At Peace (The ‘Burg #2)(89)
Author: Kristen Ashley

“What?” I asked, confused by his suit, his presence and his words.

“Joe’s taking us. I called and asked him yesterday,” Kate, who was standing close to Cal, explained to me.

In silent shock, my eyes went to her and when they did she slid closer to Cal. Then I felt my eyes grow wide as her hand reached for his and curled around it.

Cal didn’t pull away, in fact, his fingers curled around hers too.

When they did, she leaned her shoulder into his arm.

Holy f**k, what the freaking hell was this?

“I –” I started.

Cal cut me off. “We gotta get on the road.”

“But –”

“Let’s go, buddy.”

“Oh!” Kate cried suddenly, her head tipping back to look at Cal. “I need to make you a sandwich. We all have sandwiches because we’re not gonna stop. I didn’t know what to make you. Do you want ham and cheddar, turkey and swiss or roast beef and swiss or all of the above?”

“I’ll eat whatever you make, girl,” Cal said, looking down at her.

“Okay,” she replied, let go of his hand and ran gracefully on her high-heeled, black slingbacks to the kitchen.

“Mom!” Keira hissed, leaning toward me, eyes narrowed, clearly not pleased at this remarkable turn of events. Obviously Kate hadn’t shared her plan with her sister.

“Um…” I said to Cal, “can we talk a second in my room?”

“Nope,” he replied and remained unmoving.

“Keira, get Joe a coffee for the road. He takes it black,” Kate called from the kitchen.

Keira glared at me then glared at Cal and, obviously feeling the need for an unusual show of decorum in the face of the day’s events, she decided against throwing a tantrum but still, she stomped to the kitchen.

I limped to Cal and got close.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“Takin’ you and the girls to Sam’s funeral.”

“But –”

His hand came to the side of my neck and squeezed so further words froze in my throat.

His head dipped down so his face was in mine. “You’re dead on your feet, baby. You gotta get there safe, you gotta get home safe. I’m seein’ to that,” he said softly. “Now, get your ass in the car.”

“Cal –”

His hand tightened on my neck, it felt reflexive but it was strong enough to make a point so I again shut up.

His face got even closer when he ordered, “You call me Joe.”

I stared up at him and I knew my mouth was hanging open but I’d lost the knowledge as to how to close it.

He let me go and turned away.

I stood there and I didn’t know what to do.

I looked into the kitchen and Kate was bustling around, wrapping up a sandwich so huge Dagwood Bumstead would be in throes of ecstasy then grabbing an extra bag of chips then going to the fridge to get another pop and finally pulling out two more candy bars. Obviously my daughter thought Cal being a mountain of a man; he’d have a mountain of an appetite. Then again, when he was over for breakfast, he ate six rashers of bacon with his four pancakes so she probably wasn’t wrong. She shoved it all in the cooler as Keira jerked a travel mug at Cal, her other hand wrapped around mine.

“We ready?” Cal asked the Winters girls.

“I am,” Kate announced, hefting up the cooler.

Cal carried his travel mug to Kate, took the cooler from her and walked out the side door.

Kate followed.

Keira glared at me then she followed.

I stood there a few seconds then I went to the door, armed the alarm, closed it, locked it then limped to the Mustang.

The girls were already in the cramped back, the cooler between them, Cal was bent double, adjusting the driver’s seat, my door was open.

I limped to the car, got in and slammed my door.

Cal folded himself in beside me and slammed his.

Keira shoved my travel mug between the seats and snapped, “Here.”

I took it, muttering, “Thanks, baby. You take Mooch over to Pearl’s?”

“Yeah,” she replied then sat back on a verbal huff.

Cal hit the ignition and the car roared to life.

His arm went around my seat as he backed out and I kept my eyes glued to the windscreen as he did this.

He twisted the car into the road, took his arm from my seat, changed gears and we were on our way.

Well, one thing I could say about this, the only thing, was at least I didn’t have to drive.

* * * * *

Violet fell asleep the minute they hit I-65 outside Lebanon.

The girls had their sandwiches just outside Merrilville, Kate unwrapping his in a way he could eat the massive creation without half of it falling in his lap. She handed him his Coke, she opened a bag of chips for him and she half unwrapped a candy bar to finish his enormous lunch (he’d had to refuse candy bar number two).

Keira, when he caught her eyes in the rearview mirror, glared at him or, when he didn’t catch them, he saw she was staring out the window, her expression set to sad.

Both girls were quiet, maybe because they were deep in their thoughts but probably because their mother was sleeping.

As they hit the affluent area of Chicago where the service was being held, Kate gave Cal quiet directions.

He turned in, the lot already mostly full, mourners looking their way as they pulled in, eyes staying glued to the Mustang as he found a space.

Cal got out, pulled forward his seat and looked in the back.

“Both of you, out this side,” he ordered quietly.

Kate scrambled out. Keira threw some attitude with her eyes then scrambled out after her sister.

Cal put the seat back and got in the car. Then he leaned into Vi and put a hand to her knee.

“Honey, wake up.”

He squeezed her knee as her eyes fluttered then she came to with a start.

She straightened in her seat and looked around.

“We’re already here?” she asked softly.

“Yeah, baby.”

Her head slowly turned to him and she blinked. Then her chin tipped and she looked at his hand at her knee.

Cal gave it another squeeze but didn’t move it.

“You want a sandwich before we go in or do you just wanna go in?”

Her confused eyes came back to him and she said, “I have to put on my shoes.”

He looked at her feet in flip-flops and then back to her.

“You have them on.”

She shook her head, unbuckled her seatbelt, reached an arm to the floor and came up holding a pair of spike heeled, sexy black pumps.

Cal’s eyes went from the shoes to her face. “Buddy, you’re not f**kin’ wearin’ those shoes.”