Final Rights (32 page)

FORTY-NINE

2004

Tate headed back to Asheville after making arrangements
with John Hathburn to get the mantel ready for pickup. If Cally didn’t want it,
she would keep it.
 

Where is Cally,
anyway? Why won’t she answer my calls?
Tate had tried to reach her three times
since waking and Cally’s lack of response worried her. But Tate also recognized
another feeling hovering under the surface, one uncommon for her. She felt
disappointed about not having someone to share this adventure with. That, piled
on top of the swamp of emotions she’d just survived, added up to the beginning
of a really foul mood.

A niggling resentment
crept into Tate’s awareness, and she tried to swallow it away. The letdown she
experienced had grown out of her assumption that she and Cally would spend the
day together even though Cally had made no such promise.
That’s on me, not
her.

Accepting responsibility
for her feelings did little to assuage them, so Tate turned her attention to
her to-do list. Check in with Dave and then . . . what? Plenty of things
awaited her attention, but none captivated her like finding the mantel.
Need to shake this
off, get out of my head . . .
 

The phone rang and Tate picked up
immediately.

“Hey, Tate. It’s me. How are you doing?”
Cally sounded perky and that poked at Tate’s already grumpy mood.

“Driving down the road.
Shouldn’t be on the cell phone, but I hoped it was you. Been trying to reach
you all day.”

“I know. I’m really
sorry about that. I left the hotel without my phone and didn’t realize it until
half an hour ago. I meant to call much earlier.” Cally sounded truly
apologetic, and Tate felt her annoyance beginning to slip away.

“Oh. That makes sense. Where are you now?”

“Back at the hotel, just now. It’s been an
eventful day. Can we meet later, maybe for dinner, and I’ll tell you all about
it?”

Tate checked the time—3:45. “I’ve got a
better idea, Cally. There’s something I’d like to show you, and we can do it
today if we leave soon. I could pick you up.”

“That sounds mysterious, Tate, but I’m
really exhausted. Can it wait?”

“Of course it could, but . . .” Tate’s
eagerness to show Cally the mantel overrode her ability to tune into her
friend’s reluctance. “. . . well, if you really don’t want to go, then it’ll
have to wait.” Snappish. Impatient. Not what she intended, but her comment had
come out that way nonetheless.

“Sounds like it’s important to you, Tate.
Want to tell me where we’d be going?”

“Not unless you insist. I promise it will be
a nice surprise.” She tried to tone down her attitude.

“Another surprise? I’m too tired to cry like
a baby again, and it seems that’s all I’ve been doing lately when faced with
surprises.”

“I can’t guarantee you won’t cry, Cally, but
I’m ninety-nine percent sure you’re gonna love it.”

“Then I guess I can’t refuse. I’ll wait for
you downstairs.” Cally did not sound enthusiastic.

“I’ll be there in ten
minutes, fifteen tops. See you shortly.”

Tate should have known better. Her nerves
were raw and her mood irritable. Together they created a volatile cocktail that
usually triggered the anger she so arduously tried to avoid. She should have
headed directly home and isolated herself until she felt more in control. She
should not have pushed Cally or herself into another emotionally charged
situation. But once she set her mind on something, even common sense could not
divert her.

Cally seemed quiet as Tate drove back to Weaverville.
Although she chatted about the weather and delicious breakfast with Dawn, she
sidestepped revealing what had kept her so busy all day, even after Tate made a
couple of attempts to open that conversation. Cally made her own effort to
discover the nature of the impending surprise, but Tate remained tight-lipped.

Tate found Cally’s
behavior confusing.
She’s withholding something. I hate it when people do that. Give me a
hint of something important, then I’m supposed to guess what it is or live with
the suspense.
Ever since they’d met, Cally had been open and easily shared her
feelings and thoughts. Now she slouched in the seat and closed her eyes, making
herself even more inaccessible. Tate sat with the uncomfortable silence and
fought against her urge to withdraw into anger. Disappointment reared up again,
nearly extinguishing her excitement about finding the lost fireplace. By the
time she parked the truck in front of Conservation Salvage, Tate felt
completely deflated. She also realized she had pushed Cally hard to make the
trip even though Cally had made it clear she wanted some down time.

“We’re here?” Cally roused herself as Tate
pulled into a parking space.

“Yeah, this is the place.”

“What is it? Looks like an antique shop.”

“Something like that. Listen, Cally. I’m
sorry. I pushed you to come here when you obviously didn’t want to. We can come
back another time. I’ll take you back to the hotel.”

“No, Tate. Don’t do that. I’m just wiped
out, and I have so much I want to tell you, but I need some time to process it
for myself before I share all of it with you.”

“Is that why you’ve been so quiet all the
way here? That’s so unlike you.”

“Actually, it is like me, at least a lot of
the time. But I haven’t been like that with you, and I think it scares me a little.”

“I scare you, Cally?”

“No, not you specifically. Just that I
opened up to you immediately and that you know so much about me, about all the
things I’ve lost and how hurtful it’s been and . . . I just don’t share that
stuff with people easily.”

“Well, it would have been hard to avoid,
don’t you think? Given how we met and each of us having such a strong
connection with Leland and all?”

“Point well taken, but still . . .” Cally
closed her eyes again, took a couple of deep breaths and let a few tears roll
down her cheeks. “. . . I’m emotionally raw, Tate. I feel like I’m caught in a
whirlwind and being sucked into quicksand all at the same time. I can’t find my
balance. I feel like a wimp, a crybaby, a basket case. And I really don’t like
being like this or having you see me like this.”

Tate took it all in. She
could see the toll the past several days had taken on her new friend.
New friend
. Hard to believe she
had met Cally only four days ago. It seemed like they’d shared a lifetime
already. She could keep that to herself, or she could follow Cally’s lead, open
up, share herself with another person.

“I know how you’re feeling, Cally.” She
managed to squeeze the words out, guiding them carefully past her resistance
and the lump forming in her throat.

“I’m not sure you do, Tate.
You
don’t cry every time something crosses your path.”

“No, I don’t. That’s because
I’ve spent most of my life learning to keep my feelings to myself, with a few
notable exceptions.”

“What would those exceptions be, exactly?”

“Anger, for one. That’s the biggest one. I’m
not proud of it . . . actually, I probably am, as sick as that sounds!”

“Proud of being angry?”

“Well, yeah. I guess that would be one way
to describe it. Anger isn’t pretty, Cally, I’m not saying that. But it protects
me and keeps me moving forward.”

“Really?” Cally stared at Tate wide-eyed.

“
Really.
Instead of getting scared, or anxious or depressed or . . . almost anything, I
get angry. That energizes me, I get really focused, and I push through whatever
it is. At least that’s usually what happens. Of course, it pisses other people
off and they avoid me like the plague—but that’s really the only downside I
see!”

Cally started laughing, and Tate followed
suit. “I love to hear you laugh, Tate. But I wonder if that’s another defense?”

“Well, it’s a way of
defusing my own anger. And I do have a wicked sense of humor that I’m pretty
proud of, too.”

Cally reached for Tate’s hand and gently
kissed it. “I love you, Tate Marlowe. I truly do. I’ve only known you a few
days, but we’re going to be friends for the rest of our lives.”

“Even if I get angry with you sometimes?”

“I’m way tougher than you may think. And I
don’t scare easily.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“And don’t be surprised if I call you on
that anger, should you ever direct it at me.”

“I would really, truly appreciate that,
Cally, more than I can say. Most people just walk away from me when they see
that part. It never occurs to them that underneath the anger is a lot of pain.”

“Now I know, Tate.”

“Yes, you do. And that’s scary!”

“Good. Then we’re even!”

“We are, and we’re even in another way,
too.”

“How’s that?”

Tate hesitated. She didn’t like revealing
herself, but in some way she felt she owed it to Cally. “Well, I had my own
meltdown today—right here, as a matter-of-fact.” Tate nodded toward the
storefront.

“You had a meltdown in an antique store?”

“I sure did. I think the owner was about to
call the paddy wagon on me.”

“That’s hard to imagine. You’re so strong
and I’ve never seen you even a little bit out of control.”

“Then you wouldn’t have recognized me a
couple of hours ago, Cally. I sat on the floor and bawled like a baby. And I
have to say I felt a lot better afterwards.”

“I bet you did.”

“But it’s exhausting. I rarely cry, but when
I was here, I saw several things that reminded me of my childhood—good
memories, wonderful ones—but gut-wrenching at the same time.” Tate began
tearing up and quickly wiped her eyes dry.

“It’s okay, Tate.”

“Ahhhh . . . I have to
stop! I hate this!” Tate took several deep breaths followed by long sighs,
regaining a bit of control with each round. Cally sat quietly and waited.

Tate’s composure returned and she shook
herself a bit then took the keys out of the ignition. “Okay, I think I’m ready
to go. How ’bout you?”

Cally let out a long sigh of her own. “I
guess so. Let’s see what the big surprise is.”

John
Hathburn looked up as Tate and Cally entered the shop. “Hi. Didn’t expect you
back so soon. It’s not ready yet.”

“No problem, John . . .”

Cally interrupted them. “What’s not ready
yet?”

“I brought the friend I
mentioned, John. This is Cally. Can we go back there?”

“What’s not ready yet?” Cally insisted.

“I found something, Cally. Something
incredibly special.”

John watched the two
women, noticing the tenseness building in Cally as well as Tate’s efforts to
maintain her own composure. “Go on then. Want me to go with you?”

“It’s okay, John. Actually I’d prefer it be
just the two of us, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. Go on back. Call if you need me.” He
hoped he would not have to witness another storm of emotion from either of
them.

Tate headed for the door into the warehouse
and motioned for Cally to follow. They worked their way through the aisles of
old furniture.

“How’d you find this place, Tate?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you later.”

“Why’d you bring me here? What’d you find?”

“I had a dream last night. I was on
Wheel of Fortune
, and just as I woke up, I solved a puzzle .
. .”

“Very interesting, but it doesn’t answer my
question!”

“Don’t you want to know
what it said?” Tate enjoyed building the suspense. Cally, however, wanted no
part of it.

“NO! I want to know why
I’m here, Tate.”

Tate persisted. “The answer to the puzzle
was ‘Where’s the fireplace?’”

Cally glared. “Where’s the fireplace?
What
fireplace?”

“Exactly! The fireplace that used to be in
my house. Leland and Ellie’s old house.”

“You mean . . .” Cally stared at her
wide-eyed.

“You know, Cally. There used to be a
fireplace in my house and it’s not there anymore, remember?”

Cally dropped her head into her hands and
shook it several times. “I remember, yes, I remember. But it’s gone, you told
me that.”

“It
was
gone, Cally.”

“It
was
gone, and now it’s not
gone? That makes no sense!”

“It was gone and now it’s found.”

“Found?”

“Found!”