“You’re goin’ to go mad eventually, you do know that?”
“You already sold the house?” John joined Cal in the kitchen. Not much time had passed since he’d placed his wife in Cal’s bed.
“Yeah.” Cal ran his fingers through his hair, releasing a shaky breath. “I need to be closer to Constance.”
“How is she?”
“Not good.” Cal cleared his throat. John blinked repeatedly. “I’m sorry I didn’t respond sooner. I just flew back from Ojai. My mind is a fucking mess. We labeled her drawers, the cabinets. I should wear a fucking name tag.”
John patted Cal on the back, then he pulled his friend in for a rare embrace.
“Don’t tell Maggie any of this bullshit,” Cal whispered as he eased away.
“Why?”
“She should understand without the explanation. She should give people the benefit of the doubt.”
“I don’t know what it is”—John chuckled—“but drunk or sober, you always seem to bring out the best in my wife. She’s not like this with anybody else.”
“She thinks I’m her fucking child.”
“You know…” John narrowed his gaze. “She is the one who wanted to come here. Her idea. I have a work deadline.”
“I know, Jack.”
“Are you glad we came?”
“Yeah.” Cal swallowed, opening the cabinet behind them. “Was she close to him?” He placed the Crown on the counter. “Her father? She rarely spoke of him.”
John sat on a stool. “They struggled, but she made peace a few years back.”
Cal put two glasses near the bottle.
“Her brother…” John continued, scrubbing his knuckles under his chin, looking off into the distance. “He was the one who fell apart. Well, until we arrived here…” He exhaled. “I don’t know, Cal. Funerals are never pleasant, even when the death is expected.”
Even though E.W. had grown older, his death hadn’t been expected. It seemed only yesterday Cal had attended his grandfather’s service. Perhaps that was why Cal had avoided Maggie’s father’s funeral. Over twenty-five years had passed since Cal had stood in the halls of that church, yet he could still feel himself there…
The smell of the wet grass as they made their way up the steps, the light dusting of rain smattering across his clothing, through his hair.
Sixteen. Or twenty-eight. Or forty-two.
The same.
“Why are we getting old?” Cal shook himself from the memory and unscrewed the bottle cap.
“You’re gettin’ old, old man. I’m still young.” John chuckled.
“Your hair is completely fucking gray,” Cal teased.
“Don’t give me any grief about that. Mags says I’m distinguished.”
“Well, if Maggie says so, then…”
“Yes.” John straightened and tugged on his shirt collar. “She tells me I look like Richard Gere.”
Cal laughed. “That means you’re old.”
“Go to hell.” John grinned while Cal poured the liquor.
“Actually, better than hell...” John began seconds later and slapped the countertop. “Why don’t you come to Florida?”
“This again?” Cal glared at him.
“I’m serious. You’re on your own. I’m on my own, practically doin’ the same game. We can work together.”
“What? And possibly ruin our friendship? We’ve been over this.”
“We get along. We trust each other. It’s not Maggie you’d be workin’ with.”
“Thank God.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“I need to stay in California. I have to live closer to her now.”
“You’re goin’ to go mad eventually, you do know that?”
“I’m already mad. Constance made sure of that.”
“I’m not goin’ to quit askin’ you. Maggie even thinks it’s a good idea.”
“This year, I’m moving to LA.” Cal handed John the glass.
“I don’t think I want a drink now.”
Perhaps Cal didn’t want one either.
Maggie had drunk enough for the three of them.
Nevertheless, Cal picked up the heavy glass with a heavy hand while ignoring the beating of his heavy heart, glanced at the amber color, and swallowed, tipping the entire contents of the highball into his mouth in one smooth motion.