It’s Like That (8 page)

He gripped her upper arms and shook her gently. “Do you hear me, Callie? I’m glad they’re blind. Because all this…” He ran his hands down her body and back up to grip her arms. “All this is mine. They can have those skinny, carrot-munching bitches. Because I get to have you.”

He let her go suddenly and stood back to run his hand over his hair. He’d gotten it cut today. She hadn’t noticed until now. Funny that she noticed it at this moment, when she’d just been given the most wonderful speech of her entire life. But she was numb, unable to respond to his fervent words.

“Look, Callie,” he said in a low voice, “I have to leave tomorrow at 0400.” She liked how he said it as oh-four-hundred instead of four a.m. Strange how the mind wanders. She stared at the medals on his chest, wondering what they were for. “I’ll probably be gone a couple of weeks.”

She sniffled and looked up at him. “Where are you going?” She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted him to stay and finish this.

“I can’t tell you that. Just…a mission.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Look, I want to be with you. In every way possible. I think we’ve got something here. We started something that’s going to be real good. But you have to stop second-guessing yourself. See your own worth.” He put his hands on his hips and looked down. “I’m gonna stay at my place tonight. I’ll call you when I get back. By then…” He looked up at her with pleading eyes. “By then, baby, please understand how much I want this. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this. Me and you.”

Callie nodded, her heart finally soaking in his words and taking flight. “Okay.” She took a deep breath and stepped into his arms. “Thank you, Chris. I…” She stopped herself from saying the words. It was way too soon.

“I know, baby,” he whispered. “I know.”

* * * *

23 days later

Callie’s phone rang shrilly and she jumped. For three weeks she’d been leaping every time someone called, hoping it was Chris. She looked down at the screen and was disappointed to see it was only Sara.

“Hey, girl. What’s up?”

The other end of the line was silent.

“Sara?” Callie sat up, dread snaking through her.

“Callie.” Sara’s voice was rough and shaky. A sniffle followed.

Callie’s heart dropped. Something happened to Alan; she just knew it. Newly married, and already dealing with this…

“Callie, it’s Chris.”

Her heart didn’t drop. It shattered.

“No,” she choked out, the flood of tears already cascading down her cheeks. “No! Don’t you fucking tell me that!”

Sara sobbed on the other end. “He was captured. He’s been listed as a prisoner of war.”

Callie threw the phone across the room and collapsed onto the floor in a puddle of complete and abject misery and grief.

Callie binged for a week. She ate pizza and Chinese food and all the chocolate she felt like. When school started, she stopped eating entirely. Every ounce of her energy went into her new students, and she spent every waking moment grading papers, making lesson plans, and researching class projects. She’d always been very active with her class, but so far this year she’d gone above and beyond. She scheduled parent conferences for no reason other than to outline her agenda for the year and find out more about each student’s personality.

Her friends called her and she ignored it. She sent one-word replies to their texts and always claimed to be busy when they came by. Since that day, that awful day, when Alan haltingly told her that Chris had pushed him aside and allowed himself to be taken instead, she’d sequestered herself in her house and classroom and let the world go by without her. It was easier that way.

She didn’t think about the fact that she’d only known him a couple of days. She didn’t think about the way it had felt to be wanted, on the verge of something so beautiful it was almost unbelievable. She didn’t wonder what kind of hell he was living, if he was even living. She didn’t think about anything. So, when months went by without a word, she found herself settled into a routine: wake up, go to school, stay late, go home, work on school projects, and go to bed.

It wasn’t so different from her life before. The biggest difference, the
only
difference in fact, was that she knew what she was missing. And that one, tiny piece of knowledge was devastating.

The weekends were the hardest, though. She’d had a few bad weekends with wine that she hadn’t repeated. So instead of wine, she used food. It was far better than getting rip-roaring drunk, and she’d long since ceased caring about calories. Besides, she ate next to nothing throughout the week, so her weekend binges were harmless. Her weight stayed the same, but she had ceased to care.

It was December before she actually had to face her emotions. She’d flown to Chicago to spend the holidays with her mom, and despite Callie’s attempt to act like nothing was wrong, Barbara Alexson had known at first glimpse.

Ignoring Callie’s protests, she’d done what any good mother would do. She bought some wine, a bucket of chocolate ice cream, and forcibly pried the entire story—well, the PG version—out of Callie.

Callie had spewed forth the whirlwind relationship with tears streaming down her face. Barbara had smiled encouragingly, commenting that he sounded like a man who was actually worth something. But when Callie got to the part where Chris left for a mission, Barbara stopped her and looked up at the picture of Callie’s father that sat above the mantel.

“I think I understand,” Barbara had whispered, but Callie continued anyway. This was different.

Her mom been surprised at the POW part, but stroked Callie’s hair in sympathy and wondered aloud if that wasn’t actually worse than if he’d been killed.

That remark caused Callie to sob, and Barbara had pulled her into a warm embrace and rocked her gently. She made confessions that Callie had never heard, and perhaps never wanted to. Barbara told Callie that Grandma Lottie had held and rocked her when Callie’s father, Colin, had been killed. So Callie continued a tradition started by her mother and grandmother: being rocked by her mom while she cried over a lost love.

Barbara whispered silly little meaningless words that did nothing to comfort. They served the sole purpose of letting her voice be heard, and Callie was grateful for that.

She cried in her mother’s sympathetic arms for what could have been minutes or hours. When the tears were all gone, she didn’t feel better, but she did feel lighter.

And so it continued until it was time for her to return home after New Year’s. Barbara consoled and cried with her daughter, giving her the chance she needed to get it all out. And when it was time to go, Callie boarded the plane with the resolution to pull herself back together. But the instant she stepped into her house, she fell apart again. He’d forgotten his overnight bag and she’d stored it in the attic, unable to open it to see what he’d left. She went and got it, and pulled the clothes out. He hadn’t wanted to leave laundry at her house, so he’d packed his dirty clothes. There was one T-shirt there, and she lifted it to her nose, inhaling the scent of him. She’d forgotten how good he smelled, and even after four months, the scent made her eyes prick with tears she thought she’d purged in Chicago.

She zipped the bag back up, took the T-shirt downstairs with her, and fell asleep in her bed, hugging it to her chest.

* * * *

“We have to tell her, Alan.” Sara frowned at her husband and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“What do you want to tell her?” Alan responded, clearly irritated. “She’s going to find out as soon as she turns on her television!”

“We can’t let her find out that way!” Sara leaped up and jerked on Alan’s arm. “She deserves to at least hear it before it hits the news!”

Alan stood, pulling his arm from hers. “Sara, I wasn’t even supposed to tell you yet. It’s probably going to be on the late news anyway. Odds are she’s already in bed.”

Sara slipped her shoes on and took the keys from her purse. “Well, I’m going to tell her. With or without you. I’ll probably get it wrong if you don’t come with me though.”

Alan sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Callie was startled awake by a persistent knock at her door. She lifted her head and glanced at the clock. Nine p.m. Who was banging on her door at nine p.m.? Rebecca was still in Florida, so it couldn’t be her. She wouldn’t be back until the day before they went back to school. She rubbed her eyes and stretched sleepily.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

“I’m coming!” she yelled. She reverently folded the T-shirt she’d been sleeping with and tucked it under her pillow. She walked to the door, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and looked out the peephole. Alan and Sara. What the hell were they doing here so late?

She jerked the door open and before she could so much as say hello, they’d pushed their way inside and shut the door.

“We need to talk,” Alan said brusquely, taking her arm and leading her to her kitchen table.

Sara was silent and retrieved a bottle of wine from the fridge and poured a glass. She gave it to Callie. “Drink.”

Callie sipped the wine slowly, and at Sara’s urging, eventually turned the glass up and emptied it.

When she set it back down, Sara sat on the other side of her and took her hand.

“Paulson is alive.” Alan’s words were clipped and he held up his hand before she could respond.

“The group that has him is a European terrorist group. They put a video online yesterday. They want passports, American citizenship, a full pardon, and immunity to let him go alive. They have a female soldier too. We don’t know how they got her. She’s been listed as AWOL for about six months.” He paused and took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. “He’s…not good. He looks malnourished, dirty, and he’s obviously been tortured.” He looked at her intently. “The only reason I’m telling you is because the news channels have got it. They put it online for anybody to see, and before it could be blocked or traced, the newshounds had found it. They’re probably going to run it tonight.”

Callie just looked at him, shocked for an instant, before jumping up and saying, “So, that’s it! They’ll get some passports and he can come home! When will they do it?” She clasped her hands together, praying.

“Callie,” Sara began.

Alan interrupted, “The United States government does not negotiate with terrorists.”

Callie stared at him, dumbfounded. “But they have an American citizen! Two soldiers! They’ll just let them…die?” Her voice broke on the last word.

Alan stared at the table, refusing to meet her eyes. “The United States government does not negotiate with terrorists.”

She slapped her hands down on the table. “What the fuck does that mean? They’re going to leave them both there?” Her voice rose and Sara put her hands gently on Callie’s shoulders, urging her to sit.

Alan exchanged a glance with Sara and said, “I’ll be in the car.” Without another word, he stood and left, closing the door softly behind him.

Sara trailed her hands across Callie’s shoulders and occupied the seat Alan had been sitting in. “Callie, listen. The United States government does not
negotiate
with terrorists.” She took Callie’s hand and squeezed. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Callie thought for a moment before realization dawned. “So, they’re going to send someone in to rescue him?”

Sara sighed and said, “Well, yes, that would be my guess. Once they figure out where he’s at. That could be weeks though. Months, even. They might never find out. But,” she squeezed Callie’s hand again and her voice took on a hard note, “when they do find them, maybe they’ll send Chris’ team in to get him, because they know the area and they have a…professional and personal interest. Knowing those guys like I do, they wouldn’t leave anything behind but bodies. If he can hang on, just a little longer, they’ll find a way to get him out.”

Callie swallowed hard and nodded. “So you’re saying there’s a chance, even though it’s not a good one.”

“Yeah. There’s a chance.” Sara let go of her hand and stood. “Don’t watch the news. You already know.”

Callie knew why Sara didn’t want her to watch, but she was going to anyway. She needed to see. “Wouldn’t you?” she asked quietly.

Sara sighed and said, “Yeah. But Callie…” She paused and looked away, biting her lip. “Alan is my husband. I’ve known him for years. You knew Chris for three days. I love you both, but…I don’t know if this is healthy.”

Callie jerked her hand across her face to wipe away a tear from her cheek and said, “If I loved him that much after three days, imagine how much I would love him after three months or years. Or decades.” She put her head in her hands and whispered, “I only needed one day.”

She didn’t hear Sara leave, but her parting words circled furiously around Callie’s subconscious. Had she glorified Chris when he hadn’t come home? Built him up to be something he wasn’t and gone a little overboard mourning his loss? She didn’t think so, but it was possible. She mentally reviewed their short relationship as she got up to find a box of tissues. They’d had a lot of sex…well, oral sex, she amended, in the three days they’d known each other. They’d also shared pillow talk and gotten to know one another quickly. He’d fed her kung pao chicken, fumbling with chopsticks until she’d laughed and just stabbed the chicken with a fork for him. She’d laughed over how girly he smelled after he got out of her shower. They didn’t know one another well, but they’d known enough.

Besides, she told herself, it’s not like they’d run off to Vegas and tied the knot. Chris had said himself that he knew their relationship could go somewhere, and he wanted to find out where that was. They hadn’t been taking it slow at all, but they’d both been aware that they needed more time together.

It would have been amazing, she was sure of it. Plopping down on the couch, she pulled a throw over her legs and turned on the television. She changed the channel until she found a news program and sat back to wait. She needed to see it, however bad it was.

She saw a story about a dog rescuing a child from a swimming pool and a full weather report before the story came on.