It’s Like That (17 page)

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what they did?” he spat, feeling the anger rise but unable to stop it.

The old man slipped off his glasses and said, “Is that what you want to talk about?”

Chris deflated and dug his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. “No,” he said, trying to make the single syllable polite, but succeeding only in being curt.

“Young man,” the shrink began, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. “I am not going to ask you uncomfortable questions. I’m not going to talk about anything you don’t want to. When you’re ready to talk about something, you will.” He swung his arms out, gesturing to his office. “And this is the safe place where you can talk about it without fear of judgment or uncomfortable observations.” He replaced his glasses and said, “I do things the old-fashioned way. You’re not here to be analyzed or find out if you have latent mommy issues. You’re here to talk through whatever is at the surface. And everything rises to the surface eventually.” He paused and looked at Chris over the edge of his glasses. “So tell me, what’s on the surface today?”

Chris breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed a little. “Callie,” he said.

The old guy nodded and gestured for him to continue.

“I knew her for three days before…” He trailed off, the desire to avoid the subject entirely too strong to resist. “Well, when I got back, she came to the hospital to see me and stayed a week.” He smiled a little, remembering his own nervousness and fear. “I didn’t think she would have waited, but she did.”

“That must have been quite an impression you made,” the doctor said.

“Yeah.” Chris gave a short laugh. “She made an impression on me too, though. We’re moving fast. Probably faster than we should. And I don’t know how to slow down.” Chris looked at his feet and frowned. He voiced the concern that had been gnawing at him. “I don’t even want to slow down. But she deserves better than what I’m giving her.”

The shrink tilted his head to one side. “What makes you say that?”

Chris frowned and tried pinpointing the source of the feeling. “I guess because she’s such a good person. She’s smart and funny and sweet…” He paused, considering his words in an attempt to explain it. “She’s gorgeous, but doesn’t see it. She deserves to be swept off her feet. You know.” He gestured, trying to find some masculine understanding in the doctor’s gaze. “Flowers and poems and shit like that.”

The doctor smiled a little and said, “And you aren’t a flowers and poetry type of man?”

Chris shifted, stretching his left leg out in an attempt to relieve some of the pain. “Not particularly,” he responded drily. “I mean, flowers, I can do. But that’s about all the romance I’ve got.”

The doctor nodded again. Chris was already getting sick of the nods. “And she’s expressed a desire for the romantic side of your relationship to improve?”

Chris frowned. Had she? She’d never asked for any more than what he’d given her. He’d convinced himself fairly easily that she needed more and hadn’t bothered to ask. “Not really,” he answered. “She’s never asked for anything.”

The shrink frowned and said, “Son, I’ve been married thirty-one years, and I’m telling you this as a man, not as your doctor. When a woman doesn’t ask for anything, it’s time for you to stop guessing and ask some questions yourself.”

Chris fought a laugh for a moment, and then let it out in a short bark. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” The buzzer hadn’t gone off yet, and Chris looked around, certain there was one somewhere. “Do I have to stay for an hour or a certain amount of time?” He reached for his cane and stood. “Because I have a physical therapy appointment, and then apparently I have some questions to ask.”

The doctor stood and held out his hand to shake. “You stay until you’re done talking.” He grinned as Chris shook his hand. “Or ninety minutes.” He released Chris’ hand and pulled a yellow legal pad out of his desk before saying without looking up, “I’ll see you in a few days.”

The physical therapy appointment went much as Chris expected. The short blonde girl leading the session was a truly sadistic little bitch, making him twist and turn in ways specifically designed to rip his knee out of the socket. He knew he was being petulant, but he couldn’t resist throwing her a shitty look as he limped out the door.

When he got to Callie’s he went straight to the shower, shucking the PT uniform he’d changed into for therapy and tossing it into her hamper. He’d do some laundry later. Standing in the shower was painful, and he made it short so he could sit down and take the pressure off his knee. By the time he was dressed, Callie had dinner ready and was sipping a glass of wine, leaning against the kitchen counter, waiting for him.

He put the entire afternoon aside, shoving it all to the back of his mind and pulling her into his arms. He shifted his weight onto his right leg and rocked her back and forth for long moments.

Her head rested on his chest, and he buried his face in her hair and inhaled. She always smelled so good and felt so right in his arms. She was soft and fragrant, and so damn perfect that his heart never failed to skip a beat when she was near.

She pulled away and ran a finger down the scar that marred the right side of his face. “I hate that they hurt you,” she whispered, her touch so soft he could barely feel it.

He pulled her hand down and kissed her fingers. “Don’t think about it. I’m here and I’m fine.” Desperate to change the subject, he eyed the covered pans on the stove. “I’m starved. Can we eat?”

Her eyes were shimmering with tears he couldn’t stand for her to shed for him, but she blinked them away quickly before responding, “Yeah. Let’s eat.”

Callie barely woke when Chris kissed her good-bye the next morning. She did, however, wake up when his truck rumbled out of the driveway, even though it wasn’t excessively loud. She lay in bed for a few minutes, trying to go back to sleep but unable to stop her racing mind. Giving up, she got up and padded into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

She sniffed delicately at the carafe, wondering if it was the same quality as the coffee Chris had made the day before. It was. She wrinkled her nose and poured it down the sink and started another, more drinkable pot. Chris made it so strong that it nearly had to be chewed, and she planned to have a talk with him about it as soon as it came up.

While the coffee pot hissed and bubbled, she sat down at the kitchen table to wait. And think. She didn’t want to think, but her mind wouldn’t slow down. Chris had held her last night, his hands and lips never wandering. He’d been quiet, pensive. He’d praised the meal, although she’d known from the way he wolfed down nearly an entire chicken that he’d liked it. But after that they’d sat on the couch, watched a few of her shows, and gone to bed. That was it.

She’d loved sleeping in his arms. But it made her nervous. What if he was tired of her already? What if he met someone else? She told herself that was crazy. But try as she might, she couldn’t discard the idea that something had happened between the time he dropped her off and the time he got back to cool the heat with which he always looked at her.

She fidgeted, unable to shake the feeling. When the coffeemaker dinged she poured herself a cup and added creamer. She sipped gratefully and closed her eyes.

She had to talk to him, she decided. Tonight, when he got back she’d ask him. Unless he came in and ripped her clothes off, she would ask him. She looked around, wondering what to do to keep busy until then.

She decided on housework, but since she was usually a fairly tidy person anyway, it took less than two hours to do all the laundry, dust, and vacuum her entire apartment. Once that was done, she tried to read. But even the most pornographic romance couldn’t hold her interest. Nor could the creepiest horror story. When lunchtime rolled around with no word from Chris, she called Rebecca and the two of them went out for lunch.

Lunch turned into pedicures, which led to shopping, and by five o’clock, she still hadn’t received so much as a text. Rebecca tried to keep her busy and take her mind off of it. Callie was surprised by that. Her friend never passed up a chance to bash men, but hadn’t spoken a negative word all day.

They wandered through the mall, swinging their bags and chatting. Callie tried not to let her foul mood get in the way of having a good time, but it was hard. They ate at the Chinese stand in the food court and laughed about how it was possible for food to taste wonderful and awful at the same time.

By the time they were done shopping, the mall was closing and it was dark outside. Callie had never been one to just wander through the mall, so she was surprised when she realized they’d been there more than four hours.

They stood at the main entrance to the mall for a minute or so, debating the wisdom of asking mall security to escort them to their car since they were parked all the way at the end of a row. They tried to laugh it off as they decided to just walk alone, but Callie couldn’t shake her nervous feeling. She glanced around constantly trying to spot whatever it was that was making her uncomfortable. Rebecca nudged her in the side and said, “You’re being silly.”

When they finally were within a few yards of the car, Callie’s phone rang and she stopped to shuffle in her purse for it. It was Chris.

“Hello?” she answered breathlessly.

“Hey,” he responded. “You’re not at home.”

“No,” she said, “I went to the mall with Rebecca. We’re leaving now.” She started walking again and decided not to bring up his silence. She didn’t want to be a nag.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called, I was…”

She didn’t hear the rest of the sentence as a loud
POP! POP!
came from nowhere.

“Callie?” he asked, his voice urgent and low. “What was that?”

“I don’t—” She halted midsentence when she saw Rebecca lying by the car, keys in her hand and blood streaming from her abdomen. “Oh my God!” She ran to her friend, in a panic barely aware she was screaming her name.

“Callie! Talk to me!” He was yelling, but she didn’t hear him over the roaring in her ears.

She looked around frantically, trying to find the other person who was undoubtedly out there somewhere with a gun.

“Someone shot Rebecca,” she sobbed into the phone. “I…I have to call 911.”

“Callie.” He spoke softly. “I want you to use Rebecca’s phone to call 911. Put your phone on speaker. Get down, try to stay out of sight.”

That made sense. She knelt by the car and tugged Rebecca’s phone from her pocket, being careful not to jar her. She dialed 911, put her phone on speaker, and felt her friend’s wrist for a pulse. The operator answered and Callie gave her the name of the mall and the row they were parked on before explaining that someone had been shot. The operator told her to remain calm, that she was sending the police and an ambulance, and they would be there within ten to fifteen minutes.

Callie thanked her and hung up before she could ask any more questions and picked her own phone back up.

“Chris?” she whispered. “I’m scared…”

*

Chris’ heart stuck in his throat at her admission. She was in danger, and he wasn’t there, probably wouldn’t get to her in time. As soon as he’d heard her tell the 911 operator which mall she was at, he’d changed course and floored it.

“I know, baby. I’m on my way.” He glanced at the dashboard clock and then at the speedometer. He could probably be there in eight minutes or so. But he knew from experience how much could happen in eight minutes.

“Talk to me, Callie,” he commanded, trying to ignore the tightening in his chest. “Is Rebecca breathing?”

She sniffled and whispered, “Yes.”

“Good. Tell me where she’s hurt.”

Maybe she could focus on her injured friend and keep calm. “Um, I heard two, but it looks like he only hit her once because I only see one place that’s bleeding. It’s on her side, close to her stomach.” She was quiet for a moment before continuing, “She’s breathing and I can feel her pulse. But she’s unconscious.”

“That’s probably best,” he said. “Do you have anything you can use to cover the wound and put pressure on it?”

A pause and then, “Her purse?”

“You need something absorbent. Use her shirt if you have to.” He waited again.

“Her purse is a Vera Bradley. It’s cloth.”

He paused a moment, then shook his head and said, “Fine, use what you have. Now look around you, baby, but don’t get up. Tell me if you see anyone.”

Her voice shook but she answered, “No. But it’s dark, and there’s not a security light near the car. So I can’t see much.”

He gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to yell at her for parking in such a dangerous spot and waiting until dark to leave. He’d give her a safety lecture later, and make sure she listened to every word.

“Good, now I want you to be as quiet as you can. Put the phone back on speaker. Listen, don’t look. See what you can hear.”

“Okay,” she squeaked.

He heard a
clink
as she put the phone down and then a full thirty seconds of silence. He couldn’t hear anything through the phone, but he hadn’t really expected to.

“I hear…” she began, but cut off with a scream.

His heart stopped and he yelled, “Callie! What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer him; she was pleading with someone else to go away, leave them alone. She asked why he was doing this and said “No” over and over.

A panicky sort of anger seized him and took over. He’d never felt this type of anger before, so consuming and helpless. He listened to her pleas, sick with the knowledge that he wasn’t going to get to her in time, and neither were the police. It had barely been four minutes.

He tried to tell her to run, to go for his eyes, kick him in the gonads, but she didn’t respond to him. She responded to the son of a bitch that was there with her, first pleading with him and then threatening him.

When the nauseating sound of scuffling and thuds began, Chris knew it was happening. Whoever was there was either was going to rape her, kill her, or both. He’d get there in time to get the guy, but he didn’t know if he could make it before Callie was seriously hurt.

Her screams stopped with the dull sound of flesh hitting flesh, and then there was silence. He bit out between gritted teeth, “Motherfucker, you better pray to whatever demon it is that you pray to that the cops get there before I do.”