Page 136 of Callan

“Feel yourself at home,” he says, pulling the chair for me and waiting for me to slide into my seat.

CALLAN

I’ve been convincedfor some time that things are set in stone.

A horrible event, damaging emotions, or a horrid path to nowhere appeared to have been carved in the certainty of death before something like this happened.

I watch her check the food on the plates and decide what she wants to eat.

Her hair has curled at the tips from the moisture outside, her eyes burning with curiosity.

She seems at ease, and the only reason for that is that she doesn’t know the truth.

She has no idea how many things have happened between these walls.

If you press your ear to one, you’ll hear the music, the voices, the laughter, and the gunshots of the past.

A little to her left, just below my father’s portrait and right behind a vase crammed with white tulips, two bullets have marred the wall.

Those two bullets killed my grandfather, and while we had the house remodeled many times, my father insisted on leaving the marks alone so we could never forget how dangerous it was to live like us.

People often believe we have chosen this kind of life.

That we have loved money and power and, ultimately, living dangerously.

But this kind of life is like any other kind.

Everybody gets stuck at some point. Even regular people with regular lives.

People walk paths they hate all the time. Some succeed at removing themselves from the brink of perdition, while others carry on, not having a choice.

It’s not a matter of being capable or having the will.

It’s a matter of fate.

You have to do what you’re supposed to or need to do.

And that’s what we did.

A price comes with it, and we’re paying the price too.

That’s why we got jaded.

And that’s why it’s hard to believe a woman like her has found her way into this story.

For a long time, I’ve been afraid of changing anything.

The balance was precarious as it was. There was no need to taunt fate anymore. So there were no new people. And no chances were taken. But now she’s here.

Maybe I’ve consciously allowed her in my life.

Maybe she’s just another thing thrown at me by a cruel life.

A little angelic disruptor with sparkling eyes, long hair, and delicate hands.

A luminous promise that better things exist beyond my dreary existence. And even when you think nothing good can come your way, something like her might happen.

“I’m hungry,” she says, piling up her plate.

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