I suggested.
He grinned. “Yes. Much more appropriate. You just …” He looked down at his hands, then gave me the James Dean look, lowered head, sheepish grin. “You have a way about you, Callie. It’s … special. You’re special. I hope you know that.” His smile faded. “Very special.”
The air in the office seemed to change. My knees prickled uncomfortably. Mark’s eyes dropped once more to my mouth and stayed there. When he spoke next, his voice was very quiet. “I seem to be thinking about Santa Fe a lot these days.”
My breath caught. “Excuse me?”
He raised his eyes back to mine, gave a little smile and shrugged. “I don’t know. It was … special. A special time.”
Couldn’t the man think of another adjective? I stood up fast. “I have to go, Mark. See you tomorrow.”
“Callie …” I waited, but then he sighed. “See you tomorrow. Have a great night.”
Out on the street, I took a few cleansing breaths, my breath fogging in the darkening evening. Stupid Mark. What was that all about, huh? I knew Santa Fe was special, I’d spent practically an entire year getting over how special it was, I told him about its specialness the night he dumped me and he dumped me anyway! And how dare he look at my mouth that way after all he’d put me through?
I took a few more breaths, the sharp scent of autumn leaves and woodsmoke finally calming me. Jake Pelletier pulled into a parking space in front of Whoop & Holler, saw me and waved. I waved back, then headed up the hill toward the funeral home.
I was over Mark. I was. I just didn’t appreciate him stirring up the muck of my feelings from the past. Especially the day after my very first fight with Ian.
Speaking of my fight with Ian, it was time to fix that. Time for some wild monkey make-up sex. Last night had been awkward, we’d fought, now we’d make up. Because a day without hearing from him or seeing him was just not acceptable.
You go, girl, Mrs. Obama said, and I smiled at the thought. But first, my family.
“Callie, you’re here!” Mom declared as I walked in the family entrance of the funeral home. My sibs, nieces and parents were all here.
“Hey, everyone,” I said, unwinding myself from my Pashmina (on sale, a deep shade of rose, so soft!).
“Where’s your grandfather?” Mom asked.
“I came straight from work. And contrary to popular belief, I am not my grandfather’s keeper,” I said.
“She’s more like his slave,” Freddie said.
“You are correct. And Fred, since you’re shiftless, unemployed and have yet to graduate from college, why don’t you take over?”
“I just called over there, and no one answered,” Mom said.
“He’s probably with his lady love,” I suggested. “Hi, Josephine! Your hair looks so pretty!” My niece held up her arms, and even though she was getting big, I picked her up, sniffing her neck, making her giggle. “You smell like fairy dust,” I told her, and she grinned back at me, then wriggled down to go pick my father’s pocket, a life skill if ever there was one. Dad tossed me a wink and pretended not to notice his granddaughter digging in his back pocket. Her little hand emerged clutching a twenty. “Poppy, I robbed you!” she said happily.
“Hello there, Callie,” came the silky voice of Louis. Louis who was banging Hester. That’s right! I’d almost forgotten.
“Louis,” I said, taking my customary step backward.
“No need to retreat,” he murmured. “I’ve moved on.”
“So I heard,” I said, swallowing.
“Yeah, so, we’re a freak show,” Hester said, coming up and handing me a glass of wine, good sister that she was. “No atheists in foxholes, you know?”
“Yes,” I said, not wanting her to clarify that statement. Besides, Hes was beaming. Beaming! I hadn’t seen her look so happy since Bronte’s adoption was finalized.
Speaking of my elder niece, Bronte came up, noted that her mother was holding hands with Louis and made a gagging sound. “Now, Bronte,” I said. “You’re the one who wanted a father figure.”
“I was picturing Denzel Washington. Not Dwight Schrute here.”
“I love Dwight Schrute,” I said.
“Yes, but do you want him sleeping with your mother?” she demanded.
“Good point.” Hester and Louis were staring at each other, all sorts of icky pheromones flying. “You can come live with Noah and me,” I whispered to Bronte.
“I probably will,” she said huffily. But a little smile played around her mouth.
“Okay, kids, gather ‘round,” Dad said. “Well, I wish my father were here … Callie, where’d he go?”
“He slipped out of his collar and ran off! I don’t know, Dad! He has a girlfriend. Can we leave it at that?”
“Sure, Poodle,” he said, all sparkly and Clooney-esque. “Well, Bluebird, would you like to tell them?”
Bluebird. Bluebird. My breath caught.
“You go ahead, Tobias,” Mom said.
Dad looked around at us all. “Your mother and I …”
His voice grew husky. “We’ve reconciled. And we’re getting married.” His gaze rested on me a long second.
My eyes flooded. I covered my mouth with one hand, absolutely stunned. He got her back! He did it.
For a second, I was right back in that upstairs window, watching my father leave, and the memory of that wrenching, twisting heartache made me dizzy. Back then, I would’ve given twenty years of my life for him to come back. And now he was. They were getting married. Married! My God! My heart felt so big I thought it might pop out of my chest.
“Way to go, Dad!” Freddie said, applauding lightly.
“Aren’t you married already?” Josephine asked.
“No, honey. Do you want to be a flower girl? You can have a sparkly dress,” Dad said.
“Ooh! Sure, Poppy! Can it be black?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Hester boomed. She shook loose of Louis’s hand. “Are you kidding, Ma? You’re not serious, are you?”
Mom glanced at the girls. “Ah, Louis … would you mind taking the girls elsewhere for a few minutes?”
“Of course,” he said. “Girls, would you like play vampires in the showroom?”
“Typical,” Bronte muttered. “I am so old enough to hear this, but I get booted anyway.”
“I
