When We Found Home(51)

“I appreciate the offer,” Callie told her as they sat at the sofa. She looked around the room. “This is really a nice place. Have you lived here long?”

“A few years now.”

Callie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh. I thought maybe...” Her voice trailed off. “It is really nice.”

Delaney didn’t bother pointing out Callie was repeating herself, nor did she try to justify why her condo looked as if she’d just moved in. There were a thousand reasons, none of them easy to deal with.

“I’m sorry,” Callie said, looking at her. “It’s just you’re such a vibrant, alive person. Your home doesn’t reflect that.”

Vibrant and alive? Delaney had never thought of herself that way. Or maybe she had once, but not anymore.

“Time got away from me,” she admitted. “I always meant to do more. Or something.” She shook her head. “Okay, let’s ignore the sterile white walls and focus on what’s important. Keira’s party.” She thought for a second. “I’ve never planned a party for a thirteen-year-old and I have no idea where to start.”

“That’s okay. I did a lot of research. I love Pinterest. There are so many great ideas, plus I used to work for a caterer, so I’ve seen what works and what doesn’t. I hope it’s okay, but I have some notes.”

“Let’s see them.”

Callie pulled several folders out of her backpack and opened the first one.

“I think we should start with the theme. I went round and round, playing with several ideas and I settled on jewelry.”

Delaney had no idea how that would work as a theme, but she was hardly an expert. “What does that mean?”

Callie laid out several pictures. “We’ll do the traditional ‘official teenager’ cake. I think that’s pretty much required. I found a woman online who makes beautiful, inexpensive jewelry and she does home classes. She’ll use glass beads and braided thread, so it’s not too expensive. The goody bag can be filled with the usual lip gloss and stuff but also some jewelry-making supplies.”

She showed Delaney several pictures of cute goody bags.

“I’m thinking if Keira and her friends do something together, it will help form a bond between them. That they’ll feel closer and have something they’ve shared together. You know, to cement the friendship.”

“Wow. You’ve really thought about this,” Delaney said, studying the various pictures. “It’s a brilliant idea. And hey, don’t worry about the cost. Malcolm will be happy to write a check for his baby sister.”

She didn’t mention the guilt that drove him, but knew it would be a part of why he would agree. He was really working the program when it came to his sister. She admired that about him, among other things. Everyone was moving forward, she thought wistfully. Everyone had a direction and a goal.

“We’ve got to be careful with the food,” Callie continued. “Nothing too greasy because of the jewelry.”

“Right. We don’t want to ruin the supplies.”

They brainstormed different food ideas then finalized the decorations. Keira had provided them with her guest list, so it was easy to go online and design a fun invitation. Three hours later they had the party planned and the tasks divided.

As Callie packed up her papers, she glanced at Delaney. “Did Malcolm tell you I’d been in prison?”

Delaney was sure she hadn’t heard correctly. “I’m sorry, what?”

Callie smiled. “Prison. And I can tell by your face that the answer is no. I swear, he annoys me all the time, but he’s very good at keeping a secret. Everyone else knows, so I thought you’d want to, as well.”

Delaney hoped she didn’t look as shocked as she felt. “No one likes to be the last to know,” she said, trying for a light tone.

“It’s okay,” Callie told her. “Most people are surprised.” She explained how she’d robbed a liquor store with her boyfriend and the consequences of her actions.

“I was living in Houston when the lawyer found me,” she said. “She swabbed my cheek and now I’m here.”

“But you’re so...” Delaney pressed her lips together, not sure what she was supposed to say. “Normal” certainly wasn’t very polite.

“On the outside, I do look like everyone else,” Callie said. “On the inside, I’m a little more shattered. I wish I could go back and change what I did, but I can’t. I can only move forward and learn from my mistakes.” She paused. “Keira knows, so you don’t have to worry about saying anything.”

Delaney still had trouble wrapping her mind around the information. “Thank you for trusting me. I won’t say anything to anyone.”

“Thanks, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth keeping a secret. I haven’t decided, but maybe I should make some big announcement on social media.”

“Let me know how that goes.”

Callie laughed and collected her things. “I’ll text you later about the cake,” she said. “If there are options, I’ll want your opinion.”

“You’ve got it.”

Delaney walked her to the door, then turned back to the now-empty condo. She still had homework to do and grocery shopping. Her bathroom needed a good scrub. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t busy. Even so, she lingered in her tiny foyer, staring at her boring living room and thinking about Callie.

For someone who had gone through something awful, Callie was so upbeat. She could have been angry or bitter or resentful, but she wasn’t. She accepted responsibility for what she’d done and then moved on. Everyone, it seemed, had moved on.

Delaney sank to the floor and wondered what on earth she was doing. Was she really going to be a doctor? Yes, the medical personnel who had helped her dad had been amazing, but really? A doctor? She’d barely gotten through a frog dissection. Plus, she’d loved her work at Boeing. She’d liked the people and the company. She’d dreamed of moving up the corporate ladder. She’d only quit because...because...

Because of Tim, she thought, leaning her head against the wall and closing her eyes. Because he’d never been happy with her choices and she felt guilty. He’d thought she should care more about them than getting ahead. He’d thought she should be happy just being his wife and living close to where they’d grown up. He’d never understood why she’d wanted more and she’d never understood why he hadn’t. They’d been at an impasse and the wedding had been getting closer and closer and she’d felt trapped and then he’d been killed.

She didn’t remember much about those early days. She supposed she’d been in shock from the trauma. There had been so much to deal with and her time had been dominated by the terror that she might lose her father, as well. It had been weeks before they’d known he was going to make it, and every single day she’d waited, someone from her old neighborhood had been there for her. She’d never had to deal with any of it alone.

Everyone had talked about Tim and how much he’d loved her. They’d talked about her dad. They were her extended family and what they’d never realized was that her dreams had started to take her beyond the confines of their street and that Tim had never approved of that.

Was she the one who was wrong or was he? She couldn’t ever figure that out. Even now, he was the voice in her head, telling her to be...less.

No, she thought. That wasn’t right or fair. Not less, just other than who she was. To be how she’d been before. To be right for him. Somehow everyone had moved on but her and she didn’t know if that was because she wasn’t allowed to or if she simply wasn’t capable. One thing she knew for sure—as long as he was the voice in her head, she was stuck with one foot in the past. Until that changed, she simply couldn’t move forward.

She opened her eyes and tried to fight against the familiar sense of dread. She was lost and confused and scared and angry and sad, all at the same time. She wanted to stand up and scream or maybe just run. If she could start over where no one knew her, things would be easier.

She forced herself to her feet and looked at her living room. The white walls, the bland furniture.

“Dammit, no!”

She grabbed her purse and headed out.

Delaney returned an hour later with a can of pale sage-colored paint, brushes, rollers and a tarp. She shoved her sofa to the center of the room, moved tables and lamps, then taped off the baseboard and ceiling. One wall, she told herself. She would paint one wall. Then she would get on with the rest of what she had to do.

She used a brush to do the edging, then pressed the roller to the wall in a big W pattern and nearly gasped as the color came to life. It was darker than she’d expected, but still pretty. Indecision and fear tried to take hold, but she kept painting. Her heart raced, her stomach twisted, but she kept moving her arm up and down, filling the paint when she needed to.

She worked straight through, stopping only to drink some water. When the job was done, she stepped back and looked at the fresh color.

It was beautiful, she thought in surprise. She liked it a lot. This was good—she was moving on. But as she stood there, the wall got blurry and seemed to shift a little. It was only then she realized she was crying and, honest to God, she had no idea why.