here. What about you, sis?”
I sat down on the stairs. A thin beam of pinkish light from the streetlamp sliced through the front windows. “I had a fight with my boyfriend,” I said.
“Mark?”
I glanced up, startled. The idea of Mark and me seemed like a long, long time ago, a foggy memory best left untouched. “No. Ian. The vet. We’ve been … seeing each other.”
“What did you fight about?” Freddie asked.
“I had emotional diarrhea,” I said glumly.
“Now there’s a pretty image,” he muttered. The stairs creaked as Fred came down. He sat next to me, slung his arm around my shoulders. “Tell your brilliant child prodigy of a brother,” he said.
“Seriously? You won’t tweet this or anything?”
“Fine. Steal my fun. I won’t tweet. Or blog. Or put you on YouTube.”
Odd, to be telling my cute little brother my romantic woes, but he listened mostly in silence, except for the strangled noises of appropriate horror he made when I mentioned Hester’s interruption.
“So what should I do?” I asked, feeling the prickle of tears yet again.
“You should’ve stayed and shagged him,” my brother advised sagely. “We men are very basic. We’ll forgive anything for a little action.”
“You’re not a man, Freddie my love. You’re a mere child.” My voice was a little hollow. Freddie didn’t answer. “So how are things with you?” I asked.
He sighed. “I don’t know, Callie. I lack direction.”
“I think we’re all aware of that, honey.” Slipping off my shoes, I tipped my head against the wall. “Is there anything you love to do?”
“Other than get laid, you mean?”
“Yes, Fred, and I’d rather not discuss your tomcatting, okay? I changed your diapers and all that.”
Freddie was quiet for a minute. “I like having fun. Sounds stupid, right? I like to hike and kayak and fish. I don’t think the market is great for river guides, though.”
“Wanted: Mountain Man,” I said. He chuckled, and I patted his bare foot. “Well, what are you best at? You’re a math whiz, your blogs are hilarious, you have a huge following on Twitter, you built a computer when you were twelve, you’re as charming as Dad, so you’d be great in some kind of schmoozing job …”
“See, that’s the thing,” Freddie said. “I’m good at everything. The crushing price of genius.”
“Okay, brat. I’m going to bed. How about you?”
“I’m gonna stay up and watch TV and eat all Dad’s ice cream.” He put his hand on my head. “Want to keep your little brother company?”
“Sure,” I said, and fifteen minutes later, I was wearing a pair of my dad’s pajamas, watching Evil Dead III and doing my part to support Ben & Jerry. And trying hard not to think of Ian.
I RAN HOME THE NEXT morning to change. Noah was up (and alone), Bowie quivering at his side as my grandfather absentmindedly fed him bits of bacon and perused the local paper. “Well, well, well,” I said, getting a cup of coffee. “You made your own breakfast. I’m so proud.” I looked around. “Or has Jody replaced me as your slave?”
“Pipe down, youngster, I’m reading.” He glanced up, then frowned. “What happened? You look awful. You have a fight with that vet of yours?”
I blinked. Most of my conversations with Noah went something like Find my leg, dammit! and me replying Yes, Master. “Wow. Yes, I did.”
He stared at me a minute longer. “Well. Things’ll work out. Don’t you worry.”
“I’m worried anyway.” My throat tightened.
“Ah, Callie. You had a fight, you’ll make up.” He slipped Bowie some more bacon, which my dog inhaled. “Give the boy some time. He’s not used to the likes of you.”
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“Means you’re … big.”
“Thank you. I feel much better.”
“You fill up the whole room, sweetheart, try to fix everyone’s problems, be everyone’s friend. You don’t have to try so hard. We’ll love you just the same.”
Not the first time I heard that, was it? “You just implied you loved me, Noah. What’s next? A Hallmark card? This Jody Bingham thing is transforming you.”
He grinned. “You never know.”
WORK SEEMED ENDLESS THAT day. I kept my office door closed, ground out copy and tried to stay away from other people. And, of course, obsessed over Ian, trying to figure out how to smooth things over, how to say the exact right thing so we’d be back to where we were. Because where we’d been … that was a nice place. A very nice place. As for Ian himself, he didn’t call or e-mail … the only personal message I got all day was from my mom, summoning me to a family meeting at the funeral home after work. My guess was a career intervention for Fred.
Nothing from Ian. Half a dozen times, I picked up the phone to call his office, and half a dozen times, I put the phone back.
You don’t have to try so hard. The problem was, I didn’t know how to do anything else.
At five-thirty, I tidied my desk and said goodbye to Pete and Leila. Damien and Karen had left already, as had Fleur. Muriel was once again in California. At least there was that.
“Have a good night, Mark,” I said, pausing at his door.
“Hey, Callie. You, too.” He stood up and smiled. “You look pretty today. Well, you look pretty all the time. If I’m allowed to say that, that is.”
I hesitated. “Uh … sure.”
“Callie, do you have a sec?” he asked, indicating the two empty seats in front of his desk. “I have plans, actually.” “Just for a minute?”
We both sat down. Mark looked at his hands. “I miss us talking,” he said, his voice quiet. His eyes dropped to my mouth, then rose back to my eyes.
“What did you want to talk about?” I asked, shifting slightly away from him.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just miss you, and I hope that … I don’t know.” He sighed. “We’ve been friends a long time, haven’t we?”
“I guess so,” I said.
He was silent a minute. “What do you think about Muriel and me, Callie?”
The question caught me off guard. “Oh … I don’t know, Mark, and I … I don’t want to have this conversation.”
He
