Nothing is making sense.
He wouldn’t leave me to go back home. This can’t be his home. He told me he grew up in Chicago. I never even thought about him having close family. He never mentioned anything about them.
At our wedding, the only people who came that were close to him were Dexter and Helen and quite a few of their business associates. This all has to be a lie. There has to be some explanation for this. I can’t even imagine what he’s going to say when he sees me… if he’s even at this address. What will this woman say to me when I show up asking about her son? Is this even his mother? All of these questions run through my mind.
I sit up and take a few deep breaths, trying to clear my head, wanting to get away from my jumbled thoughts. Well, there’s only one way to find out. I turn the key and start the car.
Chapter 15
March 8th, 2011
“How do you know he’s okay, Dexter? Why is he not answering my calls? I’m about to call the fucking cops!” I say frantically into the phone while pacing the floor. The tone of his voice is pissing me off. He’s calm and amused, seemingly unfazed, while I’m losing my mind.
I haven’t seen or heard from Cal in four days. No response to my texts or voice mails. I tried to play it cool at first. I didn’t want to seem like the bored, crazy wife. Especially since this is just his second trip away since we’ve been married.
Day One: I don’t call him the entire day—well, not for a long time, anyway. Eventually I do want to make sure he made it to where he was going. I send him a text, only to get no response. So I call that night. No answer. I call again and the phone goes straight to voice mail.
Day Two: I call again, like any rational person would, but the phone is off and the call goes straight to voice mail.
Day Three: I’m still going straight to voice mail, and I’m just supposed to be fine with this? I don’t know where he is or if he’s okay. Should I just let it slide? He’s not in the fucking army. I’m sure wherever he is there is an outlet for a charger if his phone died.
Day Four: I’m yelling at Dexter. I know it’s not his fault, but since he’s not taking this seriously at all, he gets to get yelled at before Cal. According to Dexter, all of this is fucking normal. Nothing to worry about! Well, if nothing is wrong, Cal’s definitely going to have something to worry about once he gets home.
“Lauren, I can assure you Cal’s fine. This is what he does,” Dexter says. “He won’t be able to answer your every call. If something was wrong, I’d know, then you’d be the first to know.”
Actually, if he knew first, that would make me the second person to know, but I’m not going to argue that point right now. “I don’t expect him to answer every call, but I do expect to hear from him at least once after four days. Why is it that you can reach him and I can’t? I do—”
I’m cut off as the downstairs door opens and Cal walks in.
“Never mind,” I say and abruptly hang up. Dexter isn’t the person who deserves my interrogation or possible anger, depending on the explanation his best friend gives, but I don’t care right now.
Cal strolls in, dropping his bag from his shoulder to the floor. When he sees me, a wide grin appears on his face. He must not be reading my expression correctly at all, which is somewhere between worried and super pissed.
“Hey, gorgeous!” he says, pulling me toward him.
I allow him to briefly kiss my lips, but I pull away shortly after. He seems taken aback by my reaction. Oh, is he about to understand.
I pat his chest and touch his face, looking at it from all sides. “Open your mouth.” I prop my hands on my hips.
He sticks his tongue out and, a second later, grabs me and licks my cheek. I push him away, demanding myself not to laugh. I’m still mad, and his little antics aren’t going to work today.
“If you want to play doctor, you just have to say it,” he says, squeezing my butt.
I slap his hand away. “No. I’m trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with you. It has to be something, since I haven’t talked to you in four days.” My arms are folded across my chest.
He looks at the ceiling as if he’s bored with my speech.
“Hello!” I say, irritated by his nonchalant demeanor.
“I’m listening,” he says, walking away from me.
I follow him. “Do you know how worried I was about you?” I try to allow my sincerity to seep through.
I trail him into the kitchen. He heads directly to the fridge, his attention seemingly more on what he’s about to eat than on listening to me, and I feel my anger rising.
“I told you not to worry when I left,” he says, riffling through the fridge. “I’m so fucking hungry.” He shuts it, seemingly unsatisfied with the contents.
“Where were you?” I ask pointedly.
“I told you. In Colorado, working.” He stuffs a bagel into his mouth before he hops up onto the island.
“Working. Really?” I ask somewhat sarcastically.
“What else would I be doing?” he states slowly, as if I can’t comprehend him.
“Don’t patronize me, Cal. This really isn’t the time to do it.” My patience is wearing thinner as this conversation goes on.
“You’re patronizing me. This is my third time telling you where I was. I don’t know how else you want to hear it,” he says sarcastically, getting off the island and going back into the fridge for a soda.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” I ask.
“I just didn’t get around to it,” he says impatiently with a shrug. A shrug!
I bite my lip. “That’s it? You just didn’t get around to it?”
“Yeah,” he states simply, his voice just as sharp as mine.
I can’t believe he seems irritated with my questions. It’s almost as if he doesn’t understand why I’m asking them. I shake my head in disbelief and walk away from him, swallowing the urge to lash out at him with a verbal assault.
“What’s with the third degree on this? This has never been a problem before. Why now?” he asks, following me.
I stop in my tracks and turn around to face him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t recall you ever leaving for four days straight and not answering your phone or calling me back.”
“I’ve been gone before, and you didn’t freak out the way you are now.”
I fold my arms. “This is different.”
“Why?” he counters.
“Because this isn’t normal! I don’t have a problem with you being gone for work, but you don’t get to leave and not have any contact with me. I was so worried about you. I didn’t know if you were okay, or if you even made your flight. How do you not understand how I feel right now? It was four days of utter worry, frustration, and anxiety. Do you think this is how I want to feel whenever you go to work?” I say, trying to take the anger out of my voice. I only want him to hear my concern, but I may not be doing a great job at it since I am furious right now.
He looks away from me briefly, staring at his feet. “Babe, this going to happen sometimes. I thought you got that, that you were okay with it,” he says, a hint of disbelief in his voice.