Kristen Ashley - At Peace

“Girls, come to your mother,” he ordered and both looked at him then they moved hesitantly into the room.

I tried to push away but he held me firm and when they got close they only had eyes for me.

I put my hands on both of their necks and I pulled them closer to Cal and me.

Then I bent my head to them, pulling them in further so we were in a little huddle.

“Something’s happened to Uncle Sam,” I whispered.

I clutched at their necks but they knew, they knew, just like me.

Kate tore free, taking two steps back, her face colorless, her eyes wide with pain.

Keira fell to the floor.

Cal let me go and went after Kate.

I dropped to the floor and gathered Keira to me.

“No!” I heard Kate screech. “Nonononono!”

I looked to her to see her beating Cal’s chest, his arms around her, letting her do it.

Keira just shoved in close, burrowing into me and cried in my arms.

“Oh baby, my baby, my sweet baby,” I cooed, gathering her as close as I could and rocking her.

“Hush, girl,” Cal murmured and my head came up again and I saw Kate clutching Cal, her arms wrapped around his waist, her hands bunching his t-shirt, her face buried in his chest and he had his arms locked around her too, holding her close.

I watched as it overwhelmed her and her legs buckled. Cal caught her, bending, he shifted her into his arms and carried her into my room.

I had no idea why but I got up, pulling Keira with me. She didn’t struggle but she was hard to control, her tears still coming, violent, unrestrained. I guided us into my bedroom and Cal was in my bed, his back to the headboard, Kate curled into him full-body, her face again shoved into his chest, her arm tight around him, her legs curved and tangled with his.

I moved Keira to the other side and instantly she crawled in, moving straight to Cal, to Kate, she burrowed into his other side and locked her arm around Cal and Kate, her head to Cal’s belly.

I slid in behind Keira, holding her close, having no where to put it, I rested my head on his shoulder and did my best to wrap both my girls in my arms.

Cal’s one arm was around Kate’s waist, his other arm slid around my shoulders. I couldn’t help but hope that he was holding Kate as tight as he held me. It felt steady, strong, safe when life had just knocked us right back down to our knees.

“Should I call Doc?” I heard Feb ask.

“Her foot that bad?” Cal asked back.

“It’s deep. I wrapped it up but I can see it’s still bleeding,” Feb answered.

“Call him.”

“Okay.”

Feb closed the door but I heard, in the living room, Myrtle turning my vacuum on.

I bent and kissed Keira’s head then reached to kiss Kate’s.

“We’ll see this through, babies, we will. Promise,” I whispered.

Keira’s body bucked with the next wave of tears that my words caused and Kate’s breath hitched so hard, it made me wince.

“Hang on tight, babies, we’ll see this through,” I kept whispering then my tears came back and I forced my face into Cal’s neck and his arm curled me closer.

“We’ll see this through,” I mumbled and then my breath snagged as I felt Cal’s lips on my forehead.

I should have pushed him away, forced him out of my bed, kept my girls to myself. He had no business being there.

But I couldn’t. He was warm and strong and solid and big enough to surround us with all of that and we all needed it, we needed something to hold onto.

He could go away later.

And anyway, he would.

Keira fell asleep first, Kate next, Vi last.

All their weight was heavy on him, Keira’s head still at his gut, her arm tight around his hip; Kate’s head at his chest, her legs still tangled with his, her body dead weight against his side; Vi’s face in his neck her arm around Keira.

Cal’s back was still to the headboard, his head tipped back and resting against it, his eyes on the ceiling. He was fucking uncomfortable but he didn’t move a muscle.

He heard the door open and he righted his head.

Colt was leaning, shoulder against the doorjamb.

“Doc’s here,” Colt whispered.

“Tell him to come back,” Cal whispered back.

Colt nodded, his eyes did a sweep of Cal under a pile of exhausted, grief-stricken, sleeping females in Vi’s bed.

Then he looked at Cal, shook his head, grinned and walked away.

Crazy fuck.

Keira made a noise in her sleep and pushed closer.

Cal closed his eyes, trying to blot out the feeling.

But he couldn’t blot it out, it was insistent, not to be ignored.

It hit him the minute he saw Vi standing, shoeless, carrying a dust rag, wearing shorts and a tank, the first time he’d seen her in two and a half months and she was shrieking, fuck, the sound of her shrieking the word “no”. He’d never forget it, not in his life. That word, the way she said it, seared a path straight through him.

And it kept coming when he ran to her house after the crashing sounds came from it, the Dad pounding on the door.

And more of it came when he forced his way in and he saw her, that loss claiming her expression, fresh this time, so difficult to witness he felt it settling on his fucking soul.

And more of it came when she pressed into him, giving him her grief.

And more, when Kate beat at him, and more when she collapsed into him under the weight of her sorrow.

And more when they all curled into him, one by one.

And now, that feeling in the left side of his chest wasn’t nagging

It was constant, but it wasn’t pain.

He felt full.

Christ, the way it felt, he was full to bursting.

“Mom!” Keira yelled and I sighed.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I yelled back and looked in the full-length mirror on the back of my bathroom door.

I was tired, so fucking tired, and I looked it. I hadn’t slept deeply since Cal disengaged himself from us so Doc could take a look at my foot, give me a couple of stitches and then proclaim in a heavy way that held more than one meaning, “You’ll be just fine.”

I’d looked into the old man’s eyes and I couldn’t help but believe him. I’d never met him but he seemed a man who knew what he was talking about.

This didn’t last very long, believing Doc that everything would be fine, but at least it helped for awhile.

By the time Doc left, Cal had disappeared. Colt had already called some guy who was fixing the door and Mike had come over and he’d stayed over. He spent the night sleeping on the couch in deference to the girls. He didn’t give me a choice about this, he just did it and I was glad he did, it was good knowing he was there.

He made us scrambled eggs, bacon and toast the next morning. While doing it, and while we were eating it, Mike was demonstrative to me, firmly demonstrative in a way the girls hadn’t seen him be before and in a way it felt like he was fed up with the waiting game and staking his claim.

I let him. I was too overwhelmed to fight it and his demonstrations of affection felt so good, I didn’t want to fight it. In fact, I needed it. The girls were in a fog of grief anyway. They barely noticed.

I slid through the day in a fog too, talking to Mel, who sounded like I felt; taking a few calls from friends from home; Feb, Cheryl and Dee, coming over, spending time. Myrtle popped by with a casserole. Pearl brought homemade brownies with walnuts.

I noticed Cal’s truck didn’t leave his drive and I noticed this when, surprisingly, a bigger truck backed into it and two men loaded it with Cal’s furniture, what appeared to be all of it.

This was a surprise but I didn’t care. It wasn’t my business. He’d been cool the day before and, as much as it hurt when it ended, he didn’t hurt me. I’d done it to myself. He’d been honest with me, he’d told me the way it was. It was me who had again taken it further than he ever intended to go. Why he was sitting on his couch the night it ended, drinking something I couldn’t see, just could see it wasn’t beer, I didn’t know but that made no never mind. He was, it ended, that was it.

I was grateful he’d been around for all of us when we got the news about Sam. I’d thank Cal one day, when I felt stronger and if he wasn’t currently moving house in order to get away from the crazy Winters women whose business kept butting into his lonely, fucked up life.

“Mom!” Keira shouted again, this time with heavy impatience and unmistakable irritation.

“I’m coming!” I shouted back, giving one last look at my outfit in the mirror.

I’d never spent more money on an outfit in my life and didn’t suspect I’d ever be in a position to do it again. A dark gray, light wool dress and little matching jacket. The dress was tight everywhere, scooped neck, short sleeves, a thin, fabric-covered belt at the empire waist. The little jacket that went with it was tailored beautifully and fit like it was made for me with a double row of classy ruffles at the bottom back.

I’d bought it for Tim’s funeral knowing I’d never wear it again, not ever and still spending a fortune on it. I was on such a mission to find the perfect outfit; I went to so many stores all over Chicago that I’d lost count. I was obsessed with it, almost frantic. I wanted to give Tim that, to go to his service, his funeral and the gathering afterward being what I was to him, his pretty, sexy wife who made an effort. It was good I did. Someone got a photo of me in my outfit and it was in the paper. The public got off on grief like that, the fallen cop doing his job for the citizenry, losing his life protecting the people and the grieving wife he left behind.