Page 159 of Always Meant for You
“Is that my sweet boy, Callan? Don’t you worry about me. Mommy needs to rest a bit.”
I remember drinking water from the tap in the bathroom sink and peeling greenish black spots off stale bread and eating the pieces slowly. The bedroom door cracked open a few inches. I remember being small. Being scared. And being hungry—so hungry.
This place was my home. Not for long, but long enough to carve itself into me. That crooked four is seared into my mind.
I study the sidewalk. A few stubborn dandelions push through the cracks. Golden yellow in a sea of miserable gray. I used to pick them and give them to my mom.
A tightness pulls across my chest, slow and strangling, as pressure mounts behind my ribs. I wasn’t prepared to look my past in the eye and feel it staring back. But I can’t fall apart. Not now. Not with Mabel beside me. Not with Elverna’s future in the back of this truck.
“Preston says they can see us from the loading dock,” Mabel says gently. “He wants us to pull around back.”
My grip tightens on the wheel. I can’t look away from the dandelions. “In a minute.”
She rests her hand on my thigh. “Just breathe with me.”
I nod, barely managing it.
She doesn’t fill the silence. She doesn’t press. She stays next to me, hand on my leg, and we just inhale and exhale.
That’s what pulls me through.
I return my gaze to the road, release the brake, and press the gas. The truck rolls down the block, away from the row house with the crooked four. I park at the loading dock and kill the engine.
“Cal,” Mabel says softly.
“Yeah?” I brace myself, waiting for her questions. Questions I’m not sure I have the strength to answer. A sour rush floods my stomach. I’m sinking into a pit of invisible quicksand.
She looks over her shoulder, down the street, then back at me. “I’m glad we’re here together.”
“Yeah, me too,” I manage.
Movement flashes at the corner of my eye. It’s Preston and Logan. They’re pointing to the truck and chatting with a small group of men and women in T-shirts with the wordVolunteerprinted on the back.
Mabel unzips her purse and slips her phone inside. My jaw tightens. She glances at me, worry etched on her face. She knows I’m pulling away. I don’t mean to, but I don’t know what else to do.
She squeezes my hand. “Do you want to stay in the truck?” she asks. “I can handle the tour and meet with the chefs. We know we’re offering regular deliveries to the pantry, and based on everything they’ve said, they’ll likely want to contract with the co-op for their restaurants too. The town voted to approve the plan if the partnership moves forward. This visit is more about presence than persuasion. If you need to stay in the truck to . . . answer messages or make a call to check in on anything back in Elverna,” she continues, crafting an elegant exit for me, “I’ll cover here. I know Preston and Logan will understand.”
She’s giving me an out. Her expression is neutral, but she’s twisting the hem of her skirt with her other hand. I hate that I’m doing this to her.
I muster a grin. “I can get through it.”
She winces at my choice of words. I can’t blame her. I’ve got to snap out of this.
“Cal, what happened back there? Is it the city?”
I want to tell her everything. But I can’t find the path from my brain to my voice. My thoughts spiral.
What if I fail Elverna?
What if the city pulls Mabel in and I’m left behind?
What if I sink back into my prison of anger and solitude?
What if I block her out again?
I can’t do that to her. I will lose her if I push her away. And I’ll deserve it. But I’m a drowning man searching for something to hold on to. I focus on Mabel. Her M charm catches the light. And in that split-second, I hear Jamie, his voice certain and crystal clear:Trust Mabel and trust yourself.
“Cal?” she says again.
