Page 66 of Embers

“We do need help.” That’s Jackson calling down from the guard perch. “And I’d love to have you join us. But Rachel takes precedence here, so we need to check with her first.”

“Didn’t know she was here. Thought she was still with Maria. I don’t need to help on the trip. I can just drop this stuff off and leave.” He doesn’t sound resentful or hurt over the hesitation about letting him in. Just matter-of-fact. “Heard it was an emergency.”

“Hold on a minute and let us check first. We’ll appreciate the donations either way. But I can’t let you in until Rachel says it’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” I call out. “Let him in.” I’ve reached the gate. I still can’t see Cal since he’s on the other side, but I know he’s waiting there.

I really can’t believe this is happening. I have no idea how I feel. Just that my whole body is throbbing with anticipation and cold dread at exactly the same time.

Faith is looking at me in concern. “Are you sure—?”

“I’m sure.” I peer up at Jackson in the guard perch. “We need his help. Let him in!”

I can’t move—even a muscle—as the gate starts its slow, creaky opening.

He looks older. That’s the first thing I notice when I catch a glimpse through the gateway.

Cal got out of his pickup truck to talk, and he’s standing near the driver’s side door. He’s the same size he’s always been. Big. Always appearing to take up too much space around him. His hair and beard clearly haven’t been trimmed since he left me, and they’re more tangled than ever. He’s wearing the same faded jeans he was wearing when he walked out. He looks pale beneath his tan, if that’s possible. Exhausted. Battered.

The past six months haven’t been easy for me, but they’ve clearly been harder on Cal.

Despite everything, my heart goes out to him, like there’s an invisible cord forever tying my heart to his. I can’t stand that he’s suffered so much even if he did it to himself.

His eyes have found me unerringly, and he’s staring with an aching yearning I can see across the distance.

And I know in that instant that his feelings for me haven’t changed. He still loves me as much today as he did six months ago. I know it as surely as I know that I still love him.

When I’m finally able to tear my eyes away from him, I see that he’s got an entire truckload of supplies—evidently donations for the town.

It’s amazing really. I can’t imagine where he managed to find them all. He must have worked so hard to scavenge so much when it’s so much harder to find anything worthwhile anymore.

My throat feels like it’s closing up. I glance back toward Cal. I still feel that powerful tug of longing and sympathy, but that’s not all I feel. I loved him. I trusted him. And he walked out on me without a word.

There’s no going back to what we used to be.

I say to Faith, “He can stay. He can come with us if he wants. We need him, and I’m fine.”

Then I turn my back on him and walk away.

* * *

Because Cal donated so much and is willing to travel and guard the shipment with us, we decide to wait one more day in case any more volunteers arrive, and then we’ll leave the following morning.

It’s fine with me. I’m anxious to get the trip over with now since Cal is planning to help with this mission and then leave again.

He hasn’t said a word to me, but it’s not because he’s avoiding me. I’m avoiding him, and he clearly knows and accepts it.

I’m sure he didn’t expect anything else.

Maybe I should summon the will to have a conversation with him. Maybe I’d end up feeling better with a little closure. But the idea of it terrifies me, so I haven’t been able to do it yet.

At breakfast the following day, I’m on the porch again with Faith, Jackson, Olivia, and Grant and a few others. I’ve been having a decent meal, so I try not to let it bother me when I see Cal head across from the barn to the house. He’s clearly been working. He’s dirty and sweating and must have just splashed water on his face because his beard and the edges of his hair are wet.

He nods politely as he walks by us and into the house. He doesn’t linger. He’ll never try to push his way in—not when he knows I don’t want it. He gives me a quick, hungry look as he passes, however, like he can’t help but snatch a hurried glimpse.

It hurts me. In so many ways.

“You okay?” Faith waits until Cal is inside to ask me the question in a low murmur that no one else will be able to hear.

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