A Girl by Any Other Name (53 page)

this heartache. My Sylvie wouldn’t do that to me. I had to face it. Sylvie was dead.

I looked at my watch. I had a mind to cancel my plans, but if there was any night I needed a

drink, it was tonight.

* * * *

“Hey, man,” Tony greeted me, smacking me on the back as I took up residence at our usual table.

“How’s things, Doc?” I asked.

“Not bad. You know how it is, one step forward, ten back.” He was still wearing his

deliveryman’s uniform.

Tony was one of the few friends I’d made in Portland. We frequented the same bar. At first,

we’d just talked about football and a friendly rivalry had ensued as we debated the merits of the

Cowboys versus the Giants, but then we’d started discussing life in general. Tony was an orphan and

he’d confided in me. Since I’d lost my dad, I knew some of what he was going through. It had been

during one of those nights after a few too many Alabama Slammers when my Texas twang came out in

full force that I’d revealed the story of Sylvie. Surprisingly, Tony hadn’t judged. He’d just listened to

me go on about the girl I’d loved and lost whom I was still searching for.

I liked Harkin’s place. It was a dive bar by all considerations, but I preferred that. It was a hole

in the wall where a man could do his drinking in peace.

Molly met us there. “How are you, Caleb?” she asked me as she took up the seat between Tony

and me. She always called me by my full name. Molly was a stunning girl with shiny platinum-blonde

hair, baby blue eyes and legs that could stretch and clamp around a man’s waist perfectly. She didn’t

fit at Harkin’s place, but she always insisted on meeting us there. She was a good friend. Even though

I’d ended things, I missed our casual hookups. She wanted more and I couldn’t give it to her. Hell,

she deserved more.

“Acceptable, and you?”

“The same,” she replied, as I slid the pitcher of beer to her. “Did you order the chicken wings?”

Tony nodded. It was our usual greeting.

“Any word on our Raven Girl?” Tony asked, referring to my nickname for Sylvie.

I thought of telling him about Sophie Becker, but I really didn’t want to go into it, especially with

Molly there. In fact, I wanted to forget the whole stupid idea that Sophie and Sylvie were one and the

same. “No, I think I’m going to give up the ghost finally…or maybe I should say the raven.”

Molly leaned into the table, patting my hand. “I think that’s a good idea.” Unlike Tony, Molly did

judge me. The only reason I’d told her was because she’d been so upset when I ended things. I

couldn’t be any more to her than a friend and occasional sex partner. The disclosure hadn’t been my

brightest idea. Like my family, she thought I needed some serious counseling.

“No, it’s not. C’mon, Tanner, you know in your heart she’s out there. You said so yourself that

there was a drive in you to find her. You’re just giving up like that?”

Molly shot Tony a warning glare, but he ignored her in typical Tony fashion. She’d never really

cared for Tony. It didn’t help that he encouraged me in my crazy pursuit. He thought it was romantic,

which was weird considering he never talked about the opposite sex with any long-term goals. I knew

he had a slew of girls hanging off him. I mean, the guy was a weight-lifter for God’s sake. He’d

actually helped me get back into shape. I hadn’t let myself go exactly, but my six-pack had

disappeared for a while. I didn’t consider myself vain, but I missed the definition my body once had.

I’d even started running again despite my limp.

Molly thought I was a workout fiend. It was true, I worked out a lot, but it wasn’t an addiction

like she thought. It wasn’t about the health benefits. It was the distraction that I craved from the dark

thoughts that encircled my head. What could I have done differently? How many ways could I have

saved her? Currently, the answer to the last question was maxed out at fifty-six.

I laughed cynically. “Let’s face it, I’m no Sherlock Holmes. Hell, I’m not even Monk. Besides I

think it’s a wasted pursuit. I’ve read too many novels, and they’ve colored my perspective. Call it an

occupational hazard.”

“So you’re just giving up?” Tony asked, narrowing his eyes at me.

I shrugged. “I think I’m just going to live my life for a while, and not focus so much on the past.”

“So, what does that mean, Caleb?” Molly asked.

Shit.

I knew what she was thinking. I wasn’t ready for a relationship yet. The truth was I had never

allowed myself to mourn for Sylvie. I needed to do that before I completely moved on.

“I’m not sure.” I smiled at her because she looked hurt. The last thing I wanted to do was cause

her more pain. “Let’s talk about you, Molls. Do you like your new job?” Molly, a recent graduate

from nursing school, had just started working in the field.

She sighed. “Eh, it’s more boring than I thought it would be and my feet hurt. I’m wondering if

all those years were wasted, and I chose wrong.”

“You’ll get used to it. Just give it a chance,” I replied, refilling her beer mug.

“You think so?”

“It’s what you’re meant to be doing. You heal people. That’s pretty amazing, girl.”

She smiled, but it didn’t light up her face like it usually did. I knew what she was thinking, and a

new wave of guilt hit me. She was wondering why she couldn’t heal me.

The poor girl didn’t know I was a lost cause.

Chapter Ten

Excerpt from
Raven Girl

Age 16

“I can’t believe you made a casserole,” I said, taking the large pan from her. We usually cooked

on Sundays to give Momma a break. Actually, Sylvie and Mandy cooked. I did dishes and set the

table. Everyone agreed it was less dangerous that way.

Sylvie still came over for supper every night. Mandy and she often practiced on the piano after

we ate. It comforted my mother to hear them sing. I knew it was the main reason they both did it.

“It’s your mom’s recipe,” she replied with obvious pride.

I moved it up and down in my hands. “I can tell from the weight. I’ve carried it a lot.”

She laughed and followed me into the kitchen.

“I can’t believe you’re going to take art class with me. Didn’t the guys on the team make fun of

you?” She started dishing up the casserole as Mandy prepared the salad.

“I don’t care what they think. Milk or juice?” I asked them as I reached for glasses.

“Milk,” Sylvie replied.

“Juice,” Mandy answered.

We all moved effortlessly in the small kitchen, working efficiently around each other.

“I told you I was going to take art as an elective.”

“Since when don’t you care what the boys on the team think?” she asked dryly.

“Since I figured out I could beat any one of them up.”

“Sylvie, are you going to help me with my presentation?” Mandy chimed in.

“Sure, what’s it on?”

“I have to give a speech on who I think the most popular president of all time is.”

“Who did you choose, princess?” I asked.

Mandy shot me a sarcastic glance. She didn’t like the nickname anymore, but I still used it once

in a while just to irk her.

“Lyndon B. Johnson.”

“Hmm, I don’t know if he was the most popular of all time,” Sylvie responded.

“Sure he was,” Mandy insisted.

“I’m pretty sure he’s not on anyone’s top list,” I added.

She stopped her work, giving me a look that could cut through ice. “He was, and I’ll tell you

why. When I was a little kid, I knew of only three presidents. George Washington because he was the

first, our current president because he was current, and Lyndon B. Johnson and he was the thirty-sixth

president, so what does that tell you?”

“It tells me you were a dumbass kid,” I replied. The front door creaked open then, telling me my

mother was home as soon I made the comment. Mandy heard it too and I knew she’d take full

advantage.

“Momma! Cal just called me a name,” Mandy whined, running out of the kitchen.

“Go on, throw yourself a nice little hissy fit, princess,” I yelled after her.

Sylvie gave me a chiding look, but she was trying not to laugh. “You shouldn’t be so mean, Tex.”

I shrugged. “That’s what brothers are for. Someone’s gotta let her know she can’t sit on that

pedestal forever.”

“You know you put her up there too. I don’t know how many brothers would insist on taking

their sisters to ballet practice, coaching their softball team or taking them shopping for shoes. You’re

a good brother and she’s lucky to have you.”

Of course I did that. It was what my father would have done, and I was just doing my best to be a

pathetic replacement for him. The thing was Sylvie did all those things with me too. She was Mandy’s

best friend as much as she was mine.

I concentrated on gathering the silverware so she wouldn’t see my expression. “She didn’t have

a choice. She’s stuck with me. What’s really lucky is that she has you.”

“We’re all lucky, Cal.”

Sylvie was right. We were.

* * * *

“It’s really good,” I stated, staring at her painting.

“Thanks. It was my first time painting an actual person.”

It was a portrait of a beautiful woman with stunning brown eyes and cascading black hair. It

looked a lot like Sylvie, not as she was now, but maybe what she’d be in a few years. But I knew it

wasn’t a self-portrait. She’d named it ‘Renee’.

“It’s your mother.”

She nodded.

“I’ve been trying to convince her to enter it into the Young Artist nationals,” Mrs Peters said

behind us.

I hadn’t even heard her approach. Then again, I was usually so focused on Sylvie I ignored the

obvious. “What’s that?”

Matt Sampson moved over to us. I knew he had been listening. He watched Sylvie like a hawk

studying its prey. “It’s a national competition. You just need to enter a photo of your painting. If you

win, it’s displayed in a New York City museum with a photo and bio of the artist. Plus, you get your

name and photo printed in some national papers and art magazines. It’s pretty awesome. I’m entering

too. Sylvie, you’re so talented. You should totally go for it.”

“Thanks, Matt, but I don’t think it’s worthy of a national competition.”

“I disagree, Sylvie, but if you change your mind, I have the forms on my desk,” Mrs Peters

added.

“You should do it, Sylvie. If you win, you could start making a name for yourself,” I said,

placing a strand of hair behind Sylvie’s ear. She smiled, but shook her head.

“Yeah, it’s totally awesome,” Matt said. I’d forgotten he was still there.

She dropped her voice a few notches, standing between Matt and me. I didn’t like the fact that he

was sharing this moment with us. “I think it’s good enough for Mrs Peters, but I don’t think a national

art committee would look at it that way.”

“At least give it a try. You’ll never know if you don’t try,” I said, hoping I could change her

mind. Sylvie was talented in so many ways, but she always seemed to shrug off any compliments.

Almost as if she didn’t want people to notice her gifts.

“Hey, Cal, are we going to the movies tonight?” Wendy Watson asked, appearing out of

nowhere. She put her hand on my shoulder. I stared at Sylvie, who didn’t seem to notice. I wasn’t

dating Wendy or trying to make Sylvie jealous, but it rather annoyed me that Sylvie never reacted.

The girl could frustrate the hell out of me. I held her in my arms every night. I comforted her when she

had a nightmare. She confided in me. She cheered for me on the football field, ate supper with me and

sat beside me on the swings at church. But we never went further than that.

It was driving me crazy because I loved her so much. Granted, I hadn’t told her that, but she had

to know. I felt like she loved me too. Still, I thought voicing it wasn’t a good idea. I wasn’t willing to

fuck up what we had so I could call her my girlfriend. I would wait until she was ready.

Unfortunately, the stiffness in my pants every time she brushed up against me was having a harder

time…literally. Part of me worried she’d never be ready.

“I don’t know, Shell. I got practice tonight.”

“What about after?” Wendy asked, leaning her big boobs against my back.

“Sylvie and I have plans,” I replied. We were just going fishing, but it was still plans.

“Oh, hi, Sylvia,” Wendy said, eyeing Sylvie as if she’d just noticed her. I think Wendy called her

Sylvia to get some sort of rise out of her, but it never worked.

“We can cancel,” Sylvie replied quietly.

“Sylvie, I just got my license. Want to go over to Melba? They have a small art museum there

and we can go. I can take you to dinner after,” Matt asked.

Shit.

I had forgotten he was still here.

“Sure, Matt,” she said. I wanted to shake her and punch him. Was she actually accepting another

date right in front of me? The girl was torturing me.

“Okay, Wendy, I’ll pick you up at eight. And let’s skip the movie and just go for a drive,” I

replied, not taking my eyes from Sylvie. “A long drive.”

Wendy jumped up and down as if I’d just given her the winning lottery numbers. I could make