Calico (32 page)

But no…I see when I turn and look up into his eyes that this had nothing to do with me. This was about grief, overcoming pain. Taking back control.
 

“I should have done this,” I whisper. “I should have done this a long time ago.”

“You couldn’t have,” Callan says. His hand tightens around mine ever so slightly, and then he pulls me closer so he can wrap his arm around my shoulder. “You were raised in violence, but your soul doesn’t crave it, bluebird. Despite everything, you’re still gentle inside. You’re still
you
.”

How can he see me that way? How can he see any part of me as gentle? It makes no sense. I cry harder, turning so I can bury my face into his smoke filled shirt. I can smell gasoline on him, the chemical bite of the accelerant clinging to his clothes almost as fiercely as I now cling to him. He runs his hand over my hair over and over again mechanically as he watches the house burn.
 

“I’m meant to go back to New York tomorrow,” he says quietly.

“Are you going to go?” Dear god, I hope he’s not. I don’t want him to leave now. He can’t. Thankfully, Callan shakes his head.
 

“No. No, I’m not going anywhere, bluebird. I’m staying right here and we’re fixing things. And when we go, we go together. It can’t be any other way. I won’t allow it.”

For once I don’t argue with him. He’s right; it
can’t
be any other way. There is no other way now. It has to be me and him. Me and him always, the way it was meant to be before the world ended.
 

Callan and I stand there and watch. After a while the sun starts to come up and the structure of the house fails. No one calls nine one one. By the time the fire trucks make an appearance, my old house has been razed to the ground and all trace of Malcolm Taylor is gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CORALIE

Goodbye Part II

NOW

The funeral takes place three days later.
 

I wear one of my mothers dresses—the black one I was planning on wearing the night Callan asked me to go to the house party with him. I remember thinking once upon a time that I wasn’t going to be able to fit into Mom’s clothes anymore, and that had made me immeasurably sad. However as I became a woman, my body leaned out, became lithe and compact, and when I opened up the boxes that Callan confessed he bullied out of Ezra, all of her things fit me perfectly.
 

The day is bright and fresh. The stifling humidity that’s had Port Royal in its chokehold has eased, and a gentle, cool breeze teases at the boughs of the huge live oak that presides over the cemetery at St. Regis of Martyr’s Catholic Church. It sounds like the wind is whispering to us as we gather by the tiny graveside, heads bowed, sad but light at the same time.
 

Friday, Tina and Shane were the only people we asked to attend. No one else really mattered. The only other person I would have wanted here is Jo. Callan’s sad that his mother isn’t with us now, too. I can read it all over him. In a way she is, though. The tiny grave we’ve had prepared for our son is right on top of hers. I know wherever she is, she’s watching over our baby in the same way that she watches over us every day.
 

Sam the Priest was a literal godsend when we told him what we wanted to do. He didn’t ask questions when we told him we had no paperwork. He didn’t say a word when we told him he couldn’t inspect the body.
 

He and Callan went out at first light and dug the hole on top of Jo’s grave, shallower, closer to the surface, but still right there with her. In time we’ll have a stonemason come and engrave our son’s name on the headstone beneath hers, but for now Callan asked me to paint a series of birds onto the polished marble. They’ll wash away. In a short space of time, the wind and the sun will wear at them until they disappear, but for now it’s a fitting tribute.
 

Tina sobs uncontrollably as Sam stands over the narrow maw of earth at his feet and speaks. Callan and I are one, his arms wrapped around me, my head resting on his chest. We take comfort in one another as we listen.
 

“I know none of you are churchgoers, so don’t even bother pretending,” Sam says, sending a bemused glance around our small group. “But I am a man of God, and I believe in his infinite mercy. Children are one of his most sublime gifts.
There are many quotes that I could read right now, some that are directly relevant to the passing of the innocent, but I thought this particular piece of scripture was fitting. It’s from the Song of Solomon.” He clears his throat softly and continues in hushed tones.
“My beloved speaks and says to me: "Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away; for lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.”
Sam turns to us, then, and smiles sadly.
 

“Callan, Coralie, your son was called away a long time ago but he remains with you still. When two souls come together to create life, they each dedicate a small part of themselves to their child. Once this is done, death can’t sever the ties between you. You don’t need to believe in God to believe that. This might not be a theory that my superiors would necessarily smile upon, but no matter what we are or who created us, we’re all energy. And energy that becomes bound together by love cannot be torn apart. Not by time. Not by grief and pain. Not even the veil of death.”

Callan grips me tighter, standing still as a statue as Sam finishes his sermon. He speaks eloquently, gently, and makes Friday turn and wander off, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of a handkerchief. Eventually, he says, “We inter the spirit of this child unto you, oh Lord. We entrust him into your care that you might watch over him into the eternities. May you bless him and keep him always. We name him…?” Sam gives Callan and me a questioning look. We both answer at the same time.
 

“We name him Joseph.”

*****

“So what now?” Shane slams back a shot of Jamison’s and grimaces. Tina hands him another one, which is surprising but I think
she
wants to get drunk. Since she can’t, she’s enabling her husband by pouring hard liquor down his throat. Shane points a finger at Callan and then swings it at me like it’s an offensive weapon. “Los Angeles? Or New York? And don’t tell me you guys aren’t gonna fucking sort this out once and for all and finally be together, ‘cause I will
literally
stab you.”

Three stools down, Sheriff Mason’s beer halts halfway to her mouth; she turns to look at Shane, frowning.
 

“Not literally, of course, Amanda. More figuratively,” Shane says.

“Glad to hear it.”

When he turns back around, third shot in his hand, he has a fierce scowl on his face, though. “I’ll do it,” he hisses. “I know all the best places to bury a body around here. Mmm. Speaking of which, does this mean you’re not sticking around for your father’s funeral now?”

“No fucking way she is,” Callan says. “She’s going back to LA in the morning and I’m going back to New York. We both have some…
things
to sort out. After that, we’re moving to Colorado.”

Shane nearly spits his whiskey out. “
What
now?”

“It’s kind of in the middle, Shane. And we’ll both be closer to Port Royal, too, so quit complaining.”

I never thought being closer to Port Royal would be a consideration, but now that my father is gone, well, I guess it is. My mother is buried here. Jo is buried here. And now Joseph has had a proper burial here too. It feels right that we might come back here once in a while and visit them.

“You’re both lucky, I suppose,” Tina says. “You’re creative types. You can work anywhere in the world.”

“Exactly.” I hold up my own shot of whiskey and the other guys clink their glasses against mine. “And there are plenty of things to paint and take pictures of in Colorado, too.”

Callan gives me a secret smile. He kisses me lightly, brushing a stray wisp of hair out of my face as he peppers my cheek with soft touches from his lips.
 

My heart feels so full. When Ezra called and told me I needed to come back here, it felt like the hardest thing in the world. I didn’t think I was going to make it. The darkness that I associated with this place, the darkness that fueled my demons threatened to drag me under once and for all. I never imagined that coming back here would instead
fix
anything. Lay some of those demons to rest. I’m not foolish enough to think that I’m free and clear of the baggage I’ve been dragging around with me since I left twelve years ago, but now I don’t know. Somehow, that baggage seems more manageable. At some point in the future, I get the feeling that the weight of my burdens might even become barely noticeable.
 

Callan peppers me with kisses again. “Come outside with me,” he whispers. “I have something I want to give to you.” I think my panic must show on my face. He laughs. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing scary.”

In front of the bar, Callan reaches into his pocket and pulls out something that makes my eyes prick: it’s a disposable camera, exactly the same as the ones he used to give me when we were together before. He looks pained, almost embarrassed even. “I thought about just getting you a point and shoot camera. Would have been much easier for you to use and much smaller, too. But…I don’t know.” He shrugs with one shoulder as he holds it out to me. “I was hoping that you’d restart our little challenge. This time fuck ten years, though. We should develop these pictures after a year. And we should do it together.”
 

He told me how he’d developed my pictures and found my painting of the three birds. At some point we’ll go through the remainder of the cameras and develop them all. There are countless stories, jokes and secrets stored on those rolls of film. It would be a shame not to revisit them, even if they do bring up painful memories from the past. I take the disposable camera from him, grinning down at it. “Sure. I think that would be fun. I’m looking forward to it.” Looking down at the body of the camera, I see that the small window displaying how many shots have been taken is already set to thirty-one again, just like it was when Callan gave me that very first camera on my birthday.
 

“You cheated again?” I ask, pointing at the small white number through the plastic. “Is this another
I love you
message? Because if it is, you’re a little behind the curve ball on that one, Callan Cross. I figured that out a long time ago.”

Callan bites back a smile, taking me into his arms. I have to crane my neck to look up at him, squinting a little like I don’t trust him. Callan may be doing a fantastic job of pretending that he doesn’t want to grin like an idiot right now, but he can’t hide what’s in his eyes. “It’s not that, I promise,” he says.
 

“Are you going to tell me what it
is
?”

Slowly, he shakes his head from side to side. “You’ll just have to stick with me long enough to find out, won’t you?”

“Looks that way.” I hold the camera up to my face, taking a huge step back so I can get him all in. He laughs as I take a picture of him, head kicked back, his throat exposed to the lens. He looks perfect in that moment—peaceful, somehow. Relaxed, like everything is finally falling into place. And I suppose it really is.
 

Callan takes the camera from me and winds on the film, flashing me his teeth. Meanwhile, his eyes flash with mischief and desire. We haven’t slept together since the night he burned down Malcolm’s house. We’ve spent every waking moment together, kissing and holding one another, caressing and loving, but he hasn’t been inside me. I can tell tonight that’s going to change, though.

“Are you worried about seeing
Paul
again?” Callan asks. “D’you think there’s a chance you’re gonna walk through that door again and you’re going to fall madly in love with him again and forget all about me?”

“You know perfectly well that his name is
Ben
. And no, I’m not worried about seeing him. We haven’t been right for each other for years. And I’m a much stronger person now than I was when I left California. I’m going to pack up my things and drive on out of there without even looking back. What about you, though? What was yours called?
Stevie
?” I poke my tongue out at him.
 

“
Rae
. And Rae and I were never dating. We were just friends.”

“With benefits.”

The camera goes back into his pocket. He steps forward, cupping my face in both of his hands. “But I never saw her, Coralie. I never saw anyone but you. The first time we ever spoke, when you were buried under all of those books, sprawled out on the floor, I only saw you. You were everything. You still are. It took me a day or two to get over the hurt of what you told me, bluebird. But when I locked myself in my bedroom and developed those pictures you took, there was no hurt left. No room for anger. Just sadness for the things we went through, and a steel determination that neither of us should have to go through anything like that again. Do you promise me that, Coralie? God, promise to share everything with me now, no matter what?”

I try to dip my head, my eyes burning as I try to stave off tears, but Callan won’t let me look away. He ducks down so that we’re at eye level with one another, and I can see how much he needs me to give him this. Not because he doesn’t trust me. Not because he’s not being honest with me and he
is
still angry. He needs me to give this to him because he loves me, and when
I
hurt
he
hurts. He needs to know I’ll give him the opportunity to save me, even if my pride doesn’t want me to.

I nod, swallowing hard. “I promise. I swear.” He kisses me again, and this time it’s not the gentle butterfly kisses he was landing on me inside the bar. It’s deep and penetrating. He claims me with his mouth, our lips pressed together hard, his hands in my hair, his breath warm and labored. When he pulls back, he leans his forehead against mine, smiling softly.