“So, tell us Cal, what do you do?” Chase asks.
And I begin to explain the outsider’s knowledge of what Alliance does for the US federal government.
“Sounds…stimulating,” Bryce says, with a delicate pat to his mouth to hide his yawn. “Excuse me. Must be too much champagne.”
Thinking back to our most recent fact-finding mission in Spain, I sip the dredges of my champagne from the glass to hide my smirk. “You have no idea.”
Then again, no one really does.
44
Elizabeth
Year Three - Eight Years Ago from Present Day
I’m sitting on the edge of the grass skipping rocks into the water, watching as each rock ripples into the river. Each skips over like a hit-and-run—a perfect analogy of my life with Cal.
The morning after the party, I’m still trying to get my bearings after my husband came in. And the peace I normally find on this one place on the property isn’t meant to be found.
Dragging my knees upward, the handful of rocks in my hand fall heedlessly next to me. “What’s happening to us?” I whisper aloud.
“I don’t know.” I jump, not only because of the fact I’m not alone but because Cal continues on and what he says seems to lay the blame of us entirely at my feet. “Who was that woman last night? She was a revelation.” Cal drops down next to me.
I shift uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”
“A business expansion? A dress that could bring a man back from the dead? The way you wrangled money out of all those donors?” Cal shakes his head. “I didn’t recognize you, Libs.”
I choose my words carefully. “I don’t know why this is such a surprise.”
“The woman from last night dazzled me.” I feel the warm blush of that compliment for the duration of time it takes Cal to open his mouth, leading us into dangerous territory. “She sure as hell isn’t the same woman I’m sitting on the edge of the grass skipping rocks into the water with.”
“How would you know? You’re never home” is snapped before I can stop myself.
“Whoa. Libby, honey. That’s not what I meant.” Cal holds up his hands.
“Then what did you mean, Cal?” I demand.
“Just…I don’t know. I guess we would be considering other things.”
It comes to me then he knows about Iris and Sam’s news. “I guess when you work with your spouse, there’s better odds for the kind of miracle Iris and Sam are expecting. Then again, it’d be nice to not only have my husband around to make our child but to help raise him or her.” Pushing to my feet, I start to move away.
Cal grabs my hand before I can shift more than a foot. “Libby, I didn’t come here to fight.” His voice sounds so tired. For a moment, I waver, realizing if he flew in yesterday, he likely is exhausted. But then I remember the nights I spend with half of my bed, my life, my heart aching, and I turn my head aside.
“I work so I don’t feel the loss of my dreams anymore, Cal. If I’ve changed, it’s because I understand that now.” Removing my hand from his, I ignore his pleas to stop as I make my way down the grassy knoll back to the house.
Because I can’t let him see me cry. I do too much of that while he’s away and I’m alone.
* * *
Hours later when I get back to our home, I drag my weekender and dress bag into the house. The smell of food cooking surprises me. After our fight, I was certain Cal would have headed into the office. “Hello?” I call out as I drop my bags at the base of the stairs.
And then the lights dim. The candles I didn’t notice before sitting at the base of each sunflower that is in its own individual vase pop out throughout the room.
“Oh, Cal,” I whisper. My heart melts and aches because the sweetness behind the gesture means everything to my heart and nothing to our lives.
Footsteps behind me precede arms wrapping around my waist. His voice is warm next to my ear. “You were right; I have no idea what it’s like for you. But I want you to know that if your dreams have changed, hon—” Cal gently turns me in his arms. “—then all that matters is I’m a part of them.”
My head collides with his chest as I wrap my arms around him. Maybe I can’t change our marriage, but maybe we can.
It certainly appears as if Cal wants to try.
Lifting my head up, I slide my arms around him and hug him tightly. “I love you.”
“I love you, Libby. Always.”
I don’t know how long I stand there holding on to him. All I know is that once again we’re suffering because of another consequence of a job I only understand on the surface.
Even as Cal lowers his lips to take mine in a kiss rife with apology and filled with love, I just know I can’t go on living the way I have been.
I have to be the woman I’ve always meant to be. I just thought I’d have a husband by my side to do it.
45
Calhoun
Year Three - Eight Years Ago from Present Day
“What do you think?” A few weeks after the Akin ball, Libby and I are home. Yarborough and I finally got the results of the three independent reports and have come to an agreement. It will drain all but one of my offshore accounts to do it, but I want to take the gamble. I want the roots to here, to Charleston, to Libby.
There’s a fire roaring while we talk about the deal Yarborough agreed to last week where he retains 50 percent of Allied and allows me to buy 25, Karl the other quarter with a first option for Karl, Sam—once he gets the capital—or me to buy in more at a later date or in the event of the Admiral’s demise. Of course, that’s not what I tell my wife. Still, even though they’re a fraction of the actual purchase price, the numbers I gave to Libby to buy into Alliance had her face paling.
“I know we can afford that, but…”
“But what?” I pressure her.
She shakes her head, stubbornly not saying anything. But I want her words. I want to know what she’s thinking.
“I…I don’t know what to say.” Libby shifts under the throw to get more comfortable.
Twisting so I’m facing her more directly, I ask, “What has you concerned?”
“Two things come immediately to mind.” But Libby doesn’t continue.
Leaning forward, I capture her chin in my hand. “Honey, talk it out. I know this seems like it came out of nowhere…”
Libby snorts. “You can say that again.”
I continue, but I file her reaction away. “But it took a while to get the necessary industry research. We were waiting on three independent assessments of the business value, which can’t be done overnight…”
“So, why am I just hearing about this now?” Libby demands.
“Is that one of your concerns?” At her emphatic nod, I rein in my temper. “We’ve been married long enough for you to understand I can’t talk about my work, Libby.” My tone of voice is one I use on clients who just don’t understand we’re not mercenaries for hire. They normally don’t appreciate it.
And apparently neither does my wife.
“I understand that, Calhoun,” Libby informs me icily, stressing my full name to impress upon me her full displeasure at being talked down to. “However, my concerns also extend to barely getting to spend time with you as it is! Do you really think adding ‘owner’ to whatever it is you do for that company will have you sleeping in our bed more?”
My temper slips when I snap back, “It hasn’t changed the number of times you’ve been gone from it recently.”
Libby freezes. “I’m surprised you noticed considering you’re never around when I’m missing from it.” Pushing to her feet, she tosses the blanket down on the couch between us—a line not to be crossed.
Making her way over to the door, she calls over her shoulder, “I know you want this, Cal. Do what you think is best.”
It’s the last time I see my wife before I climb into bed because she never comes down for dinner despite my ordering her favorite subs. I even bribed them to bring her sunflowers just
like I did on our anniversary last year.
But Libby’s so hurt because of my callous comments, not even bringing one to bed and trailing it down her arm while whispering, “I’m sorry,” gets a rise out of her.
And the next morning, I’m treated to a shell of my wife whose eyes don’t sparkle.
I did that and I have no idea how to fix it.
* * *
Weeks later, long after I’ve signed the papers with Yarborough, I finally call Iris into my office. Steeping my fingers together, I tell her the story of what happened.
Iris gives me a pitying look. “You never learn do you. Tell her, Cal. For God’s sake, just tell her.”
“You heard her reaction, Iris. What will knowing get her?”
Standing up out of my chair, my wife’s best friend glares at me. “I don’t know. Maybe something we all demand in our marriages: the simple truth,” Iris snipes, before she stomps out of my office, slamming the door behind her.
Turning to face the windows, I contemplate Iris’s words. No, I can’t tell Libby everything. If I do, it will crush her. But now that I’ve taken on partial ownership, I can damn well try to be home more.
With that in mind, I push away from my desk and head toward Yarborough’s office to flesh out our new roles more thoroughly.
46
Elizabeth
Year Four - Seven Years Ago from Present Day
“Elizabeth Sullivan,” I answer my phone absentmindedly. “That couch belongs on the opposite wall,” I call out.
“Yes, Ms. Sullivan,” Frank, the lead of my Atlanta moving team, responds. “Be careful, boys. Those floors were just refinished.” His team makes noises of assent as they lift the large sofa that was misplaced.
I speak into the phone as I observe the new placement of the largest piece of furniture in the recently redesigned living room. “I apologize for the delay. This is Elizabeth,” I repeat.
“Hey, Libs.” It’s my brother. “What’cha up to?”
“Just loading in the furniture for the Harrison house. You?”
“Calling to pick a bone with you.”
“Oh?” Seeing a minor catastrophe in the making, I say, “Hold on, Josh. Benny, no. That goes into the son’s bedroom. This is the guest bedroom.”
“Sorry, Ms. Sullivan.” Benny grins sheepishly.
I look at the complicated picture pattern he hung up. “Not a problem. Nice job on laying out the pattern. If you can replicate that, we’ll be golden.”
He gives me an enormous smile and an unexpected compliment. “That’s why we like you, Ms. Sullivan.”
Taken aback, I ask curiously, “Why?”
“Because you could just yell. Instead you always find a way to make us feel good about ourselves.” Benny begins to peel off the delicate nonstick template I’d had made so hanging the art would be easier. “I’ll just go get this hung in the right room.”
Forgetting for a moment Josh is on the line, I bask in the genuine compliment. Then I lift the phone back to my ear. “After that, you can peck at my carcass, Josh. I just got the loveliest compliment.”
“I heard. And it’s well deserved, Libs. You remind me more and more of Nonna each day with the way you inspire the people around you.”
“Damn you,” I curse him. “Of all the things you could possibly say to get the waterworks started.” I begin to sniffle. Patting my dress slacks, I realize I don’t have a tissue. I slide the back of my hand under my eyes.
“It’s the truth. So is the fact I’m going to enjoy making you repaint Sydney’s bedroom walls because she decided to color them with the pack of Sharpies you gave her.”
I try to stifle the giggle that image evokes, but I can’t. “I tried to tell you she wasn’t interested in horses.”
“Next time, how about giving her paper?” he says exasperatedly.
“I did.” Pursing my lips, it comes to me. “Mom said last week her antique Waterford vase was filled to the brim with perfectly round circles of construction paper. Do you think your little darling used the hole punch to fill it up?”
“How long did it take her to calm down?”
“From laughing?”
Josh groans in my ear. “Jesus. It’s like living with you all over again.”
“Except you can’t go telling on Mom about her because she’s all yours,” I singsong. Leaving the guest bedroom, I receive a ping. “Hold on a moment, okay?”
“Sure.”
Pulling up my texts, I see there’s one from Rebecca, which I’ll read later. I’m sure it’s just another extension of Cal’s trip—which has already gone two weeks past due. I haven’t seen my husband in over a month. There’s a new one from Quincy Harrison, the divorced single dad who owns the home I’m redecorating. Quickly reading it, I mutter, “Fuck,” before calling out, “Everyone, the homeowner wants to be in with his son this weekend. There’s a bonus for everyone if we can get the home complete before he stops by at 5:00.” It’s now 10:30. “Think we can do it?”
Frank calls back, “Step it up, boys and girls. We all know what kind of bonuses Libby offers. That’s cash plus a cake, in case you don’t remember.” There’s a cheer from everyone in hearing distance. “No more mistakes,” he says firmly. To me he assures me, “No problem.”
I shoot a quick text to Quincy, letting him know to drop by after work, before resuming my call with Josh. “Listen, we just hit a major deadline. The homeowner wants delivery tonight.”
“And this is where I let you go. You’re not planning on driving home after working all day though?” The care and concern I feel from my brother both warms and pains me.
It should be what I receive from my husband, but he’s too busy halfway around the world chasing his own dreams to hear about mine anymore. I shake my head. “No, I have the hotel through the weekend, but if we do finish tonight, I’ll drive back in the morning.”
“Good. How about bringing your painting arm this weekend?”
I laugh, as intended. “Goodbye, Josh.” Pressing End, I begin to find a room where I can focus on the details that make this a design that gives you the sense of déjà vu—the feeling like you’ve lived here before.
Which is exactly why I’m hired.
* * *
Quincy holds up a glass of wine and taps it against mine. “Thank you, Elizabeth. EJ and I are going to be very happy there. It’s like…”
I smother the smile trying to bloom. “Like you’ve always lived there?” I ask innocently.
“Exactly that. After everything he’s been through in this custody battle, that’s all I could hope for.”
We chat for a few moments about his young son, how he’s adapting to his new school, when my phone rings—out loud. I frown because there’s only two numbers who can get through when I set it for privacy mode: my mother and Cal. Concerned, I say, “Excuse me, that’s home.”
Quincy waves his hand. “By all means.”
My hand is already reaching in my purse pocket for my phone, and I’m stepping away from the table. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” It’s Cal.
“I’m working. Where are you?” I’m confused.
“Standing in our house wondering why our home looks like it hasn’t been inhabited.”
“Probably because I’ve been on a job for the last three weeks,” I say caustically. “When did you get home?”
“A few hours ago. I thought you might be at the office until about thirty minutes ago. When I called, they said you weren’t there. Where’s your client? Do you want to meet for dinner?”
“I’m already out to dinner. With my client,” I clarify.
Behind me, the hostess answers the phone, “Thank you for calling the Peaches Preserve. Please hold.”
There’s a pregnant pause before Cal asks, “Where are you, Libby?” His voice is quiet.
“I’m in Atlanta. I just wrapped up the job I was working on this afternoon. I’ll be home in the morning.”
“You didn’t get Rebecca’s t
ext?” Cal sounds angry.
“I saw she texted, but I didn’t have the chance to check it as I was finishing my job which required completing a house in less than ten hours. I thought I had through the weekend to complete it,” I bite back. “Besides, I thought it was just going to tell me you were going to be delayed. Again.”
“I wasn’t. I was coming home. To you.”
“And tomorrow, I’ll be back. All that’s left is receiving the final payment, sleeping, and driving home,” I say firmly. “I’m happy you’re home safely. I love you, but I’m at dinner with the client right now.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about this,” Cal mutters.
Welcome to my world. I was so certain I thought it until I hear Cal’s sharply indrawn breath. Shoving past it, I whisper, “I do love you, Cal. I have to go now. I’ll call you from my hotel.”
“I love you too, Libby.” I hear the phone click in my ear. And suddenly the success of today has drained from my body, leaving me feeling hollow.
Turning, I head back to my table to wrap up my meal with Quincy. Wincing, he mutters, “Uh-oh, I recognize that look. I’ve seen it in the mirror too many times. Do you want to talk it out, or are you in the thinking stage?”
Since I don’t want to know what the look on my face says, I lift my wine to my lips and avoid the question entirely. “Is there anything you’d change about the house? Better let me know. I leave in—” I glance at my watch. “—in ten hours.”
Quincy launches into a detailed approval of every room, expounding of how much he loves it.
I’m glad because right now I need someone to love something I’ve done since I don’t much love anything about my life.
Ripple Effect Page 18
