One to Tell the Grandkids (27 page)

Melanie had asked him if they could use the bar for a baby shower right before Ann died. It had been a no-brainer then. Closing his bar for the afternoon for his best friend and Taryn to get what they needed and celebrate the impending birth of their baby was hardly a sacrifice. After Ann and everything that had happened between him and Taryn, he’d received a terse phone call. Melanie had asked two questions: Could they still use the bar, and was he planning on attending?

He’d told her they could, and he most definitely was not.

There was still time to leave, he reasoned to himself, one eye on the monitors as he flipped through design proposals.

He would go. He
should
go.

More people arrived. Caleb recognized a few of Slate’s friends. That was why they were having the party at the bar—to include Slate’s friends, none of whom had a house big enough to host the gathering themselves. They came in, each of them hefting brightly wrapped gifts onto the table that had been set out for that purpose.

Caleb liked baby shower gifts. They were so colorful, and people tended to get more creative with them than they did with birthday or wedding gifts. He remembered marveling at a tower of diapers and soft toys at Lisa’s shower. If one thing could be said about Slate’s friends, they were an artistic bunch. Already he spotted a car made out of what he thought might be diapers and baby blankets being “driven” by a green bear.

He told himself that was why he kept watching the monitors—to admire the gifts. Watching the table fill did give him a sense of relief. It had been one of Slate’s many freak-outs, that he had no idea all the things a baby needed, let alone where to get them.

When Slate came into the bar with Taryn at his side, Caleb had to give up the pretense he was watching the feed just to look at the presents.

There was a hollow space at the center of his chest that filled the moment he saw her. It wasn’t the same soothing warmth that had made his days brighter after Ann’s death. When the space was empty, the pain of her loss ached only around the edges. It was a constant pain but not consuming. Preferable, he’d told himself repeatedly, to what he stood to lose if he’d stayed. But when she was right there where he could see her, every inch of the filled space hurt. It was an open wound, sore and raw like flayed nerve endings.

He watched as Taryn was swept into one hug after another, and he tried to swallow down the ridiculous well of jealousy that threatened to choke him. It was his own fault he couldn’t be out there, taking her in his arms himself.

Caleb fumbled in his desk for his personal stash. The drinks he’d had earlier had long since lost their effectiveness. He wasn’t typically a drink-the-pain-away kind of guy. If he had been, he’d have become an alcoholic years ago, but today was proving to be too challenging to get through without help. He missed Taryn. How much he missed her. He missed Slate, too—his brother in every way except by blood. Seeing them both was bad enough, but on top of missing them, there was the baby shower to contend with.

Too many memories he’d rather not deal with, so he didn’t.

Taryn had been dreading this day since her brother told her it was coming. Baby showers just weren’t her thing. She found the games silly and tiresome. Then there were the women. Taryn had never been the type to coo about babies. She loved her daughter, of that she was certain, but it wasn’t the kind of love that made her want to ooh and ahh in high pitched tones. Since she’d started to show, one of the banes of her existence were the people who thought it was okay to pet her and talk to her about tiny baby toes.

She should have known better than to doubt Melanie and Robin. Her friends knew her and loved her. Despite her mother’s protest that this was not an appropriate baby shower at all, there were no silly games or themed cakes. There was good food, good music, and only a few of the simpler games—guess how many mini-marshmallows can fill an extra-large bottle and unscramble the baby-related word game. Door prizes were given. Virgin drinks were served adorned by pacifiers instead of umbrellas.

Then the presents.

Taryn was hopeless about shopping. Her parents had taken care of the crib and stroller. Slate’s Mom had provided car seats, one for each of their cars. Their friends had provided a wardrobe and all the odds and ends that were useful for a baby.

When everything was open, Slate laughed. He gestured at the presents. “Rory has a lot of stuff.”

“This is her first stuff. Isn’t that a weird thought? We’ve had stuff all our lives, and this is where it starts for her.” She nudged him playfully. “Except the front-loading baby carrier. That’s for you.”

“What? Why?”

“I have it on good authority babies are chick magnets.”

Slate lifted the carrier and called out to the friend who gave it to him. “Hey, Carter. Good looking out, bro.”

Taryn giggled.

“Hey, guys. There’s one more thing. Well, technically I guess it’s three things,” Oni said, her voice low and private.

“Did we miss something?” Taryn asked.

“No. I kept it off the table. Well, it can’t fit on the table anyway.” Discomfort was clear on her face as she spoke the next words. “It’s from Caleb.”

“Oh.” Taryn’s heart sunk down to her toes and started beating in double-time. Caleb was the other reason she’d been dreading coming here. All that week she’d been worse than a teenager, running over scenarios of what she would do if he decided to show up. She was more than a little angry. If they couldn’t be lovers, Caleb hadn’t said they couldn’t be friends. Or even if that was impossible, because Taryn had a difficult time thinking of him as merely a friend herself, there was no reason for the way he’d abandoned Slate.

Driving over here, she couldn’t tell which side of her would win, the part that wanted to throttle him or the part that wanted to kneel at his feet and beg him to come back. These days, she wouldn’t be surprised with either reaction or if she went for a third option. Total indifference? A high five?

Taryn looked around as though expecting him to materialize out of nowhere. Everywhere around the bar people milled as they had been all afternoon, stopping for food or drink or to write a little something in encouragement to the parents-to-be. Caleb was still nowhere to be seen.

“He’s here,” Oni said, disapproval strong in her tone. “I don’t think he’s interested in coming out of his office, cowardly asshat that he is.”

Taryn smirked, but Slate looked like he’d been punched in the gut. If possible, he was more floored by Caleb’s sudden disappearance from their lives than she was. She threaded her fingers through his and squeezed, hoping to comfort him. “Come on. Let’s see what it is.”

They followed Oni to a quiet corner of the bar, and at first, Taryn was confused. There was a squat three-shelf bookshelf with a big bow on it and two boxes, otherwise unwrapped, beside it.

“This is it,” Oni said, putting her hand on the furniture.

“The whole thing?” Taryn asked.

Oni seemed amused. “I don’t think it works if you take it apart. The boxes go with it.”

The shelves themselves were beautiful. They were painted a simple white, but etched onto each side was a wonderland of fictional creatures. There was a castle at the top, and along the path, fairy tales, superheroes, and friendly aliens alike were all represented.

As she marveled at the fine artwork, how each figure was carved and painted in detail, Slate dug into the boxes. “Now what’s a baby supposed do with these?”

Taryn stooped as low as she was able to see what Slate was talking about, and her eyes filled with tears. Both boxes were full of books. The first was filled with books for young children—the thin kind that were easy to hold and get through, with large, colorful pictures and few words. There were a fair number of Dr. Seuss books, and all the classics.
Goodnight, Moon
,
Love You Forever
,
Where the Wild Things Are
,
The Hungry, Hungry Caterpillar
,
Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

The second box was similarly filled with books, much fewer because these were thicker. Every Harry Potter book, the Lord of the Rings series, and every volume of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

“Rory’s not even going to be able to read these for herself for like ten years,” Slate said, sounding bewildered but appreciative.

Taryn’s throat was too tight to speak. She knew these books weren’t meant for Rory to read, at least not right away.

Since she’d read in one of her baby books that the baby could hear voices from inside the womb, Taryn had taken to reading aloud when she had the chance. Caleb caught her once, that first week he was all but living with her. She’d looked up to find him leaning in the doorway with a tender expression. He brushed away her embarrassment and curled up beside her, his head on her shoulder, listening as she read.

“Hey, are you okay?” Slate asked. He had his hand on her arm, encouraging her to straighten up.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Taryn wiped at her eyes, self-conscious of the people who were beginning to stare. She looked around quickly to see if her parents were in earshot before she said, “I used to read to Bailey. It was the only thing I could do for her.”

That was enough to get the mumbled “awws” and awkward subject changes Taryn was looking for. The only one she had ever been able to talk about the uncomfortable subject of the death of a sibling was Caleb.

It was another few minutes before everyone was sufficiently distracted, and Taryn was able to slip away. Only Oni saw her disappear into the back where she knew Caleb’s office was.

His office door was slightly ajar, and through the crack in the doorway, she could see him. He was sitting up, staring at some space above his desk. His hand was curled around an empty tumbler, listlessly rolling the glass around and around on the surface.

Though her heart had leaped up to choke her, Taryn pushed the door open. The creak drew his attention, and he swiveled. His eyes widened when he saw her. Taryn was frozen, and he didn’t seem much better off. They stared at each other for too long before she found her words. “The shelves are beautiful. I don’t know how to thank you.”

He turned to the side, rocking his chair. “You don’t have to thank me.”

His simple words were the spark that set off an explosion. “No, I guess you’re right. I shouldn’t thank you. This is an amazing gift, but it doesn’t make up for what you’ve done. In fact, it’s just that much more of a slap in the face. If you’re going to be such a prick, why half-ass it? Why do something so great when you’ve done something so horrible?”

At that, he glanced at her and away again. “I did what I had to do. There’s nothing to make up for.”

“Are you kidding me? You abandoned—” She stumbled, not wanting to betray the depth of her hurt. “You abandoned Slate. What the hell was that about? He didn’t do anything to you.
I
didn’t do anything to you, but he needs you.”

“I never said you did anything to me. This isn’t about that.” He still wasn’t looking at her, and his words were slurred.

“Are you drunk?”

“I’m not particularly sober.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

His eyes flashed to hers and away again. “You think this is easy for me?” He nodded to the monitors sitting off to the side of his desk. Taryn saw that they were camera feeds from around the bar. “You think it’s easy for me to see you and not want—” He looked down and stayed quiet.

Taryn didn’t know how to process that or the defeated slump to his shoulders, and it only made her angrier. “You want me to believe you’re hurting? You’re the one who walked away, Caleb. You walked away from everything. Slate needs you. He needs his brother. I have no idea what the hell I did to you, but you can’t blame him. That’s messed up.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“Then what’s the issue here? You decided we can’t be lovers, fine. I don’t understand, but I can respect that. Why decide we can’t be friends? Why drop Slate like a bad habit?”

Caleb took a shaky breath. “Trust me. This is the way it has to be. This is the only way.”

“That’s such bullshit. This whole thing? Cutting us both off, no calls, no e-mails, no nothing? This is something a teenager would do. Why don’t you get it over with and block us on Facebook?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Such a mature response. You should be out there supporting him. All his friends out there combined don’t mean what you mean to him.”

He slammed his palm down on his desk so hard the tumbler rattled and the monitors shook. He swung around and glared at her with fury and frustration in his eyes. “Don’t you get it? This is the best way. I can’t be out there because I don’t want to be there supporting him—I want to be there beside you.”

For ten seconds that may as well have been a century, Taryn couldn’t breathe. Her thoughts spun by at a mile a minute, none of them making sense. “I don’t understand.”

The fury drained from his features, and he slumped along with it. He rested his elbows on his desk and hung his head in his hands. “Of course you don’t,” he mumbled to his lap. “How could you? God. Sit down.” He sounded almost irritated to have to tell her.