Forever Checking (Checked Series Book 3) (2 page)

Eyes open. I look up and say hello to him—just as the hand…the warmth…disappears again from my back.

“Hello, Calista.” Father Patrick smiles at me and nods his head to greet the non-parishioner behind me. He probably wonders why—

“I’m so sorry, Calista.” Father Patrick again. “I have to lock up the church in about five minutes.” He makes an apologetic face. “I wish we could leave it open all night like we could twenty years ago, but, you know…”

I guess even priests have to worry about the murderers. I’ve never—

“I can keep it open a little longer if you need more time or if you want someone to talk to—”

“No, no. That’s not necessary.” I shake my head and slowly push myself up onto the edge of the seat behind me. Just on the edge. If I lean back, who knows how close he’ll be…if I’ll be able to feel his breath on my—

On second thought, I probably should have Father Patrick stick around so I can talk to him. So I can confess all of the non-holy thoughts I’ve been having here in God’s all-sacred house. I probably—

Father Patrick is staring at me. Eyes wrinkled up in worry. “Calista, you look rather shaken. Perhaps we should talk for a bit before you drive home.”

“Don’t worry, Father. I will see that she gets home safely.” That hushed, soothing voice behind me.

Some questions flicker through Father Patrick’s eyes. But he says nothing.

And it’s so freaking AWKWARD.

I hurry to try to make it less weird. “Oh, Father, this is Dr. Blake, my, um, psychologist.”

That’s a lie. A lie told to a priest. In church.

But what was I supposed to say?
Honestly, Father, he’s only kind of my psychologist. But he’s not really my psychologist, because he can’t be. Because we, uh, want to hook up. But not here in church, Father. Don’t wor—

Father Patrick comes closer and leans past me to shake hands with Dr.—

His
arm grazes against my shoulder as he leans forward to shake Father’s hand.

And the warmth starts again. And then some tingling.

IN CHURCH.

{An invisible choir begins the first verse of
“O Holy Night.”
}

We’ve got to get out of here.

I force my legs, my body, to stand up as soon as their handshake breaks apart. I quickly meet Father Patrick’s eyes. “Good night, Father.”

He smiles. Still worried. Still confused. Still full of questions.

I smile back, trying to reveal no answers. Then I turn and walk out of the pew, out toward the back of the church, without glancing behind me.

Behind me. I hear him. I hear him say goodbye to Father Patrick. Then I hear—no, I feel—him follow me up the aisle of the church.

I don’t turn around. My legs keep moving, my heels clicking against the marble squares on the floor below me.

When I reach the back entrance of the church, I push my left heel against the bottom of the door, opening it and stepping out into the chilly—

“Look at you—opening a door for me for once.”

As he steps outside behind me, I turn around, the wind blowing my hair around my face. I push my hair out of my eyes and—

And he’s smiling. His mouth is smiling. His eyes are teasing.

I can’t help it. My mouth starts smiling back. And—

And this could work. It could really work.

This.

Him. And me.

Together. Being. Living. Smil—

Lying. And lying, Callie. Until you—

“What’s wrong?” His eyes darken with concern. “Melanie’s going to be okay. The baby will be too.”

I nod and turn back around to walk toward the parking lot. “I hope so.”

I walk right to my car. Right to my door.

He follows.

“Are you sure you can, um, should drive, Callie?”

I push the unlock button on my keys and open my door. Then I plaster a reassuring smile on my face and look back at him. “I’ll be fine.”

He raises his eyebrows, unconvinced.

I widen my smile and bend down to sit in the driver’s seat. Then I say more words. “Now that I know that Melanie and the baby should be okay, I’ll be okay.” I put my key in the ignition and start the car. My radio starts up, playing a soft, slow song about—

It doesn’t matter what it’s about, Callie. It’s music. And he’s here.
So distract him. Keep talking. Not about music, though.

More words start coming out of me at a sort of loud, almost music-covering volume. “I really shouldn’t leave my car here. I’ll need it in the morning.”

And I don’t want to get into your crazy silent car so we can undoubtedly talk about the music in my head, your mother, and, I’m sure, your inevitable decision to leave me again.

He still doesn’t say anything. I hope that isn’t because he’s been listening to my thoughts.

One. Two. Three.

I start to look up. His hands hold on to the top frame of my car door. I look up further, and—

And. And concerned blue eyes look down at me.
{Damien. He’s back. And he’s—}

“Will you at least text me when you get home so I know that you’re okay?”

Does that mean that I don’t have to respond to his earlier text? Because if I write about something unrelated to the earlier text, it’s just like we’ve skipped over, canceled out the previous message, right? Seriously—

CALLIE! Answer him.

I conjure up a smile. “Of course.”

His face softens a bit in relief. Then—

Then his face…his eyes…his mouth…they all come closer as he leans down over the door frame and—

And brushes his lips slowly over my lower cheek. Right beside my lips.

As his warm, stubbly cheek rubs against mine, I breathe him in. The smell of him. The feel of him. So—

A new, loud—REALLY loud—song begins on the radio. I don’t even know the song. But it’s ridiculously loud.

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.}