Fireproof (9 page)

There was no arguing that point. Caleb had experienced similar acceptance from Catherine's family. Of course, with his recent struggles, he'd made no real effort to communicate with them. He and retired Captain Campbell hadn't even gone fishing together this year, and that was a first.

“So,” he said. “I might as well just get it all out . . .”

John nodded. “That's why we're here, son.”

With no further preamble, Caleb wheeled out his frustrations. It felt good to share them with someone, even if John and Cheryl weren't exactly shining examples of marital bliss—at least they hadn't been in the past.

Caleb's childhood had been full of slammed doors, clanging pots and pans, and shouts loud enough for an occasional visit from the local patrolman. Even worse were his parents' long bouts of silence, during which they wouldn't speak. They'd circle around each other, warily, like they'd come upon a dead animal in the road.

That had been worse than the yelling—walking on eggshells and never knowing when the next eruption would occur.

Still, they were his mother and father. He would weigh any advice they could give, especially in light of the love they seemed to have rediscovered in the last few years. They not only loved each other, they seemed to
like
each other.

Good for them. At least someone was happy.

“Caleb,” John said, peering through his glasses, “how long has this been going on?”

“I don't know,Dad. Uh . . . we've had our arguments now and then, but it seems like now she is constantly frustrated with me. I mean, I walk in the
door
and she's mad about something.”

His mother leaned forward, hands folded and eyes full of care. “Have you given her a reason to be upset? I've never known Catherine to be unreasonable.”

“Listen,” Caleb said, “I could've saved the lives of two people at work, but if I'm not here helping wash the dishes, I'm a horrible husband.”

“She needs your help here as well, son. Doesn't she help her parents out every week? She can't do
every
thing around the house.”

“Mom,what is this? You sound like you're taking her side again.”

“Well, if she's working every day and she's trying—”

“I do not need you to tell me I'm doing everything wrong. I've got Catherine for that. I am not the problem.
She
is.”

On the table, a multilevel candle arrangement stood as a reminder of Catherine's most recent obsession. Here she was, smelling up the house with all these fancy things—just beeswax, after all—and it seemed to Caleb like a subconscious dig at him.

He was a fireman. And what did she do?

She went around lighting fires, while he tried to put them out.

“If she would give me one ounce of respect,”Caleb said, “then maybe we'd have something to build on here.”

“All I'm saying,” Cheryl responded, “is that if she's working—”

“Sure, she's working, and I'm happy for her. That doesn't mean she can rob me of my dreams, okay? I know things have been tight for her parents, but we've done stuff to help them out. For crying out loud, I rescued her dad from that building.”

John Holt tilted his head. “You're still resting on those laurels?”

“I'm not resting on anything, Dad. I'm just stating the facts. I can't go around saving lives, putting out fires, and then paying everyone's bills on top of that. We all have our burdens to carry, right? And if I'm smart enough to save a little, then what's wrong with me enjoying that?”

“Nothing.”

“That's right. Nothing.”

“You just have to put yourself in Catherine's shoes,” Cheryl said. “She's—”

“What about her putting herself in
my
shoes, huh?”

“Cheryl.” John rested a hand on his wife's wrist. “Please, let's hear Caleb out. I wanna know what's going on with him.”

“Dad, can I please have a few minutes to talk with you? Alone?”

Cheryl looked hurt.“Caleb, I just want to help you and Catherine.”

“Dad?”

John turned. “Honey, why don't you let us take a walk? It's all right.”

Cheryl sighed and looked off out the window. “Okay.”

John put on a light jacket over his shirt and followed Caleb out the back door. They funneled down the steps onto a path that eased beneath Spanish oaks and draping moss. A pond rippled in the slight wind, lapping at the old wooden posts of a dilapidated dock used years ago by a summer camp. Puss willows stood in patches at the water's edge.

Caleb kicked at leaves on the trail. “Why did you have to bring her?”

John acted insulted. “Caleb, 'cause she's my
wife
. And your mother. No one loves you more than she does.”

“She's just . . . she's always fixing me. She's
still
trying to fix me.” Caleb shoved his hands into the pockets of his corduroys. “I'm not broken.”

“Son, if you're looking for a perfect mother, I'm afraid there's not one out there. But she's a good woman. And I love her more now than I ever have.”

“I'm not saying I don't love her, Dad. It's just that . . .”He made a fist with both hands and grimaced.“She—she . . . she grates on me.”

“Have you not seen a change in her in the last few years?”

“Yes. She treats you better. But you've also put up with a lot.”

John chuckled at that. “And so has she.”

“Dad, I'm glad you didn't split up, but I would've understood if you had.”

“Do you know why we didn't?”

Caleb mulled it over. “Not really. She realized she couldn't do any better?”

“Not quite. Caleb, the Lord did a work in us—in both of us.”

“The
Lord
?” Caleb shot his dad a look and came to a stop in the shadows of a hovering live oak. “You're giving credit to God?”

“Why does that bother you? You've always believed in God.”

“If there's a God out there somewhere, He's not interested in me and my problems.”

“I disagree. I'd say He's
very
interested.”

“Then where's He been in my life?”

“I'd say He's been at work all around you, and you just haven't realized it. You haven't exactly given Him an open invitation.” John turned, hands in his pockets, and strode into the sunlight of a nearby clearing. He seemed impervious to his son's aggravation. “What is this place?”

Caleb came alongside. Around a dormant campfire pit, stumps that served as seats faced an old wooden cross. “Uh, there used to be a summer camp across the lake. I think this must be a part of it.”

John studied the cross. “Son, I used to be where you are right now.”

“Sick of it all?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Ready to throw in the towel?”

“The towel?” His father grinned. “More like the entire laundry basket.”

Caleb wondered where this was leading. His parents had never said much about their marital difficulties, and, true to form, the recent turnaround had gone mostly unexplained. This might provide some interesting insight.

“I know you and Mom had some rough years,” he said.

“We sure did, didn't we? Back then, God didn't matter to me. But I can't say that anymore.” John lifted his chin, letting the sun splash over his face and smooth his wrinkles into a look of contemplation. “I never understood why Jesus had to die on the cross for my sins. I always thought I was a good person, and I—”

“Dad, Dad, Dad,
please
.We had this conversation last month. I'm glad this new faith is working for you and Mom. I really am. It's just . . . it's not for me.”

John turned sad eyes to the ground, seeming to ponder an appropriate response to his son's condescension.

Caleb turned away. He'd already said more than he intended.

“Tell me this, Caleb.” John's tone stopped him in his tracks. “Is there anything in you that wants to save your marriage?”

He stared at his dad and weighed the question. Did he want to save this marriage? Was he really willing to put any more effort into this failing relationship? “Maybe,” he conceded. “If Catherine wanted to. But she doesn't. She wants a divorce.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want
peace
. And what difference does it make, anyway? If she signs the papers, Dad, it's all over.”

“Have you agreed to start the process with her?”

“No, but I think we both understand where this is all headed. I've got plans to meet with my lawyer tomorrow.”

John remained quiet a moment. “Caleb, I want you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“I want you to hold off on the divorce for forty days.”

“Why?”

“I'm gonna send you something in the mail. Something that'll take that long to do.”

Caleb folded his arms. “What is it?”

“It's what saved our marriage.”

“Dad.” Caleb took a deep breath. “If this is a
religious
thing, then I'd rather you didn't—”

“Look at it as a gift from your father. Take one day at a time, then see what happens.”

Caleb wrestled with the idea. He rubbed the back of his neck and thought it over. It was worthless, of course, and all it would do is put him through needless torture for the next five or six weeks. On the other hand, it might prove just as annoying to Catherine. As a couple, they'd already put each other through enough grief—why not put up with a little more?

“Please, son.” John rested a hand on Caleb's shoulder. “If for no other reason, do it for me. I'm asking as your father.”

“Forty days?”

“Forty days.”

Caleb eyed his dad, then stared out over the sun-dappled pond. On the other side, the dock that had stood strong long ago was now rotted, leaning and broken into pieces that seemed to have no purpose at all.

CHAPTER 13

C
atherine set down her lunch tray in the hospital cafeteria and took a seat, her posture upright in her dark jacket, silky hair draped over her shoulders. She'd picked out broccoli and chicken for her meal, and it smelled good. She peeled the wrapper from her straw, propped it in her cup of sweet tea, and prepared to dig in.

“Eating alone?”

She looked up to see Dr. Keller standing next to her table. He wore a white physician's coat over slacks, with a stethoscope hanging down his striped oxford-cloth shirt. She gave him a friendly smile. “Oh, hello, Dr. Keller.”

“Gavin.”

“Gavin.” She tucked her hair back behind her ear. “Sorry. How are you?”

“I'm doing well. I just, uh, need a place to put my plate down. Is this spot reserved?”

“Um . . . Deidra was supposed to meet me, but you're welcome to join us.”

“Well, if you're gonna twist my arm, but I don't wanna be any trouble.”

Trouble?

The doctor seemed friendly enough, but she wasn't going to let him get too close to her or anything. She was still married, after all. For a few more days, anyway. Weeks, tops. She didn't mind the company of a well-mannered man, an intelligent individual who looked her in the eye and showed interest in her. It's what every woman wanted, wasn't it—if that desire hadn't been plucked from her by lies and abuse?

Guys had always given Catherine attention, but in all the wrong ways. Caleb hadn't been like that. Yes, he'd noticed her, but he'd spent the next three years wooing her, waiting for her to get a little older, giving her time to become a woman.

Once he'd gotten his prize, though, he'd let all that fall by the wayside.

Catherine Holt was an independent person, and she prided herself on that. Inside, however, she knew there was still a little girl who wanted to be appreciated and understood. That need hadn't disappeared at the altar.

And here was Gavin . . .

The way he looked—it was intriguing. It didn't stir physical desire so much as an emotional longing. A sense of connection.

Catherine touched her hair again, giving the doctor a coy look as he took his position next to her. “Are you gonna eat wearing your clean white coat?”

“Well, I do need to keep up with the latest fashions.” Gavin wrapped up his stethoscope and set it on the table. “It seems all the doctors are wearing one these days, but it's probably not too smart during lunch.”

Catherine watched as he removed and set his jacket to the side. He looked nice in his dress shirt and tie. She noticed he wore no wedding ring.

Stop, Cat. Don't even think like that.

She said, “I didn't know doctors cared about staying in style.”

“Well, we have to keep up with the attractive fashions the public relations employees wear.” His fingers brushed her elbow. “Wouldn't want to look bad.”

“I see.” She felt blood rushing to her cheeks. “Since there's only one person in that category, I'm sure she'd feel honored.”

“She should.”

Catherine glanced up and met his eyes, feeling her insides flutter.

“She's pretty amazing,” Gavin added in a low voice.

With a demure chuckle, she returned her attention to her meal. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this sort of emotion, this mix between clouded confusion and clear-eyed delight. His flirting seemed inappropriate, if not downright unprofessional. Yet it felt nice. Very nice.

IN THE FIREHOUSE locker room, Wayne sauntered up to the mirror with his toiletry bag. He had his stereo propped on the adjoining sink, and the rhythm coming through those speakers was one he could not deny.

“Oh yeah.”

Booming bass notes filled the space, grabbing him by the hips and shaking them from side to side. Why fight the obvious talent he possessed?

“You're lookin' good,” he told his reflection.