Chapter Five
January, with its gloomy gray skies, dirty snow, and barren landscape seemed like it would last forever. By the middle of the second week, Callan felt like a worn-out rag. Concerned she might be coming down with something, she didn’t have time for sickness.
She dug another roll of antacid tablets out of a drawer, tore off the wrapper and popped two in her mouth. She never thought she’d see the day when she’d use them again, but it had arrived. The ever-present knot in her stomach had added a burning sensation to the mix that only a few dozen antacids a day seemed to help.
Callan had vowed as a young teen that another antacid would never touch her lips after years of having them stuffed down her by her mother. She was only seven when horrendous stomach pains kept her out of school more often than she was in class. After many inquiries about the problem from her teacher, her mother finally took her to the doctor.
She could still remember the smell of Dr. Andrews’ office, an odd mix of antiseptic, crayons, and the lingering fruity scent of orange and grape from the lollipops everyone got as they left.
After giving her an examination, the doctor concluded that she was on the verge of an ulcer, ridden by anxiety. When he asked what caused her to worry enough to create such unusual symptoms in a child, her mother assured him she had no idea. He suggested giving Callan antacid tablets and avoiding stressful situations.
Her mother followed the antacid advice to the extreme and bought rolls of the pills. She fed them to Callan like most youngsters would go through candy. However, her mother completely ignored the stress part of the advice from the doctor.
Callan finally refused to take the pills when she started high school and hadn’t had one since – until last week.
She took a deep breath and peeled off another pill.
Short-tempered and irritable, it seemed everyone at work got on her nerves, particularly Arty. That week alone, he’d managed to offend two clients with his inane ramblings and inappropriate comments to the point they had canceled their events and moved them elsewhere. Callan and Jill did their best to win back the business.
Callan found it nearly impossible to keep up her cheerful façade at work. She didn’t even make an effort at home. She’d been nit-picky at Clay since the previous week and couldn’t think of a good reason why. The more dejected he looked, the more she pressed. As soon as she walked in the door at night, she vented her frustrations from the day. Unwillingly, he listened to her tirades every evening. When his attention wavered, she turned her wrath on him, accusing him of not caring about her.
As she sat at her desk mid-week, Callan spiraled down into a place of bleak desolation.
She placed a hand to her forehead to make sure she didn’t have a fever. Her head felt fuzzy and a dull, thumping headache had been beating at the back of her skull for days.
A glance at the calendar made her stomach tighten. She needed to go visit her dad. Today was the three-year anniversary of her mother’s death and it always hit him hard.
Thoughts of her mother made Callan’s head pound fiercely and caused an ache in the region of her heart. Many, many times she’d contemplated why her mother had given birth to any children, much less three. It made no sense to have had two of them so late in her life when she clearly never wanted them.
Callan didn’t remember her mother’s parents, but she wondered if they were as cold and cruel as her mother had always been.
The way she felt, Callan wasn’t going to accomplish anything at work the rest of the day anyway. Resolved to cheering up her dad, she turned off her computer and put on her coat. After picking up her purse, she let Rachel know she was leaving for the day and drove to Big Jim’s apartment in the retirement village.
She knocked on his door and hid her surprise when he opened it wearing a big smile.
“Hello, sweet daughter!” he said, giving her a warm hug. “What are you doing out and about in the middle of the day?” Big Jim took her coat and hung it in his little entry closet as Callan set her purse down by the door.
“Can I get you something?” Big Jim hustled into the kitchen.
“Sit down and rest, Daddy,” Callan said, following him to the kitchen. “I’ll make us both a cup of tea. Are you hungry? Can I make you something?”
“Tea would be dandy. If you wouldn’t mind whipping up a batch of oatmeal cookies, I would surely enjoy that.” Big Jim smiled and sat down at a bar stool pulled up to the kitchen counter.
Callan put the teakettle on to boil, removed her suit jacket, and took out ingredients to make cookies. While the butter softened, she dug around in the fridge to see what her dad had on hand and if she needed to run to the store. He was well stocked for food.
“Do you want me to put something on for your dinner, Daddy?” she asked with her head still in the refrigerator, exploring the options available.
“Nope. I’m going to eat at the clubhouse tonight, but thanks.” He walked over to the coffee table and picked up a photo album. “I’ve been looking at photos of Margo and thinking about our years together. Would you like to look with me?”
The last thing Callan wanted to do was look at photos of a woman she wished nearly every day she could forget, but she sensed her dad needed her to want to see them. She finished mixing up the cookies, dropped them onto a cookie sheet, and placed it in the oven. After taking two mugs out of the cupboard, she put in tea bags, added hot water from the now whistling teakettle, and stirred sugar into both mugs. Callan and her dad shared the same sweet tooth.
With the spicy scent of the cookies filling the apartment, they settled at the counter with the album between them. Callan couldn’t remember ever seeing it before. “Daddy, I don’t think I’ve ever seen these pictures. Have you always had this album?”
Big Jim got a far-away look on his face before he returned his focus to Callan. “Your mother hated these photos and I thought she’d thrown them away. When you kids were helping me clean out her things, I found the pictures stuffed in the bottom of her sock drawer.” He laughed and shook his head. “That was just like her. I shouldn’t have been surprised to find them.”
The photos showed Margo when she was a young girl, looking happy and carefree. One photo in particular caught Callan’s eye. It was a picture of her mother with Aunt Julie, beaming a beautiful smile and looking like a model in her stylish 1950s attire. Margo’s dark hair was short and curled, she had on lipstick, a long, formal dress with a smattering of sequins across the shoulders, and a pair of the cutest heels Callan had ever seen.
She never remembered her mother caring about her appearance or her clothes. Margo always looked neat, but often frumpy.
As Callan turned the pages, it showed a young Margo and Jim getting married, then Margo looking heavy with child. That would be Bob. The remaining photos were of Margo and Jim with Bob as a tiny baby. She never realized what a homely little thing he’d been. It seemed odd she and Josh looked so much alike while Bob looked nothing like either of them.
Glad she hadn’t voiced her thoughts, she turned back to the photo of Margo and Julie. She sensed a story lingering in the shadows that no one wanted to discuss.
Callan stood and took the cookies out of the oven, placed two on a plate, and slid it over the counter to her dad, then returned to her seat next to him.
“Daddy, in this picture mother looks so happy and young. I don’t ever remember her looking like that.” Callan pushed the album closer to her dad.
“She was then. That was out at my folks’ home, just before we got married.” Big Jim stared at the photo with a wistful gleam in his eyes. “Those were some happy times. They sure enough were. We went to a grange dance that evening. Boy, she was something back then. ”
Big Jim turned a few pages and Callan studied the look on her mother’s face in the photographs. With each page that turned, the joy seemed to evaporate until there was none left.
“What happened, Daddy? What happened to make her so unhappy wi
th life?” Callan had often wanted to ask the question, but was concerned for her dad’s feelings. He had loved her mother with unwavering devotion, even though most people who knew them couldn’t figure out why.
Big Jim didn’t answer right away. First, he took a cookie and bit into it. The smile on his face told her he appreciated the treat. After finishing the cookie, he looked Callan in the eye.
“Callan, your mother had some big hurts in her life and they came pretty young. Some folks might have been able to forget and forgive then moved on with their lives. Margo couldn’t let it go. Those hurts grew and festered over time until they squeezed out every happy thing, every good thing, every joyful thing until that hurt was all she had left.” Big Jim stopped, took a deep breath and went on. “I know she didn’t do right by you kids and I’m truly sorry. I didn’t fully realize how hard she was on you until it was too late to change anything. I’m not making excuses, Callan, but if I had known, I’d like to think I’d have done things differently.”
“But, Daddy,” Callan said, trying to swallow the tears that were now filling her eyes and throat. “Why did you stay with her? She treated you awful, too. She must have made every day miserable. Yet, you still seemed to love her.”
“I did love her, sweet daughter.” Big Jim wiped a tear from his own eye. “I loved her from the first time I saw her until her last breath, but I would be lying to say it was easy. Being married to her was hard. Oh, she had her moments when she’d be sweet or sassy. Sometimes you remind me of her back when she had some spunk.”
Big Jim stopped talking to eat another cookie and Callan refreshed their tea. Remaining silent, she knew there was more her dad wanted to share.
After taking another sip of tea, Big Jim continued. “Bob was just a little tyke when I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I told Margo she was going to have to change or I was going to leave. She informed me that I’d made a vow and she’d never known me not to be a man of my word. For better or worse, I promised to stay with her unto death. So I stayed. Instead of Margo changing, I was the one who changed. I learned some hard lessons. With my thick skull, it took time for them to sink in, but they are what gave me the ability to stand by your mother all those years. You can’t change anyone else, Callan, only you. You can’t depend on anyone else for your happiness, only you. You have to make the choice every day to be the very best person God intended for you to be. But you have to make the choice, every single day.”
“But, Daddy…” Callan closed her mouth when Big Jim held up a hand to stop her then he clasped her hand in his.
“There is one more story I want to share with you Callan. You do with it what you feel you must, but you have a right to know what happened to your mother. When I met Margo, she was just a few weeks pregnant. She didn’t even know it yet. The first boy she’d ever loved filled her full of empty promises including one to marry her. Instead, he up and disappeared.” Big Jim got a faraway look in his eyes then cleared his throat.
“She was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen and full of sass. I was smitten in an instant. I know she never felt the same way. When she realized she was pregnant, she talked me into marrying her, which I gladly did because she was all I could think about. I didn’t really care that the baby belonged to someone else. I planned to raise him as my own and I did. Your mother never got over that boy breaking his promises. I think Margo expected him to show up one day and save her from the mundane life she felt she’d sentenced herself to with me. He never came, she could never forgive or forget him, and that is what changed her.”
Callan stared at her dad, unable to form a coherent thought. He took that as a signal to continue his story.
“As for that baby, I raised Bob as my own. I know how he is, Callan. I do. I also know that I got more than I ever hoped for when Margo gave me you and Josh. After Bob was born, she flatly refused to have more children. I tried talking her into having just one. As much as I cared for Bob, I wanted a child of my own flesh and blood. After a few years, I gave up asking. Eighteen years later, she decided she was way too old to worry about it. Then you came along. You looked like a little angel dropped down from heaven and I’ve thanked our Father every day for sending you and Josh along, to bring such joy to your ol’ daddy. Margo decided it would be much easier to raise two kids together rather than one alone and that is why you and Josh are so close in age.”
Callan felt rooted to the barstool. All this was too much to take in, especially in her current state.
Big Jim got up and poured their now cold tea down the sink. He could see Callan’s emotions flitting across her face and gave her a hug.
“Now, sweet daughter, I know I’ve given you a lot to chew on. I want you to remember you have to leave the hurts in the past, give and accept forgiveness, or you’re going to end up as bitter and lonely as your mother. Let it all go, Callan, and move on. You’ve got too many wonderful things in your life to not focus on the good and positive.”
Callan couldn’t speak, so instead nodded her head. She put his cookies into a resealable bag, hurriedly washed the dishes, and gave her dad one last hug on the way out the door.
“Bye, Daddy.” Callan kissed his weathered cheek. “Call me if you need anything.”
He gave her another hug and patted her back. “Remember what I said Callan. Let it go and enjoy what you’ve got right in your hands today.”
Callan drove home in a state of shock. How could her dad drop a bombshell like that on her, today of all days, and not expect it to upset her? She didn’t understand what he meant when he kept telling her to let it go. Let what go?
What did she hold onto? The past? The pain? The fact that she never had a mother’s love? The fact that she wasn’t a mother?
Callan pulled into the driveway, and noticed Clays truck. She promised herself to be civil, if not kind, to him this evening. As she got out of her car, she tried to decide if she wanted to share what she’d learned with him.
She opened the front door and sighed. Clay’s coat was thrown across the living room couch and his boots were discarded in the middle of the floor. After removing her coat and hanging both hers and his in the closet, she stuck his boots in the closet and quietly walked into the kitchen. He’d tossed his gloves onto the kitchen counter, left his insulated lunch bag on the floor by the sink, and scattered assorted papers across the dining room table.
The entire house reeked of the sausages he loved to eat and knew she hated. The smell made her headache pound in triple time. Clay sat in his recliner, eating his sausages, watching some hunting show as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He didn’t even look up when she walked into the room.
Before she said something she would later regret, which happened almost daily, she went to their bedroom. Annoyance riddled her to find his sock drawer hanging open, his work clothes discarded in a pile on the floor, and his Stetson tossed on the bed. The urge to throw his hat on the floor and stomp it to pieces nearly overwhelmed her.
Instead, she put it on his dresser, shut his drawer, changed her clothes, and placed all the dirty clothes in the laundry room on the way to the kitchen. Upset, she took his gloves to the coat closet and stuck them in his coat pocket. She picked up his lunch bag, emptied it, and wiped it out before setting it in the pantry. She retrieved several jar candles and set them around the kitchen, hoping the candle scent would override the hideous sausage smell.
As she looked in the fridge for something to eat, she realized they were out of nearly everything. It looked like cold cereal for dinner. Callan poured herself a bowl and checked the expiration date on the milk before adding it.
Not wanting to sit among the piles of paper in the dining room or with Clay in his room of sausage stench, she went into the living room. Silently fuming, she turned on the big gas fireplace and sat in front of the fire. She ate the cereal and nursed a cup of hot chocolate when Clay wandered into the room.
Cautiously, he moved closer to her, as if he prepared himself to stick
his toe in shark-infested waters – afraid to jump in but knowing he’d receive a bite no matter what he did.
“Hi.” Callan didn’t know how she did it, but that one word held all the annoyance and irritation she’d felt with him since she walked in the door. She didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh, but it did.
“I, um, was wondering if you were doing okay.” Clay looked into the fire instead of at her. “I know today is the day your mother…”
“I’m fine. Thanks.” Callan’s reply was curt and brusque, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence. “I went to see Daddy to make sure he was fine.”
When she failed to elaborate, Clay looked concerned. “And… was Big Jim fine?”
“Yes… no…well, he…” Callan stood and started pacing the room. She set her mug of chocolate on a side table and clasped her hands together. She knew if she didn’t tell Clay what she’d learned, she’d probably explode. “You better sit down, this could take a while.”
Clay didn’t like the sound of that, but sat down in the only chair in the room that fit his big frame. The way Callan decorated the living room, it could have come straight out of a home décor magazine.
The whole thing looked like it was ready for a fancy tea party with rose-print upholstered furnishings, fluffy pillows, and polished cherry tables. The only redeeming feature in the room, in Clay’s opinion, was a huge overstuffed Queen Anne recliner that sat next to the fireplace. Covered in a deep forest green fabric, the hulking chair was surprisingly comfortable.
Clay took a seat, pushed up the footrest of the recliner, and settled into the chair. He decided he might as well get comfortable for whatever was coming. “So you went to see your dad and he was upset.”
“No, he was in a good mood,” Callan said, still pacing.
At this rate, they’d have to replace the carpet after she wore a groove in it. Clay wisely refrained from making any comments, though.
Callan sighed and continued pacing. “He planned to meet some of his retirement buddies at the clubhouse for dinner. He was looking at a photo album I’d never seen before when I got there. It was full of photos of mother. You wouldn’t believe it, but there were photos of her as a young woman, all happy and carefree.”
She sat down on the fireplace hearth and started twisting her hands together. “There was even a photo of her and Aunt Julie together. Daddy said it was taken out at my grandparents’ home just before they got married. She looked like a model, Clay. She had short curly hair, lipstick, a formal gown, and heels. Can you ever remember my mother trying to be stylish? Ever?”
Clay shook his head and held his tongue. In the ten years he and Callan were married before Margo passed away, the only thing he could remember Margo ever trying to be was difficult. Most of the time, she succeeded.
“We were looking at the photos and I couldn’t help noticing that with each page Daddy turned, mother seemed to look more like the Margo we knew until there wasn’t any happiness left. The last photo in the album was taken when Bob was pretty small.” Callan turned and stared into the flames for a moment before she spoke again. “You wouldn’t believe what Bob looked like as a baby. He must take after his father’s side of the family. That’s another thing. He’s not even my real brother. Well, technically, I guess a half-brother.”
Clay started to nod his head and instead clanged the recliner upright. “What did you say?”
Callan jumped to her feet and returned to pacing. “According to what Daddy said, mother was in love with a boy who promised to marry her and then ran off before she realized she was pregnant. Daddy was smitten the first time he met mother a few weeks after her boyfriend disappeared. Daddy said he was in love with her and thought it was a great idea when mother talked him into getting married. They were somewhat happy at first, but mother couldn’t get over the fact that the boy had disappeared or that he hadn’t come to rescue her from her boring life. Mother never got over the bitterness. Daddy said she let it consume her. I guess he threatened to leave her when Bob was small, but she pulled the honor-your-vows line on him. You know Daddy. He’d never break a vow or do anything that was less than honorable.”
Callan looked at Clay. “You two are a lot alike that way. Anyway, he stuck it out and learned to live with it and her.” Tears began dripping down Callan’s face. “Isn’t that the saddest thing you’ve ever heard? What if there was someone who could have brought Daddy true happiness and he spent his whole life being miserable with Mother?” Callan sobbed so hard she could hardly speak.
Clay hustled into the guest bathroom and grabbed a box of tissues, then took it back to Callan. A couple of months ago, he would have welcomed an emotional eruption from her. She had clamped the lid so tight on her emotions, nothing leaked out. She was all business; never raised her voice, never cried, never showed anything that could be construed as a feeling. He did things he was sure would make her mad just to see some little spark of the fire and passion inside her that she held under a tight rein.
The past week or so had taken him to the opposite end of the spectrum. The tiniest little thing set Callan off. She was either yelling or crying, sometimes both at the same time. He didn’t know what to think. The notion that his wife may be having a mental breakdown entered his thoughts with alarming frequency.
She yelled at him about things that happened at work and then she yelled at him for whatever he didn’t know he was supposed to have done before she got home. Worn out from attempting to please her, he decided just that evening he was through trying. He hadn’t bothered to put anything away when he got home, intentionally cooking the sausages for dinner he knew Callan hated. Childish, maybe, but it had been wildly satisfying at the time.
Clay tried to pretend the wonderful week during the holidays hadn’t happened. Things between he and Callan had been like old times when they were so in love with each other.
He couldn’t get enough of her, of seeing her, spending time with her, talking to her, loving her. It seemed like a long-forgotten dream instead of the reality of just a few short weeks ago.
Callan had suddenly stopped being his loving wife and morphed into a screeching maniac that he didn’t much like.
“Callan,” Clay said, unsure whether touching her would set her off or calm her down. He opted to stand by the fireplace with his hands in his pockets. “Think about your dad. He’s one of the happiest people I know. Not only is he happy, but he takes it with him and spreads it around. How do you know he wasn’t supposed to be married to your mother? That being married to her didn’t make him into who he is today. You wouldn’t want to change that, would you?”
“No,” Callan sniffed. “But it’s still just so sad. He even apologized for letting mother treat us so awful. He said if he’d known, he might have done things differently, but I’m not sure he would. As crazy as it sounds, he truly loved her. I think he still loves her. He said I sometimes remind him of her. I can’t believe he said that.”
“I can,” Clay mumbled under his breath.
Unfortunately, Callan’s hearing wasn’t the least bit impaired by her current state of distress. She turned on him with a look of pure disgust. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” Clay looked anywhere but at Callan, instantly aware of what a trapped animal must feel like.
“You meant something by it, didn’t you?” Callan marched over to him and started poking him in the chest with her finger. “You think I’m turning into her, don’t you? That I’m going to be a bitter, mean, self-centered woman who makes everyone miserable.”
Fast losing his patience, Clay took her finger in his hand so she’d stop the aggravating poking, and looked her in the eye. “I didn’t say that and it isn’t fair for you to put words in my mouth. Just stop it, Callan. What is this really about?”
Callan jerked her hand free and returned to her pacing. “What’s this about? This is about our life, or what’s left of it. This is about being miserable and turning love into hate. It
’s about killing our…”
Callan suddenly stopped ranting and pacing. No sound came from her at all. Concerned, Clay looked at her. She couldn’t breathe. Callan couldn’t get any air into her lungs.
Grabbing her shoulders, he pushed her down on the couch. “Stay with me, Callan.”
He ran to their bathroom and started digging through the medicine cabinet for her inhaler. She hadn’t had an asthma attack for years. He hoped the inhaler would still work. He rushed back to Callan and held it for her. Nothing. He pumped it again and heard it spray.
“Breathe, baby.” Clay pleaded on his knees in front of Callan, terrified his wife might die in his arms. “Breathe for me, Laney, please breathe.”
After what seemed like an eternity, she took a shuddering breath, then another. Clay let out the breath he’d held and stood. Gently picking up Callan, he sat on the couch and held her close to his pounding heart. Still shaking with fear, he brushed the hair off her face and kissed her forehead. Callan continued taking shallow little breaths and he could hear the rattle deep in her chest.
“Just keep breathing, baby.”
With a calm he was far from feeling, he rubbed her back and murmured soft reassurances that she would be fine. Huge tears rolled out of Callan’s eyes and down her cheeks, soaking the front of his sweatshirt, but he didn’t care.
“I don’t deserve for you to be so nice to me,” Callan finally whispered.
“I know.” Clay turned her head so she could see his face. He smiled at her and handed her a tissue. “You’re just lucky to be married to Mr. Wonderful.”
“Yes, I am,” she agreed, dabbing at her cheeks and nose. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“No problem, girl.” Clay kissed her temple and drew her close against his chest. “But for the sake of my own ticker, let’s not do this again anytime soon. I was afraid I was about to lose you.”
“I’m too stubborn and mean to die, yet.” Callan offered the first glimpse of a smile Clay had seen since the holidays ended.
“I’m not quite ready to test the theory.” Clay gave her a quick kiss before setting her down. He stood and pulled her up beside him. “I think we should call this a day and get you to bed.”
While she went to ready herself for bed, Clay turned off the TV and blew out the candles, wondering what Callan had been about to say before the asthma attack. What did she mean when she said killing our… what? What did she think they’d killed? Their love? Their future? Their dreams?
He knew she was in no shape to continue the conversation tonight, but he planned to find out exactly what she started to say.
Soon.