He pulls back slowly. A slight wince on his face.
The. Moment. Broken.
He now stands upright again, his face far FAR away from mine.
Does he just hate all music in general? Or did the loud voice just distract him? OR does he know that I’m hiding—
He smiles.
Well, that’s a good sign at least. If he’s smiling—
CALLIE!
I smile back.
Then he whispers. “I should let you go so Mandy doesn’t get worried. Don’t forget to text me when you get home.”
I nod. “I won’t.”
He gently shuts my door and walks away, leaving me alone with an unidentified voice singing an obscenely loud song.
{And Damien.}
Chapter 3
day one again
MONDAY MORNING. 9:00 A.M.
Almost time for my leaving-the-house routine. Almost time for my Literary Analysis II class. No word about my therapy session yet. No idea what time my treatment starts tonight. Starts again. Or should I say that it continues? I should say “continues” because I’ve already finished five days. So then, really, it’s actually Day Six instead of Day One.
That sounds a lot better. Sounds like I’m a lot closer to the finish line. If I’m even ever going to make it to the finish line.
If he doesn’t stop talking to me first. If he doesn’t bring up his text from yesterday morning.
But that text is buried under new texts now, because we each sent three texts after I got home last night.
I sent…
I’m home.
He sent…
Good. Thanks for texting.
I wrote…
Thanks for coming to check on me.
He wrote…
No problem. See you tomorrow evening for our new Day One (Day One out of seven now—because you’ve already completed five days).
And I wrote…
Yep. See you then. Good night.
And he wrote…
Good night, Callie.
Six texts. Six texts after his three promises text. His music text.
I’d have to scroll up in our text history to even see that message. So it’s history. Gone.
For now…
But you have to tell him, Callie. You—
Ugh. Shut up, Callie. I’ll tell him.
If he asks me again.
And in the meantime, I’ll pray that he doesn’t. And I’ll try to convince God…and myself…that my sin of omission isn’t as bad as outright lying to him. That keeping this from him really is better than telling him the truth because the truth will only remind him of his mother and make him sad and—
My phone is buzzing on my dresser. I head over to pick it up.
Maybe he’s calling to tell me—
It’s not him. It’s Melanie. A text from Melanie. Finally.
Open.
Hey, Callie. Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you last night.
I write back right away.
No problem. How are you?
Buzz. My phone buzzes just as I hit the send button.
I have a new text.
From Unknown Number. From him.
I—
BUZZ.
Melanie’s written again. I click on her message.
I’m okay. Really emotional, though. Stupid emotional—especially when I start to talk about all of this. Hence these texts and not a phone call…
Reply.
Mel, you are not stupid emotional. This whole thing was…IS…freaking scary. You SHOULD be emotional.
Send.
Reply again.
But not too emotional. That can’t be good for the baby, right?
Send again.
I pick my nails. Wait for Melanie to respond. Think about his text message, his BUZZ. Worry about it. Hope. No, pray, that his text doesn’t restate the three promises he wants me to make. {Listen to Whitney Houston singing “So Emotional.”} Worry about how I’ll respond if he—
Buzz.
Another text from him.
Another chance that he’s again mentioned the mus—
Buzz.
Melanie again.
Open text.
I know, Callie. I’m trying to be calm. And the bleeding has really slowed down. And my doctor said that everything looks good. So, hopefully…
Reply.
Everything will be fine, Mel. I know it.
Please let everything be fine. Please let everything be fine. Please. Let Melanie be fine. Let the baby be fine. Let them both be fine.
Keep writing.
You just need to keep resting.
Send.
I continue to pray. Continue to pick at my nails. Continue to worry about my other texts. {Continue to listen to Whitney Houston.}
Buzz. Mel again. Open.
I am resting. On that note, I have a favor to ask of you. Doug is insisting that I should rest constantly during these three days I’ve taken off of work. The doctor didn’t put me on bed rest or anything, but she wants me to really take it easy for a few days. Anyway, Abby has off of school tomorrow, and Doug thinks that I won’t rest enough if she’s with me (I think he’s worrying too much, but I know he’s scared…so I’m going with it). Doug can’t watch her, though, because he has some meetings tomorrow that he really can’t cancel. And I hate to ask Mom and Dad to take off of work. So…do you think you could watch Abby in between your classes tomorrow? I’ve already talked to Mandy about covering during your classes.
I write back.
Of course. I’d love to.
SEN—
BUZZ.
He wrote again. A third time.
Now I have to open his texts. Or else he’ll send a fourth message, and the numbers will be all messed up and—
{Gnarls Barkley blasts into the refrain of “Crazy.” Singing about my crazy…}
One. Two. Three.
Please don’t state your promise requests again.
One. Two. Three
Please don’t mention the music again.
One. Two. Three.
Please.
Hurry, Callie. A fourth text could be coming any—
{Gnarls Barkley. SO LOUD.}
Onetwothreeonetwothreeonetwothree.
Open.
Message one.
Session today after work?
Okay. Not terrible. Well, not a terrible text. The session probably will be terrible.
Moving on. One. Two—
BUZZ. Melanie again.
Hold on for a sec, Mel. Gotta finish this now that I’ve started.
{Gnarls Barkley. Louder yet. Deafening.}
Onetwothree. Scroll to message two.
Meet at your house?
Not bad. Not bad. Not bad.
Onetwothree. Scroll down to message three.
Callie? Are you—
BUZZ. Melanie again. My second unanswered text from her.
Hurry, Callie. Read.
Callie? Are you trying to avoid our session? Starting our therapy activities again was your decision :)
Adorable.
A smiling Dr. Blake. A happy Dr. Blake.
For now.
Until I make him sad again.
Inevitably.
{Gnarls Barkley. Softer volume. Quiet refrain. Again and again and again.}
Onetwothree. Reply.
Sounds good. See you after work.
Onetwothree. Send.
Quick decision.
Reply again.
:)
Onetwothree. Send.
Send…because it might make him keep smiling. Might keep him happy. For a little while longer. For as long as I can make it last. If I could just—
BUZZ.
Melanie again. Third unanswered text.
Damn it. How do I keep getting myself into these dangerous numerical situations?
Open text before number four appears.
Text one.
Thanks so much, Callie. Doug will drop her off with
Mandy at noon.
Text two.
If you have stuff to do, studying or a paper to write or whatever, do what you need to do. I’ll send Abby’s Barbies with her. They’ll keep her occupied for hours!
Text three.
Gotta run. Thanks, Callie! Oh—and please don’t mention the bleeding to Abby. Doug and I just told her that I need to rest a little. I don’t want to worry her.
Reply.
Good idea. No problem. REST!
Send.
Okay. Time for thirty-three times three leaving-the-house checks. And…GO.
Bathroom shower: water off (Place hand under the shower head and then under the bath faucet to confirm that no liquid is escaping anywhere). Bathroom sink: water off (Check faucet in the same way as the shower head and bath faucet were checked). Hair dryer: unplugged (Stare at the plug. Stare at the outlet. Make sure that the plug doesn’t jump into the outlet). Hair straightener: unplugged (Use same method as is used for hair dryer plug). Bathroom counter: empty. Mirror: clean. Toilet: not running (Listen carefully). Air vent: uncovered (Pull the vent out of the floor. Stick entire hand and half of arm down air vent passageway to check for blockages). Light: off. Bedroom floor: clean. Air vents: uncovered (Use previous air vent checking method. Repeat this process for all subsequent air vent checks.). Bed: made. TV: off. Light: off. Mandy’s room: at a tolerable level of cleanliness. Air vents: uncovered (Make sure that Mandy hasn’t thrown clothing or papers or candy wrappers on top of the vents. Then use the previously explained air vent checking method). Light: off. Hallway light: off. Thermostat: 70 degrees. Laundry closet light: off. Laundry closet: closed. Hallway bathroom sink: water off (Use previously mentioned official faucet drip checking method. Unofficially also check hallway bathroom shower faucet for dripping. This is not in my thirty-three checks because that would make thirty-four checks. So it’s an unofficial check. A check on the side. Off of the record. So it doesn’t count. It doesn’t mess up my count. Oh—but still use the official faucet drip checking method for this step). Toilet: not running. Air vent: uncovered. Light: off. Kitchen sink: water off. Stove: off (Put hand on all of the burners to verify a lack of any heat whatsoever. Also place hand in the oven for the same purpose). Refrigerator door: closed. Air vents: uncovered. Light: off. Living room floor: clean. Air vents: uncovered. Light: off.
Do it all again.
Then do it all again.
Time for class.
CLASS WAS FINE. UNEVENTFUL. NOW I’m back at work. It’s fine and uneventful too.
Brittany showed up a few minutes ago and—
And she’s just sent me a ticket. Brittany. Computer 7.
Open message.
Hope you enjoyed the conference. Loved your articles!
My articles.
I forgot about those.
What the hell?
I just forgot. Completely forgot about my articles. About my words, my sentences, actually being published. About other people reading them. Well, some people reading them. Very few people when you consider all of the people on this planet. But still. My words are out there. People have read them. And I forgot that it happened.
What is wrong with me? Seriously. A dream of mine came true. A quiet, never-spoken-aloud dream. It came true. It happened. And I didn’t even take the time to realize it. I never really even thought about it until now.
Too much other stuff happening at the same time, I guess.
I click to reply to Brittany.
Thanks, Brittany.
Send.
{Oh Aerosmith, now you sing “Dream On.” Why weren’t you serenading me while I was writing my articles? Why weren’t you helping me to stop and realize what was happening, reminding me to stop and…and at least recognize what was going on?}
I am seriously messed up.
Messed the hell up.
What’s going to happen next? Am I going to have a child or get my doctorate or something and not even bother to notice?
Messed. The Hell. Up.
{And it’s not your fault, Aerosmith. It’s mine. Sorry. Keep singing.}
I spend the rest of my work shift trying to read Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, my new assignment for Lit Analysis class. But I don’t read anything. Instead, I sit and wonder what Langston Hughes would think of not a “Dream Deferred” but a Dream Overlooked. A Dream Unnoticed. A dream buried beneath a mental mountain of shit.
7:12 P.M. I DRIVE HOME FROM work, switching mental gears. No longer thinking about missed dreams. Instead thinking about upcoming therapy-oriented nightmares. I wonder what I am going to have to do toni—
I pull into my driveway.
He’s here.
It’s time.
{Janet Jackson sits in fancy loungewear on her bed, singing “Again.”}
I release my seatbelt as I pull into my spot. Mandy’s space is empty. Not surprising. Also probably good.
She would most likely be way too entertained by this evening therapy appointment where we—
Where we what? Do what?
I have no freaking clue. But I am sure that it will involve something gross. Something that’s going to make my head, my mind, hurt. Something that’s going to make my body tense. And sweaty. And—
And why am I voluntarily doing this again? I couldn’t do anything right the first time, and—
My phone is buzzing.
I reach over to the passenger seat to grab my purse, digging my phone out right away.
One text. From him.
Him—only feet away from me in his car. I turn my head around to try to see him, to see if he’s still in his car. But it’s too dark.
Facing forward again. Okay.
One. Two. Three. Open.
I’m coming to get you now.
Without warning, my mouth starts to smile.
Because it almost seems normal. Like we are going on a date. Like he’s picking me up to go to dinner or to, well, to do something that normal people do for fun without worrying incessantly about germs and diseases and music and—
My door is opening. Slowly.
“Ready, Callie?” Soft. Low. Serious.
I slip my phone into my purse and turn my head toward my open door. Toward him.
I just see his hand. Hanging in front of me. Waiting for me.
One. Two. Three.
I reach out and take it. Take his hand. Take his warmth. Take the tingly feeling running up my arm. {Janet keeps singing.}
I step my copper-colored pumps out of the car, onto the driveway, and I push myself up to—
Before I can even meet his eyes…before I am even properly standing, his arms pull me in.
My head falls onto his shoulder, into his neck. The smell of his cologne…of him…surrounds me. My body lines up tightly against his.
Heart racing. Mind pounding.
Three inch copper heels struggling to stay upright on the driveway.
{John Legend reprises his “All of Me” quietly, taking me back to a hotel room, my hotel room. White covers. Purple silk pajamas. Him. Everywhere.}
His hands move on my back, in my hair. He pulls me closer and—
And he whispers now. “I know we have to get to work soon, but I need a few more minutes like this. Just a few minutes.”
He pulls his head back slowly. Just his head. His body stays close, his hips still pushing into mine.
And his eyes—
They are thinking about that hotel room too.
His lips find my neck, my collarbone, my—
Lights. Shining right at us. Around us. Through us.
Simultaneously, we move a few inches apart and squint toward the lights. Toward Mandy’s car, which is pulling in right beside us.
Shit.
I start to pull back more, to move further away from him. Then I stop.
Because what is the point? We don’t have to hide this. He’s not my doctor anymore. I’m not like a nun or anything. And we aren’t young tenth graders sneaking around…even though it sort
of feels that way right—
Mandy’s passenger side window rolls down. She’s only a couple of feet away from us. Her face leans over to look at us. Her smile is enormous. MAMMOTH.
{The Wallflowers replace John Legend with “One Headlight.” Two headlights. Two freaking headlights.}
I just shake my head and smile back. What else is there to do? I glance up at him. He’s smiling too. At me.
Mandy laughs, and we both look back her way. She bites the tip of her tongue in amusement. Literally, she bites her tongue.
Maybe she’ll also figuratively—
No such luck. She starts to speak.
“Sorry to interrupt. Your therapy looks pretty…” Her eyes twinkle. “Intense.” Her eyebrows go up and down ridiculously.
I laugh. And change the subject. “What are you doing home, Mandy?”
“Oh, I forgot a notebook that I need. I think I left it on my bed. I hope I left it on my bed.”
“Maybe if you kept your room clean—” I start, teasing her.
Mandy shakes her head, cuts me off, and looks up and out of her window. She looks directly at him. “Aren’t you going to fix this? This mad obsession with cleanliness?” She smiles at him.
He nods his head at her, amused. “I’ll see what I can do.” He continues. “And speaking of that, we’d better get going so we don’t miss tonight’s activity.”
“Oh, I think I just drove in on tonight’s activity,” Mandy throws back, laughing again and smiling at me.
Forever Checking (Checked Series Book 3) Page 2
