“I’ll just follow behind,” Cal sighs.
“Good. Listen and you might learn something,” Yarborough retorts. “So, as I was saying, Libby, I started Alliance with the concept of being able to provide the data here”—he taps the side of his head—“back to the government. For a small fee, of course.”
“I imagine the institutional knowledge you have is something others would pay top dollar for, sir,” I agree.
“Indeed. And of course, I was right.”
“Here we go,” Cal gripes.
“Why don’t you go wander off and play with a computer or something?”
“Because if I do, you’ll have sold your brilliance to George Washington just to impress Libby. Stick to the facts, old man.”
“I’ll get him for the old crack,” the Admiral mutters.
I pat his arm. “If you don’t, I will.”
So, I get a very brief history about Alliance—the redacted version according to Admiral Yarborough since much of it is “Classified. I wish I could tell you, Libby, but I just can’t.” But, even then, I still enjoy it because I finally feel like I’ve been let into that inner sanctum of Cal’s other life.
Finally.
* * *
“I can’t believe Yarborough escorted you through the facility himself,” Cal grumbles as we sit in his office having lunch that his assistant, Rebecca, brought in for us.
I take a bite of my pasta salad and chew. “So, what? I’m sure he does that with more important people than me.”
“Libby, I’ve never seen him do that since I worked here—even with clients. More often than not, people are trying to kiss his ass.”
I frown thoughtfully. “I wonder why that is.”
“Well, he’s a former admiral,” Cal says as if I just don’t get it.
“No, what I mean is, when I bid on work, I’m the one who’s essentially playing to the client needs. He must know he has a product so special it can’t be replicated by any other company or he’d be kissing ass to get work, just like the rest of us,” I point out.
Cal’s face is thunderstruck. “I never thought of it like that.”
I shrug. “You don’t own your own company, hon. I do.”
“Honestly, Libby, do you worry about that a lot? You’ve always said business is strong.” Cal takes a bite of his own lunch, watching me while he does.
I pause before I fork another bite in. I don’t know where Rebecca got this, but I’m going to have to ask. It’s delicious. “My business is solid, but that’s because I work to make it that way. I study the market, I make adjustments, and I continuously train my people.” I put my container on the coffee table in between us. “I can’t sit back and relax; I have people depending on me.”
“But it’s what you want?”
“There’s nothing I’ve wanted more next to you,” I tell him honestly.
Cal’s fork clatters to the table. Leaning forward, he nabs the back of my neck. Our lips come together in a kiss that’s rife with love. “There’s nothing more important to me in this world than you, Libby.”
“Same here. I love you, Cal.”
“I love you too. Let’s finish up so you can get a chance to talk with Rebecca some more. I need the woman who controls my heart to be comfortable with the person who has access to me while I’m away.”
Since I vehemently agree, I pick up my pasta and grin. “We’re going to have you so twisted up, you won’t know which one of us is really controlling your life.”
“Listen, if I get more time with you out of it, I’ll take it.”
We both grin before we resume eating.
39
Calhoun
Year Two - Nine Years Ago from Present Day
“I don’t think there’s a more perfect woman for you in the world, Cal,” Yarborough says to me later as we share a drink together in his office. A new contract has just come in, and we’re celebrating with a quick glass of bourbon—the Admiral’s choice.
It has been since I started working for him years ago. I just used to watch quietly from the sidelines instead of being invited in to join him.
He rolls the heavy crystal glass of amber liquid back and forth in his hand. “There’s something I want to talk with you about.”
“What’s that?” I take a sip of my drink
“Buying into Alliance.”
The coughing isn’t due to the alcohol; it’s due to the fact I can’t breathe. “What did you just say?” I manage to wheeze out. I’m also using my tie to wipe my face as I spit my drink out.
“I’m not getting any younger, Cal. And who do I have to leave this to? Meeting your Libby, it made me think about the future. The future of all of you.”
“Then it goes to Molly,” I declare.
“Who wants nothing to do with this. She’d rather be at the house ready to blister my hide for being late so she has an excuse for burning dinner since she can’t cook. No, what I need is a plan.” Finishing his drink, he stands. “And I want you to think of one.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because, you know the business side as well as the mission. You know who to bring in to assess it for a fair and reasonable value.”
“Rick, this could take months—possibly years with the amount of balls we have up in the air. And with the type of balls, I don’t want just anyone getting the chance to fondle them,” I caution him.
“Agreed. Do the due diligence. In the meanwhile, I’ll make some provisions, just in case.” Plunking down his glass, he walks behind his desk.
“You promise, you’d tell me if you were sick?” Somehow, I’m haunted by this lack of knowledge.
My boss, my mentor, and now the man I call a friend merely smiles at me. “Cal, according to you, too much knowledge can potentially be dangerous to those you care about. It can cause them too much stress and worry. That’s not for you to be concerned with. All I need are some numbers.”
Finishing my own drink, I set the glass down carefully. I see his play. Now that he’s met Libby, he’s pissed—just like Sam and Iris are—that she’s being kept in the dark about the nature of our work. “Okay. I’ll work on that.”
“Good. Be safe going home. Give my best to Libby.” That’s a new add-on to the end of our celebratory conversation, but not that surprising considering how taken with her he was.
“I’ll be sure to let her know. My best to Molly.”
Yarborough pauses in the doorway. “In all the years we’ve worked together, that’s the first time you’ve said that too. Libby truly does bring out the light in you, Cal. Don’t fuck it up.” And with advice that’s as delicate as a two-by-four upside the head, he saunters out the door, leaving me to wonder if the things that haunt me in the middle of the night are fears that Libby will be in danger.
Or are they my fears that she walks away because of the lies I’ve told despite the love that encompasses every decision I make for her, for us?
Either way, I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.
40
Calhoun
Year Two - Nine Years Ago from Present Day
“I could stay just like this forever,” I tell my wife honestly. I trail my fingers over the smooth curve of her hip that’s been exposed during our lovemaking. With a grin, I ask, “We can have food delivered to our bed, right? That can be considered special instructions on our to-go order.”
Libby rolls onto her back as she laughs hysterically. Even though I love I evoked my favorite sound in the world from her, right now she’s too far away. “C’mere.” I pull her back so her curves are nestled against my body and her head lies against my heart. “You realize everyone thinks we’re on a tropical island somewhere,” I begin.
Libby rolls onto her stomach and pushes up on an elbow. “That’s because we couldn’t decide on time for you to give work enough notice. I would have been happy with that small island off the coast of Africa.”
Yeah, if I wanted to worry the whole time about the intel that crossed my desk ab
out two months ago. Without an ounce of remorse, I smooth my hand over her ass before giving it a smack to distract from an argument I thought we’d already buried.
“Hey!” Libby cries out indignantly, reaching back to rub the stinging spot.
“I was just letting you feel what it would have been like to have received all the shots you would have needed for that trip.” I slip on an innocent look that my wife scoffs at.
“As much as I hate to admit it”—a smile tugs at the edges of my mouth as Libby speaks—“I love the idea that everyone thinks we just decided to go back to the Caymans. At least this way we can stay here and still answer the barrage of questions about what we did.”
“If they know us half as well as they claim they do, they should assume we’re doing exactly what we’re about to do,” I mutter.
“Which is?” Libby flutters her lashes coquettishly at me.
“This.” Right before I roll her onto her back and proceed to demonstrate how years into our marriage, she still sets my blood on fire.
* * *
Hours later, our stomachs can’t be ignored. I finally requested for an order of subs to be delivered to the house from a place that normally doesn’t do it—paying an enormous sum for the delivery when I explain I also need them to go by their floral department along the way. We’re still in the bathroom after our very enjoyable shower when the bell rings. “I’ll get it,” I say quickly. Drawing up a pair of basketball shorts over my legs, I drop a kiss on Libby’s lips and race for the front door. Fortunately, she’s in the middle of pulling up one side of her long hair, so I know I have about twenty minutes before she’s ready to join me.
I make it to the door in record time, snagging my wallet along the way. When I open it, the patiently waiting delivery kid is holding not only a bag overflowing with subs—which Libby claimed she was craving—but a bouquet of sunflowers.
Perfect.
“Thanks so much for doing this.” I wanted a surprise for Libby even though we agreed on no gifts since we just bought a new house. But flowers don’t count, right? I want today to be about her and me, not about any mistakes.
Especially the ones she has no idea I make day after day.
“Not a problem at all, Mr. Sullivan.” I’m handed the bag, then the enormous vase of sunflowers the store put together.
Cradling the blue vase carefully, I slip a few twenties out of my wallet and hand them to the surprised teen. “I don’t have any change, sir.”
I shake my head. “That’s for you. You have no idea about how happy you’re about to make my wife. Thanks again.”
“No, thank you, sir.” The kid practically leaps down our front steps toward a beat-up Honda. I don’t spend too much time remembering I used to drive a car almost exactly like that when I was first in college. Instead, I hurry back inside and begin setting the dining room table, placing the sunflowers in the center with lit candles on either side.
When Libby comes down about fifteen minutes later, our subs are laid out on our wedding china, flutes of champagne poured, and the lights dimmed. Yet, it’s me who’s struck dumb when I see my wife in a black, deep V-neck, all-lace nightie that barely covers the parts of her I want to devour more than the meal I ordered. Her hair is mostly dry and twisted up, exposing her creamy shoulders. “God, you’re beautiful,” I rasp.
Libby blushes. “I know we said no gifts, but I couldn’t resist.”
“Turn around.” The command is guttural, but my lovely wife complies. The back of that scrap of temptation drops down to the base of her spine. And the straps are so insubstantial that one good tug and the entire thing will be a pool at her feet.
I can’t wait to test it later, but right now, I have to make certain Libby’s taken care of.
“First I have to feed you. Then, well, I wouldn’t expect to be wearing that for too long.”
“You don’t like it?” Libby’s feigned innocence is in direct contrast to the fire flicking in her eyes as they roam my face, my chest, and below. She knows what she’s doing to me, the minx.
Slipping an arm around her, I tug her against me so she can feel exactly the reaction she caused. “You know damn good and well I love it. I just think it might be time for you to make up for all that sass you’ve been throwing at me,” I drawl, trying to get the upper hand.
I utterly fail as Libby’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Really?”
I groan as I press my head into the side of her neck before letting myself taste her. It’s a shock that even as my lips make contact, she stiffens in my arms.
“Cal? What’s all this?”
Ah, she threw me so off balance, I forgot about my surprise. Loosening my arms, but not entirely letting her go, I pull her in front of me. Lowering my head, I whisper, “Happy anniversary, honey. I know we said no gifts, but I couldn’t let today pass without showing you how much I love you.” Feeling her body start to shake in my arms, I tighten my arms. “Always, Libby. Always.”
“You got me sunflowers,” she says wonderingly. At my nod, she asks, “How?”
“I’ll never tell.”
“You always manage to make me feel more special than I deserve.” Her voice is filled with joy. “You’re the most honest, caring, handsome man in the world. There are so many days I just count my blessings for you.”
The shaft of rightful guilt I feel doesn’t belong here. Not today. “I’m the one who’s lucky, Libs. Every second I know you love me, it’s a gift I never imagined I’d ever have.”
Turning back to face me, my wife blows me away when she says, “The feelings I have for you don’t have a name yet; they’re that enormous.”
And that’s how I ended up making my bride of two years wait even longer for her dinner as I pulled her down to the area rug beneath our dining room table and made sweet love to her with only the bouquet of sunflowers as witnesses.
41
Present Day
Elizabeth
“So, the sex hadn’t changed in your marriage?” Dr. Powell asks.
I shake my head. “I still couldn’t say Cal’s name without the shivers.” A brief smile flits at my lips. “Kind of the way it is now.”
“Taking us out of the timeline for a few minutes, do you realize how extraordinary it is with everything you’ve been through you both have managed to hold on?”
“My heart isn’t complete without his beating close by,” I sigh.
“There are some who might say you’re weak for that.”
“Admitting my heart hurts without his has nothing to do with my being a strong, capable woman. It has to do with the fact that there’s a cadence to the way a heart is supposed to beat, and mine’s wrong without Cal’s.” My eyes close for a moment in anguish while I admit a truth. “Underwater, you don’t hear your heartbeat in your chest. You hear it inside your head. It pounds in between your ears so hard and strong. If the beat’s off, it’s just a constant reminder that everything is wrong. Just wrong. Wrong.” Opening my eyes, Dr. Powell’s compassion is almost my undoing.
“We’re all individuals for a reason. Each of us is unique. What works for my life and my marriage won’t work for you or for the person who greeted me when I came into the building. What works is as individualistic as wild and terrifying as the love we’re supposed to have, the families we raise, and the lives we lead. Why should I be considered weak because I fought through hell for my version of that?”
“You shouldn’t,” Dr. Powell assures me. “Do you think your marriage would be as strong now if you hadn’t lived through what you did?”
“It would be different. But as to whether or not it would be stronger, I can’t answer that. There would have been trials by life in some form or fashion. Of that, I’m certain.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because we all start our marriage with the intent of being perfect, but none of us are. And frankly, none of us would get married if we could see the trials life intended to throw at us,” I say simply. “We�
�d all be afraid of the reward if we knew the risk.”
Dr. Powell nods slowly and makes a quick note. “You got married young, Libby.”
“I was twenty-five. Not terribly young.”
“Did you have a plan for how you wanted your relationship to progress?” At my confused look, Dr. Powell clarifies. “Married, get the business established, start to have babies, that kind of thing.”
Ah. “I think I know where you’re going with this.”
He lifts his ankle to rest on his other knee. “I thought you might.” His eyes flicker down to my thickening waistline.
“Sam and Iris are excellent parents. They love their children a great deal,” I say quietly.
“Would you like to hear what Sam said about you when I asked him about it?”
I chortle. “This should be interesting. I wonder if I should have warned him his answers would affect his Christmas gift from me.”
Dr. Powell laughs. “He said, ‘Libby was nothing but supportive when Iris announced she was pregnant with our first child. There was never a time my wife ever felt like she wasn’t being showered with love. It’s one of the many reasons why Libby and Cal are Rachel’s godmother and godfather, respectively.’ How does that make you feel?”
“Like I did an excellent job of hiding my own emotions.”
“Which were?”
“That I was hurting because I felt like I was never going to have children because my husband was never home,” I admit.
Dr. Powell blinks as if what I said shocked him. “Really?”
I nod. “I was over the moon for Sam and Iris and defeated because my husband had no idea how much I was deflecting.”
“Deflecting what?”
“How resigned I was to being second fiddle in my marriage to his job.” I then tell Dr. Powell about the days around Iris’s big news.
Ripple Effect Page 16
