Part 11
Leah read the message until the screen dimmed.
She typed, Why did you really answer him?
Cal did not respond for nearly an hour.
When he did, the message filled the screen.
Because when my father called from jail, my mother decided for me that I was better without him. She was probably right. I still hated her for deciding. I told myself I was giving you the choice she took from me. I see now that I took your choice too. I also liked being useful to him. That part was selfish. I am sorry.
Leah sat at the kitchen table.
The house was dark except for the light above the stove. Outside, a car passed, its headlights sliding across the wall and disappearing.
She wrote, Thank you for answering.
Cal sent nothing else.
Two days later, a photograph reached Mateo’s wife through a family group chat. It showed Cal in the lodge hallway after the ambulance left, his vest open and blood on his hands. Someone had taken it from the far end of the corridor without his knowledge.
The caption read: This is why the wedding was canceled.
By noon, the image had been forwarded to two of Cal’s customers.
One called the shop to cancel a repair.
Another arrived in person and asked Mateo whether Cal was “involved in something.”
Mateo told him to leave.
Cal posted no explanation. He asked his family to remove the picture but did not blame Leah.
Leah learned about it from Molly.
“People think he attacked Thomas?” she asked.
“Some think that. Some think he was sleeping with him. One person seems to believe Thomas is a loan shark.”
“That does not even make sense.”
“Gossip has low admission standards.”
Leah looked at the photograph on Molly’s phone.
From that angle, Cal appeared violent. Blood covered his hands. His face was turned away. The utility-room door stood open behind him.
A still image could preserve a lie more efficiently than a memory.
“Who took it?”
“My brother thinks Aunt Claire.”
“Of course.”
“Do you want me to correct people?”
Leah hesitated.
The truth was not flattering to Cal, but it was not the story traveling through town.
“He did not hurt Thomas,” she said. “He was helping him.”
“I know.”
“Tell anyone who asks directly.”
“What about the rest?”
“They will get bored.”
Molly studied her.
“Are you protecting him?”
“I am correcting a false fact.”
“Those can look similar from far away.”
Leah thought of the blue doorway.
“Yes.”
That afternoon, she drove to the shop.
Cal was replacing brake pads on a black cruiser. He saw her enter and set down the tool in his hand.
The office looked as though someone had been living there despite trying to hide it. A folded blanket rested beneath the desk. Three clean shirts hung from a pipe. An electric kettle sat beside a stack of invoices.
Leah placed Molly’s phone printout on the counter.
“Someone took this.”
“I know.”
“You should make a statement.”
“No.”
“Customers think you injured him.”
“Mateo explained to the ones who matter.”
“A customer canceled.”
“He’ll come back or he won’t.”
“You cannot ignore it.”
Cal wiped his hands on a rag.
“If I explain why Thomas was there, I expose you. If I post a vague denial, people argue with it. If I say I was giving first aid, they ask why he was at our wedding lodge in the middle of the night.”
“You could tell the truth.”
“All of it?”
Leah looked toward the open garage.
Mateo was pretending not to listen while reorganizing sockets.
“No,” she said.
“That’s the problem.”
She folded the printout.
“I told Molly she could correct anyone who asks directly.”
“Thank you.”
“It is not forgiveness.”
“I know.”
She gave him a warning look.
“Sorry.”
The corner of her mouth nearly moved.
Cal noticed and looked down.
The restraint felt more intimate than a smile.
Leah saw the blanket again.
“You cannot keep sleeping here.”
“I found an apartment.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Over the bakery on Grant.”
“The stairs are terrible.”
“I’m not pregnant.”
She folded her arms.
“Do you need help moving?”
The question escaped before she examined it.
Cal’s expression softened.
“No. Mateo threatened to throw my tools out the window if I don’t let him help.”
“That sounds efficient.”
“It’s a second-floor window.”
“Less efficient.”
They stood with the counter between them.
Leah wanted to ask whether he missed her. The answer would create no useful decision.
Instead, she said, “The crib rail is fixed.”
Cal stared.
“You turned it around?”
“Yes.”
“It was backward?”
“You knew it was backward.”
“I had suspicions.”
“You wrote BACKWARD on the instruction booklet.”
“That could mean anything.”
She laughed.
The sound opened something in his face, but he did not step closer.
Leah’s laughter faded.
“I still love you,” she said.
Cal gripped the rag.
“I love you.”
“That does not solve this.”
“No.”
“I do not know whether I can marry someone who decides which truths I can survive.”
“I don’t want you to marry that person.”
“You are that person.”
“I was.”
“Two weeks ago.”
He nodded.
She hated that he seemed to understand the difference between regret and change. Understanding was the easy part.
“What are you doing in counseling?” she asked.
“Mostly being told that motives don’t erase effects.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“It is.”
“Good.”
Cal smiled faintly.
Leah looked at his hands. Clean crescents showed beneath the nails, but grease remained in the lines of his knuckles.
“When the baby comes,” she said, “I want you there.”
He stopped breathing for a second.
“I mean at the hospital. I am not promising anything beyond that.”
“Okay.”
“You are her father.”
“Yes.”
“I will decide who else is in the room.”
“Of course.”
“If I ask you to leave, you leave.”
May you like
“I will.”
“If you make one decision for me because you think I am too emotional, too frightened, too tired, or too pregnant to make it myself—”
