout, which saw to Zaira’s needs. It was enough for the short life she had, and to cover the rest of my education afterward.
While Caleb’s gone, I decide to start a load of laundry and tackle the regular Saturday chores. Making the grocery list is my favorite part. I decide what new recipes I want to try that week and make a list of what I’ll need. I take out the collection of my mom’s old cookbooks, and scan through them.
As I’m reading through the glazed lamb chops recipe, Caleb returns. He stands in the doorway, arms crossed, seeming upset.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“You didn’t lock your door.”
“You were coming right back.”
“I’ve been gone over an hour. In an hour, do you know how many people could have come in through there?” he says with obvious frustration.
I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. But Caleb has plenty to say.
“There are so many sick people out there, Gwen. Sick motherfuckers who would take all that beauty”—he throws his hand out to me—“and destroy it. I see shitty things happen every day. I find these pricks and lock them up to get them off the streets, but some days I wonder if I’m fighting a losing battle. I put one in jail and two more crop up.” He stalks toward me, then leans across the table with his arms braced in its center, his expression fierce. “Lock your door.”
I blink. He’s angry. At me! It’s my house, and I’ll leave it open if I want to. That’s my first reaction, but when I focus on his expression, I see concern. Concern for my safety and the well-being of society in general. I take a cleansing breath, letting it out slowly. I let all he’s said settle in my mind.
In Caleb’s line of work, he must see some gruesome stuff. Robberies, rapes, and even horrible deaths. This is a natural reaction regarding the safety of someone he cares about, and he’s made it clear that he cares for me.
I reach out to touch his cheek. “Okay, honey. I’ll lock the door from now on. I promise.”
His shoulders relax, and he glances down at the list and recipes. “Planning a dinner party?” he teases, his good mood restored.
