The Plan (25 page)

Except for the ones she found exceptionally attractive.

“It was,” Callum said, bringing her back to the present moment. “I had a wonderful time.”

“I haven't been on a date in years.”

“That seems hard to believe.”

“It's true,” Claire said, not making eye contact with him.

“I'm sure it's not from a lack of requests.”

“Actually, no one else has asked me.”

“Well, now I know you're lying,” Callum said.

“I promise,” Claire said, glancing sideways at him. “I'm not!”

“Okay,” Callum said, disbelief in his voice. “If you say so…”

He gestured toward the porch swing, a request for her to sit. Claire sat and then steadied the swing so he could sit down easily next to her.

“Ah. It feels so good to sit!”

“Oh! I forgot about your legs. Do they hurt?”

“They get sore if I wear them for too long,” Callum said, rubbing his right thigh. “Kind of like wearing those high-heels you had on yesterday.”

“Yeah, I'm sure it's just like that,” Claire said, then turned to look at him. “You noticed my shoes?”

“I notice everything about you.”

Claire took that in, but said nothing about it.

“You know,” she said, instead. “You didn't have to wear them—the legs, I mean. It would've been fine if you'd been in your chair.”

Callum smiled at her, with a softness that made Claire's heart melt. “Thanks, love, but I never miss a chance to walk beside a beautiful woman. Listen,” he said, suddenly changing the subject. “Do you mind if I take off my arm?”

Claire burst into laughter.

“Now that is something no man has ever asked me. You get two points for originality.”

“Only two? Oh, come on. That had to be worth at least ten.”

“Okay, then. Ten. Go ahead,” she said, waving her own arm at him.

“Do you think you might be willing to help me?” Callum asked. “Or, is that an inappropriate thing to ask on a first date?”

“Of course, I'll help you. What do I need to do?”

“If you could unbutton my shirt, that'd be a good start.”

Claire turned her body toward him and began to undo the buttons.

“I've never undressed a man on the first date.”

“Well, then, I'm glad I'm your first.”

“What's next?” Claire asked, once she'd completed the buttons.

Callum hestitated. “You know what, give me a second. I can do it myself.”

“Honestly, Callum. I don't mind helping you. Tell me what to do next.”

“Well, if you could help me take my shirt off…”

“Sure.”

Claire yanked at the sleeve and it slid off his real arm and then he used that hand to slide it off the other.

“I truly can do this myself,” Callum said, again. “It's just a bit of a struggle for me. I'd need to stand to do it, or move away from this swing and it would take me a bit longer than it took you.”

Claire shook her head. “Really, it's no big deal.”

She glanced up at him and realized he was looking at her, as if to see if her words were sincere.

“Really,” she said again, softly. “I don't care.”

He nodded and then his face broke into a grin. “Okay, I have to be perfectly honest with you. I made a bunch of that up so I'd have a reason to get you close to me.”

Claire whacked him, good-naturedly, with the sweater she'd rested on her lap.

“You're terrible.”

Callum winked at her. “Aye. That I am.”

“Wow,” Claire said, looking at the prosthetic arm system closely, now that his shirt was off. “It looks like you're wearing a backpack.”

“A backpack with no pack, but does come with an arm.”

Callum slid the straps, from around each of his shoulders and then slid off the prosthetic arm, which was attached to the bands.

Claire tried not to stare, but it was difficult, and not because his left arm was once again missing. If she'd spent any time thinking about it, she would've expected Callum to be wearing an undershirt. Without his shirt and his arm attachment, he was completely bare- chested. The sight caused an inadvertent intake of Claire's breath.

What was most shocking, even more so than the missing left limb, was Callum's right arm. From the elbow up, it was covered in one large, expansive tattoo. Claire had never been a fan of ink. Jack had once joked about getting a small tattoo during a weekend trip with his buddies to Cancun, and Claire had put her metaphorical foot down immediately. No tattoo. No way.

She thought she hated all tattoos. That is, until this very moment.

Callum's tattoo wasn't of any particular image. It wasn't an eagle or a flag or a skull, and, thankfully, not a woman's face. It was tribal. Deep brown and gray. Flames of ink intertwining with his fair skin. Claire wasn't sure if the design would be called a sleeve, because it only went as far as his elbow.
But maybe a short sleeve?
Claire doubted that was the hip term.

She wasn't even sure the word “hip” was hip.

As her eyes followed the intricate design, she realized its path was taking her eyes to Callum's chest. The tendrils of the design draped and unraveled across the right side of his body and down onto his abdomen. His body was shockingly masculine and muscular. He had a six-pack, an actual six-pack, like the ones Claire had seen in movies where the man rips off his shirt, buttons flying and women swooning. Callum's chest was smooth and hard—not that she touched it—though she had to admit, she did think about it for the briefest of seconds. And he had pecs. Really,
really
good ones. How was that even possible? She could see how he might achieve those abs from doing sit-ups, but how does a person even begin to bench press when they only have one arm? Was there a prosthetic for that? She had no idea.

It didn't really seem like the time to ask, either.

I notice your incredible muscles are of an even mass on both sides of your chest—not that I should be looking, but, how did you get them so symmetrical?

Claire felt herself blush and hoped Callum didn't notice. She would definitely sound like an idiot if she said anything like that.

So, instead, she focused on the more practical aspects of his appearance. His stump wasn't bare, as she'd expected it to be.

“Is that a Nike basketball sock?” she asked.

Callum smiled, mischievously. “There are socks you can buy that are designed especially for prosthetics, but if I can't happen to find one of mine, which is often the case since I live out of a suitcase, I grab the nearest tube sock and slip it on.”

“I guess it makes the arm fit better?”

“Yep. And helps it not rub so much.”

Callum pulled the sock off with ease and set it down next to him, on the opposite side of the swing. And then, with no assistance from Claire, he slipped on his shirt.

“Funny,” Claire said. “You had no problem getting that shirt back on again.”

“Nope. Though you can offer to help me with my buttons whenever you like.” He hadn't redone them, thus leaving bits of the tattoo, and his chest, visible through the front opening.

“Ha!” Claire said, keeping her eyes on his face and not any lower. “Now that I know you're fully capable, I'll keep my hands to myself.”

“Well, that plan sure did backfire on me.” Callum grinned at Claire. “Would you like to hold my hand?” he asked, extending the prosthetic arm.

“Why, of course.”

Claire reached out and took the fake arm in hers. She placed it so it rested on both their laps. She made a point, though, to hold onto the hand.

“Wow. It's lighter than I would've thought.”

“Welcome to the world of prosthetics,” Callum said. For a moment, neither of them spoke, both staring out into the darkness. “You're a fascinating woman, Ms. Matthews.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. I don't always know what to make of you.”

“Are you implying you've spent time trying to make something of me?”

“Perhaps I should be embarrassed to admit it, but I have.”

“Oh. And what have you come up with?” Claire asked.

Callum leaned back, deeper into the swing. “I think you used to be very happy. And then, suddenly, one day, you weren't. How am I doing?”

“You're good. And what am I now?”

“Now? You're doing your best to be happy again, but there's a big part of you that's still very, very sad.”

Claire didn't say a word. She pushed the swing backward with her legs and gently let it rock. She didn't allow herself to make eye contact
with Callum because, she knew, the moment she did, the tears would begin to flow.

“Claire,” Callum said. “I don't want to pry. Your personal life is just that. Personal. But, if you ever want to talk about anything, I have to say I'm a pretty good listener. So, whenever you're ready to tell me, I'm ready to listen. And, if you're not, then it's more than enough for me to sit here on this swing, next to you, enjoying the night.”

Claire continued to stare out into the night. It wasn't that she didn't want to tell him. If anything, she was drawn to him. He felt safe to her. He was a soft place to fall. She'd known that from the first moment their eyes had locked. She didn't know where to begin. She had never told anyone her story. Everyone in her life, before here, already knew.

“I graduated from college a week after I turned twenty-one and got married to Jack a week after that.”

Claire kept her eyes focused into the distance, but she could sense Callum's body language, next to her, and it indicated no surprise at what she'd said.

“We began dating at the beginning of my senior year, right before my dad died. We were married for a couple of years when I, unexpectedly, got pregnant with Luke. It was quite a shock. We hadn't been planning on having kids for quite a while. Four years later, we had twins. Lily and Ella. After that, it was a whirlwind of diapers and car seats and birthday parties.”

Claire took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“We were heading to my in-laws' home for the Christmas break. It was late at night. We purposely left late because I wanted the kids to sleep as we drove. They fell asleep right after we stopped for dinner. I must've dozed off, too, because all I can remember is a large crash and the car spinning out of control. A drunk teenager had gotten on the highway going the wrong direction. Jack swerved to miss him, but…”

She hadn't wanted to cry. She'd tried her best. There was just no way to tell the story of how she'd lost her family without bursting into tears. If she lived until she was a hundred and two, she knew that would always be the case. She felt the tears begin to fall and she made no effort to wipe them away.

“I was told later that none of my babies, or Jack, suffered. They were all gone in an instant.”

Callum lifted his arm and placed it behind her on the swing. Gently, he began to stroke her hair. Claire was so lost in the memories, his touch barely registered with her.

“That was almost two years ago. For the first year, I did absolutely nothing. I mean
nothing.
I truly didn't know how I was going to go on. Each morning the sun would rise and I'd think, ‘Why do I have to live to see another day?' ”

Claire turned, ever so slightly, in her seat and looked directly at Callum.

“And then, one day, the woman at the grocery store counter told me I needed to go hear you speak. I actually listened to her, which in retrospect, is amazing in and of itself.” Claire smiled softly. “Until that moment, I pretty much hadn't listened to anyone, not even my therapist, about how I should begin to reenter the world. I guess I looked at you and thought, no one understands my agony, but maybe this man, missing most of his limbs, who has clearly gone through so much of his own pain, maybe he'll have something to say that will give me a reason to live.”

“And did I?” Callum's voice was barely above a whisper.

Claire shrugged, a gentle smile on her lips. “Here I am. I realized, as you spoke, my life really
was
over—that is, the life I'd led before. I could never get that back, no matter how much it ripped my heart out. But, I still had a life ahead of me and it was my decision as to what I did with it. I could lie in bed and feel sorry for myself for the next fifty or so years or I could get up and honor my family.”

Callum lifted a strand of her hair and let it slip through his fingers.

“Do you still blame yourself?”

“What?” Claire asked, startled by his question.

“Do you still blame yourself?” Callum asked again.

“I didn't say I did.”

“I know,” Callum said, picking up another strand of hair.

Claire looked back out into the night, sitting very, very still. She didn't know how to answer Callum's question. No one had ever asked it before.

“I was the one who wanted to leave late in the afternoon. I wanted us to drive while they slept so I didn't have to hear the arguing and whining during the whole drive.” The tears began to fall faster down Claire's already wet cheeks. “If I'd only agreed with Jack to leave earlier in the day, or even packed us dinner so we didn't have to stop, we wouldn't have been there, in the path of that car, at that moment.”

“You had no way of knowing that.”

“You don't think I've told myself that a thousand times? A million times?” Claire's voice rose and she was embarrassed she couldn't seem to keep herself calm. “It doesn't change the fact I put us in the path of that drunk driver.”

“Claire,” Callum said calmly. “Listen to yourself. There's nothing you could've done to stop this.”

“Then I should have died with them. I wanted to die with them.”

“I know it feels that way. But for some reason, it wasn't your time.”