Page 67 of Embers

I nod. “I’m really okay. It’s hard but not crushing. I’m going to be fine.”

“Okay. Good.” She gives me a quick, sardonic smile. “But if you ever need someone to smash his face in, I’m your person.”

I snort at that since it’s clearly a joke, and I appreciate the sentiment just the same.

Not that I ever want Cal to have his face smashed in. But it’s nice to know I have someone who would do that for me.

A couple of minutes later, Cal comes out with his breakfast. He doesn’t even glance toward us. He doesn’t linger and wait to see if he’ll be invited to join us. He walks down the porch steps and then across the yard to sit down on a wrapped bundle of hay and eats there.

He’s far enough away that he’s not right in my line of sight, but he’s still in the periphery. If I turn my head, I can see him.

Which means he can see me.

It feels like he’s watching me all the time, whenever he thinks I don’t notice.

Conversation on the porch continues, but it’s slightly subdued now. And after a couple of minutes, I start to shift in my seat. Uncomfortable. Upset. Cal is all alone out there. No one is talking to him. Yesterday it wasn’t so bad because Mack was around, and Mack made a point of reaching out to him and eating with him. But Mack is at the gate this morning. Most of the New Haven folks share Faith’s view. A man who abandons the people in his care is not a man worth knowing. Their view is simple and uncomplicated, and usually it would be accurate.

With Cal, things are so much more complicated, but he’s still almost an outcast here.

And I hate it. These were his friends too, and he lost them all when he lost me. It doesn’t have to be that way, but it is.

Finally I can’t stand it anymore. “Can someone please go and eat with him?”

Everyone looks at me in surprise since the question bursts out without segue.

“It feels like we’re shunning him, and I don’t like that. I don’t want that. Please.” I look from face to face around me. “I’m not ready to do it yet, but will someone just go talk to him?”

Jackson straightens up, looking like he’s ready to get to his feet, but he shoots a glance toward Faith and clearly changes his mind. So I glance over at Grant. Cal got to know him fairly well when they worked together to take back the bunker from the Wolf Packs. Cal likes and respects him.

Olivia’s face is full of compassion, and she squeezes Grant’s arm silently. He nods and stands up, picking up his plate and water and then walking over to where Cal is sitting.

I exhale in relief when Grant asks Cal something and receives a nod in response. Grant sits down on the hay beside him, and the two begin to talk.

Cal doesn’t smile. Not even once. And he still occasionally darts quick looks over at me. But at least he’s not alone now.

* * *

We have a couple more volunteers show up, so we’re getting ready to leave first thing the following morning.

There are so many supplies to transport that we need to take three vehicles—two pickups and a Jeep. Gail, one of my friends from New Haven, will be at the front with me, both of us on motorcycles. And Cal will take the rear guard.

Maybe it’s petty and weak, but I’m relieved he’ll be so far away from me while we’re traveling. It’s not that I resent his being on the trip, but I’m afraid he might distract me. And we can’t afford that.

As we’re waiting to leave, I’m hanging around the motorcycle I’ll be riding. I got it last year after we took back the bunker. It belonged to one of the Wolf Pack members and was in much better condition than the old one of Cal’s I’d been using.

Cal is adjusting stuff in the back of his pickup truck. He won’t be driving it since he needs to guard the rear, but he’s evidently taken responsibility for how well things are packed in the back of his truck.

I try not to watch him, but it’s hard to resist. He’s so familiar. He’s like homecoming for me, despite everything.

He’s got some strands of gray in his beard now when he never used to have them. More proof of how difficult the past six months have been for him.

He’s standing in the truck bed. Leaning over. His strong back and tight butt are highlighted by his position.

Another unfortunate truth I’ve had to admit. I still want his body—carnally, viscerally—as much as I ever have. No one else has ever provoked this kind of physical neediness in me. And the conflicted nature of our relationship has evidently not put a damper on any of it.

Faith comes over to me just then, saving me from the spiral of my thoughts.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” I ask her.

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