Page 93 of Fragile Beings
Elise frowned. “But what about the dishes?”
“It’s Bob’s night to do the dishes.” Her mother shrugged. “Not my problem.”
They shared an impish smile. “Did you plan on having us over on his dish night so you wouldn’t have to do it?”
“I admit to nothing.” Her mother waved a hand towards the door. “Shoo! Go get that pretty, pretty man!”
* * *
FROM THE DESK OF ELISE SASINI, A NOTE IN THE MARGIN OF THE MANUSCRIPT THE SHROUDED CITY:
I am so totally fucked.
* * *
By the time Elise found her father and his silent companion, her stomach was bunched up in a series of tight knots. They didn’t loosen until Cal’s eyes snapped to hers. He stood up abruptly from the old leather guest chair in her father’s office, cutting off whatever Bob had been going on about. The crime rate in the 1930’s, probably.
“Hey Dad,” she greeted, pushing her hair behind her ear and avoiding Cal’s hard, penetrating stare, “Mom says it’s your dish night.”
Her father let out a deep sigh that ruffled his mustache and slowly levered himself up from the chair behind his old, cluttered desk. After an awkward start, he’d warmed up to Cal. She suspected it had a lot to do with the fact that Cal wouldn’t think to stop him from rambling even if he went on for hours and hours. He was a damn good listener.
“We’ll finish this later, Cal,” Bob assured him. “Next time, I can show you the maps I mentioned. We know where all six boats are sunk in the—”
“Dad.”
“Fine, okay!” He threw up his hands and, squeezing past where she stood in the doorway, he dropped a kiss onto the side of her head.
She watched him walk down the hall and, once he disappeared around the corner, listened to the familiar sounds of him and her mother chattering at one another. An unfamiliar ache bloomed in her chest. Would she have something like what her parents had? Someone to always come home to? Someone who knew her better than she knew herself?
Elise had been so busy chasing her career for so long, she’d never given it much thought. She did want that, though. She wanted someone to sit up with her as she pieced a story together late in the night, to worry about her when she chased a lead. She wanted to squabble over who got to eat the last slice of cake and the best temperature setting on the thermostat. She wanted someone to tease her and keep her on her toes.
She wanted that person to be Cal.
A cool hand cupped her cheek. Elise looked up to find Cal staring down at her, his expression unreadable. Her brow wrinkled. She supposed Cal was broody, but her mother was right. Tonight, he didn’t just look aloof. He looked downright grim. She’d been so in her head during dinner that she’d barely noticed his tension.
“Hey,” she whispered, leaning into the hard, sleek lines of his body, “I bet you’re feeling pretty overwhelmed with all this attention. Why don’t we go some place quiet before we take the m-lev home?”
Cal was quiet for a moment, his eyes an impenetrable liquid black, before he answered, “Show me.”
Elise took his hand and led him down the hall and through the back door, into the fenced in garden. Large hedges stood taller than the fence, giving the area a quiet, isolated feeling. Her mother’s vegetable garden stretched along the pebbled path leading to the small building at the far end of the yard. Sprouts were just beginning to poke through the rich brown soil.
“What is this?”
“We call it the annex,” she explained, using the ancient thumb scanner to unlock the door. They had no reason to bother updating any of the tech in the little building, since it stood more as a monument to her childhood than a usable space. She had to actually flip a switch to turn on the lights when she stepped inside. A pink lamp on the table next to the bed turned on, as well as an electrician’s nightmare of snarled and carelessly draped string lights.
Stepping inside, she let Cal in before she closed the door. His eyebrows rose.
“It’s a lot of pink and purple, I know,” she laughed. “This was my play house, since there wasn’t much room for kiddy stuff in the house by the time I came along, and then when I was old enough, they converted it into my room.” She took a sweeping look at the soft pink walls and the gaudy, shimmery curtains. The building itself was tiny — more of a shed than anything — but she wouldn’t change a thing about it.
Growing up in a house where everyone was so much older and beyond her reach hadn’t felt quite so isolating when she had her own special space to just be as silly and carefree as she wanted to. Besides, it was the place where The St. Francis Chronicle was born. She was pretty sure that if her parents tried to change it into a yoga studio or a deluxe garden shed, the historical society would sue their pants off.
At the very least, she would be terribly disappointed.
Elise started to tell him about the greatest accomplishment of her childhood, her beloved paper, but stopped as soon as she noticed the low mist beginning to circle the fuzzy purple carpet.
“Cal?”
He stood in the center of the small space. His back was to her, but she could tell something was wrong by the stiffness of his shoulders and the way his hair swayed back and forth like an angry wave.
