BRIAN (The Callahans Book 1) (57 page)

Life wasn’t a fairytale. And it wasn’t a Hollywood movie, either, tied up nicely in a bow by the time the credits rolled. Life wasn’t over until you were dead, and even then, the people left behind were often left with  more questions than answers, regrets, secrets, and sadness.

It had been the right thing to do to talk with my biological parents. They had approached me, however suspiciously, and I’d eventually let them in. But those were only the first steps of what was undoubtedly going to be a long process of getting to know one another, rebuilding that trust.

Amelia had been just sixteen when she and Mike had gotten pregnant with me. That was the main reason Nana had stepped in. They really just were children. I thought about how crazy my life would’ve become if I’d gotten pregnant at the age, and had trouble imagining it. When I was sixteen, I was safely cocooned in Nana’s love, still enjoying her cooking before she had to move to her diet on a full time basis. A baby at that age would’ve upended everything.

My parents hadn’t simply gotten rid of me. It had been a careful decision to let Nana adopt me. And Nana had been gracious enough to propose it in the first place. If she hadn’t, I didn’t know what would’ve happened to me, or how I would’ve been brought up. I was sure, after talking with them, that they would’ve tried their best, but it was children trying to raise a child. There would’ve been too many obstacles to surmount.

I pondered this fact as I dodged low-hanging foliage on the path, wending my way around the rocks that littered the ground.

Problems couldn’t be solved overnight, as much as it pained me to consider my parents a problem. And my personal issues that had developed out of them giving me up for adoption weren’t going to go away overnight, either. I had trouble trusting people. And I had trouble with my own self-esteem, worried that I would never measure up no matter how often I was reassured.

At least I knew what my problems were, and where their roots stemmed from. I was addressing them. I was getting help that I probably should’ve been getting throughout my entire childhood. I’d just thought that turning my back on the problem was the best way to get through it. That Nana was all I’d ever need.

Her death had left me shattered in a way that shouldn’t have happened, had I been taught to have better coping skills. But I had literally believed she was the only support I had in this life. I’d felt alone, finding her here. I’d resented her for leaving me. But she’d done so only when she was sure I would be supported. She knew that Devon and I were meant to be together. That he would take care of me in ways that she wasn’t able to anymore. That he’d help me grow.

The beach was just as we left it. I didn’t know why I expected it to be different, but I had. That maybe Nana being here would somehow reshape it in some way. But it opened up, the tiny spit of sand softening the lava rock, the water gleaming like liquified emeralds.

There were worse places Nana could’ve picked to make her final stand. That much was true.

I slipped my shoes off and walked on the very same sand I’d emptied her out onto, the same sand she’d chosen as the place she’d like to gaze upon during her last moments on this planet. It wasn’t realistic to think about, but I wondered if there was still a chance she lingered here, at least parts of her, mingled with the sand. It was silly. I’d watched the gray of her ash fade with the lap of each wave that came to shore, blending her with the sand. Nana wasn’t here anymore … and yet, she was. She was everywhere — in the palms that swayed, in the far-off cries of gulls, in the scent of the sea breeze, in the fullness of my heart.

I would never forget what she’d done for me, the life she’d given me. Things would’ve been very different if I had stayed with Mike and Amelia. I understood that now, that mistakes had been made, that I’d been so lucky to have Nana swoop in and save me, but that it also wasn’t worth my time to blame my biological parents. Holding on to that indignation would serve no one.

Just as Devon had forgiven Chaz for the agent’s multiple transgressions, I had to forgive Mike and Amelia. I’d belligerently ignored them for so many years, fooling myself with the idea that Nana was all I needed. Nana had been irreplaceable, sure, but my ignoring the very existence of the people who had physically created me wasn’t loyalty to her; it was utter anger at them for abandoning me.

That wasn’t a way to live. I couldn’t learn to accept myself and grow as a person without addressing my hangups with Mike and Amelia.

“I thought I might find you down here.”

I jumped and turned to face Devon, laughing. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he said, grinning helplessly. “You were gone for so long. I brought a blanket so we could watch the sunset.”

I helped him spread it over the sand, the edge of the waves just inches from the woven edges of the blanket, and we settled down. The sun was already so low in the sky. I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t even registered the passage of time.

Only a few short months earlier, I wouldn’t have been able to be here at this beach. I hadn’t even been able to think about the beauty of Hawaii without the sadness of Nana’s death tinging my memories. But when Devon had suggested we return as a way to ride out the attention my open letter to my parents had inspired, I’d surprised myself by agreeing. It would be good to get away from the crush of Hollywood for a while.

Plus, Devon wanted to film some scenes for Nana’s movie — the working title of the film he had decided to make after all. Trina would be arriving next week, as was the kindly old actress I’d helped cast for Nana’s role. She’d conveyed a sense of Nana even as she snuck cigarettes between readings, which somehow seemed to me a very Nana thing to do — taking care of herself and her interests. I smiled to think of Nana flirting with all of the handsome home healthcare aides who passed through our house in Dallas, wearing spangly shirts.

“What are you smiling about?” Devon asked, looping his arm around me.

“The state of things,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder.

“All good, I hope?”

“Of course.”

Trina had proven herself true, only staying on with the film after she’d asked me if I approved. I’d sat in on some of her readings, and was impressed by her range. Of course, I only knew her as the mildly foul-mouthed ex-girlfriend of my boyfriend, and that her phone number was good to have memorized in case you got in a scrape. She was going to be a good friend — she already was one. I could tell.

“I wanted to give you something,” Devon said. The sun was illuminating the clouds hugging the horizon in gilded oranges and reds and pinks. I wondered if it was as magnificent as Nana’s last sunset here. I didn’t remember the colors of the sky that evening. Only my own grief.

He was fishing around in his pocket until he produced a small velvet box.

“Devon …” My voice was a disapproving warning.

“No, no,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Oh my God, I didn’t even consider how this would look. I’m so stupid. It’s not — that. It’s not a proposal.”

I loved the man. I loved him irrevocably. But our romance and relationship was so whirlwind that we both understood and accepted the fact that we should take it slow from here on out. We’d nearly been ripped apart by misunderstandings and mistrust that had spun out of control — things that could’ve been avoided if we’d simply taken more time getting to know each other.

Marriage, right now, wasn’t something either of us were supposed to be thinking about, even if I did consider our relationship in the extreme long term, as in, what was I going to wear for the premiere of the movie, still more than a year away. At least, that was a long-term idea for me.

“Just open it,” Devon said. “No strings attached — none ringing wedding bells, that is.”

I eyed him, slowly reaching out for the box. “It better not be a ring, Devon.”

He grimaced. “It is a ring. But … just open it. I’ll explain. No wedding bells. I promise.”

I pried open the box, my traitor heart flip-flopping over what it symbolized for most, and my breath whooshed out of my lungs in spite of what I’d told Devon. It was a gorgeous ring, the stone bright in the setting sun, the biggest I’d ever seen in person.

“Devon, what the hell?” I gasped, feeling like I’d been socked in the stomach. “What are you thinking?”

“I wanted to give this to you sooner, but it took a while to make,” he said as I ogled the stone. “I know what it looks like, but it’s not what you think. I wanted to help memorialize Nana with the film, sure, but I also wanted you to have a piece of her you could hang on to. I know it wasn’t an easy decision for you to have her cremated. I hope you don’t mind.”

I still didn’t understand what I was holding, let alone what Devon was talking about.

“After the cremation, I sent some of Nana’s ashes to a special company,” he continued, touching the stone lightly. “They make diamonds out of the cremated remains of loved ones, so the survivors can remember them in a beautiful way.”

“You mean that this diamond … it’s Nana?” I carefully removed the ring out of the box, unreasonably terrified that it would slip from my fingers and plunge into the sand, to be lost forever.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Devon said. “They helped me pick the design. I thought it might be something you like. Something you’d like to wear. Do you? Like it, I mean?”

He sounded so nervous after doing the sweetest and most meaningful thing for me I could’ve ever thought of, so I slipped the ring on my finger and hugged him.

“Of course I like it,” I said, barely able to get the words out over the surge of emotion in my throat. “I love it, Devon. I don’t love thinking about how much it had to have cost, but I love it all the same. And I love you.”

“Let me worry about the money,” he said. “I know it sounds entitled, but I really do have more than I could spend.”

“About that …” I pulled away and smiled at him. “I’ve been getting cold calls from literary agents.”

Devon’s eyes bugged out. “Really?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” I said, laughing at him. “You thought my open letter was good, too.”

“I’m not surprised, I’m ecstatic,” he said, pulling me back into his embrace and giving me a kiss. “Writing a book is much better than delivering pizzas, don’t you think?”

I pinched him. “That reminds me. What are you in the mood for dinner-wise?”

“Not pizza, that’s for sure,” he said. “Though maybe I could be convinced to have a certain pizza delivery girl for dinner …”

“That’s former delivery pizza girl to you,” I informed him.

We kissed just as the sun sank behind the clouds, the moment suspended in time and colored by an ethereal paintbrush of sunset. Life wasn’t a fairytale, sure, but it did have its perfect moments. And this was definitely one.

~~~

Joey

I slipped into my chair just as my supervisor started the slow walk down the hallway, checking to see which cubicles were filled and which weren’t. I’d never worked anywhere where tardiness was so closely monitored, but I’d learned my lesson last week when Mrs. Constantine reamed me out in front of everyone for being five minutes late. Just five minutes. It was ridiculous, but I needed this job.

I needed all three of my jobs.

“Joey,” she said as she passed my cubicle, “nice of you to join us today.”

I inclined my head just slightly, pretending I was terribly busy booting up my computer. In truth, I was just trying to catch my breath.

As soon as she was gone, Lesley, the girl who sat in the cubicle next to mine, stood and peeked over the thin barrier separating us.

“That was close.”

“Tell me about it. Mike made me stay late at the bar last night and my alarm didn’t go off. Then the bus—”

“Yeah, I know. I saw you running up the street.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

“Well, surely you’re close to paying everything off.”

I wished that I was. But it seemed like every time I felt like I was getting ahead, a new bill came in that I hadn’t counted on. I thought getting a college degree was good idea. You know, all that you-can-get-a-better-job-with-a degree bullshit they feed you in high school. What they forgot to tell you was that unless your parents made a quarter of a million dollars every year, you were going to have to take out student loans—and those student loans would have to be paid as soon as you stopped being a full-time student. I had more loans than I could count, and every one of them had a monthly minimum that barely paid the interest, let alone any of the principle. It was my goal to get them all paid off before I turned thirty. I had seven years, but I was making little headway, even with three jobs. And it didn’t help that the car I was still making payments on had given up the ghost last week.

Five thousand dollars. That’s how much it was going to take to replace the transmission. So much for certified used cars. There was nothing certified about my car. It lasted a year. The worst purchase of my life.

If my dad was still living nearby…but that was the problem, wasn’t it? If he’d been closer, he would have told me the car was a lemon and helped me find something a little less about to fall apart.

I miss my dad. I love my dad.

My computer finished booting, and I sighed as I read the number of emails waiting for me. Forty. And all work requests from upstairs, I was sure.

I worked for a graphic design company that did everything from creating logos for t-shirts to printing the huge posters that go up on billboards. The company had some very important clients, a lot of companies with household names. If you wanted your name out there where people would sit up and take notice, it was our company you would call.

I wasn’t an artist, though, as much as I’d like to be. I was essentially a glorified bookkeeper. I kept track of the money that passed between hands, the money that could potentially pass between hands, and the money that went out to pay for supplies, labor, and all that fun stuff. The guys upstairs sent a request down to us to ask that we figure out how much it would cost to do a specific project. We gave them a basic number, numbers that were impacted by unforeseen events, and a median number that was usually the one quoted to the client. It was all supposed to be random. But some of the project leaders upstairs had figured out how to get around the system and send their projects directly to the assistant accountants—(the fancy title Lesley, me, and three others shared)—they favored and—for some reason—the majority of those came to me.

Forty. It was going to be a long day.

I settled in and got to work, my ten key buzzing as my fingers never missed a digit. I was through about fifteen projects before lunch, which was something of a record for me. But I had so many left to do that I couldn’t stop. Another lunch missed.

I never seemed to have time to eat anymore.

“Hey,” Lesley said, stopping by my cubicle on her way back from lunch with a couple of the other assistants, “we brought you a sandwich.”

I looked up, so grateful I could feel tears threatening at the back of my throat.

“Thanks, Les…”

“We saw him downstairs.”

My eyebrows rose. “You did?”

“Getting out of a car at the front of the building.”

“I wonder why. Doesn’t he usually park in the garage?”

“Usually, but I think he was with someone.”

“A girl, I bet.”

“Likely. But we couldn’t see who was in the car.”

“I always miss the good stuff.”

I sat back and picked at the wrapper on the sandwich she’d brought me. She was talking about the CEO of the company. He was young, maybe in his early thirties, and had never been married. His family owned a chain of hotels with locations all over the world, so he didn’t need to work. But—the rumor went—he fell so in love with art when he was in high school that he was determined to do something with it in his future career. Then in college he took a graphic art class and decided that was what he wanted to do with his life. So, after some argument with his parents, he started this company, and it became an overnight success.

The rumor mill also said that he was something of a womanizer, that he’d been caught on more than one occasion with a woman he shouldn’t have been with. The rumors differed on why he shouldn’t have been with the women of his choice. Some said these women were married to equally wealthy men, some said that they were underage girls, or girls who worked for him. Personally, I suspected there really weren’t any illicit affairs, just many, many affairs. I mean, the guy looked like Ryan Reynolds and George Clooney had somehow had a baby together. He was tall and incredibly fit with these broad shoulders that just did things to a girl’s equilibrium. And he had dark hair, piercing blue eyes, a smile that could melt ice, and the deepest voice any man had the right to have. Not Barry White or James Earl Jones deep, but the sexy sort of deep that makes you feel a man’s sexuality without ever setting eyes on him. You know what I mean?

He was gorgeous and rich and talented…the perfect man. Was it any wonder that he was often seen around town with some of the most eligible women in the country?

What surprised me, was that he’d never been married. What kind of a woman would let a catch like him get away?

If he was with me…but that was never going to happen.

“Back to work, ladies,” Mrs. Constantine said, as she made her second cubicle check.

I groaned as I turned my attention back to my computer. Enough fantasizing for one day.