Amelia opened the bedroom door and stood in the frame of the doorway, staring into its darkness. She hesitated going inside, as if she would be somehow violating Calvin's privacy, and then she remembered her brother had no privacy...she had no brother anymore. Amelia slowly set foot inside the room and flipped the lightswitch by the door, looking around as she did. She and Calvin had been close once, but that time had long since passed. Amelia got further into the room and sat down on his bed cautiously, almost as if he were still laying in it and she didn't want to disturb him, before looking to the nightstand by the bed and noticing a photo of the two of them as kids at a theme park. She smiled as she looked at it, wondering if she'd stayed if they'd still be close. She did always regret losing touch with him, after all, though she'd never admitted to him. And, really, truth be told, she always thought she'd be the first one to die.
A feeling which, at this very moment, Wyatt himself was wishing was true about himself and his father.
Wyatt and Angie were carrying a dresser off a moving truck while Kelly leaned against the wall of the apartment building, sipping her iced coffee.
"You need to tilt, you need to tilt forward, give me more leverage if we're gonna get this thing down the ramp," Wyatt said, groaning.
"I don't have much upper body strength," Angie grumbled, "what is inside this?! Your rock collection!?"
As they got to the bottom and dropped it on the ground gently, Wyatt leaned against it and wiped his forehead against his arm while Angie put her face down against the wood grain. Wyatt looked up to Kelly who just smiled at him, making him smirk.
"Can we get you anything? A pillow or perhaps one of those pair of binoculars rich people use at the opera?" Wyatt asked, and Kelly laughed.
"No I'm good, thanks," she said.
Kelly had purchased a new apartment and was finally moving out of her parents house, ready to be back on her own. Her folks were worried she wouldn't manage it, but she'd gotten better at walking with her new prosthetic and she was feeling pretty confident. She didn't have to walk down stairs, she could take the elevator, plus anyone at work would help if she needed it, and then of course she knew she could rely on Wyatt if she really needed to. Angie finally looked up and exhaled.
"I need two things, something to drink and somewhere to pee, not exactly in that order," Angie said.
"There's a corner store down the street," Kelly said, as Wyatt pulled his wallet out, grabbed some cash and handed it to Angie.
"Get me something too," he said, "root beer and some chips, don't care what kind, something sour cream related."
"You can't say you don't care then give me specifics, those two cancel one another out," Angie said, taking the money and walking off. Wyatt walked up beside Kelly and together they sat on a nearby bench, taking a moment to relax. As Angie disappeared down the street, Kelly, sipping her coffee, motioned towards her.
"What is with that girl?" she asked.
"It's a long story," Wyatt said, "so, are you...I mean, will you be okay? I can stay for dinner if you'd like."
"Oh?" Kelly asked, smiling, "inviting yourself in already?"
"I just don't wanna see my parents," Wyatt said, "my father's been...hounding me, and I'd really rather not see them. Supposed to have dinner with them tonight, but I don't wanna go home. I don't wanna deal with him. He's...he's terrifying."
Kelly was surprised to hear this fear from Wyatt. He'd always seemed so collected, so very sturdy. It didn't make her like him any less, of course, if anything it just made him all the more real to her. Wyatt sighed as Kelly handed him her coffee, and he smiled, taking a drink of it.
"You'd think," he continued, "that with everything we've been through, I'd be a rock by now, but, that just isn't the case. No matter what happens, no matter what I endure and survive, I think my father will always terrify me, and that sucks. I hope my children never feel terrified of me. I don't want that to be the thing they remember best about me, is their fear of me."
"I'm sure that won't be the case," Kelly said, taking her coffee back, "I know it won't."
Kelly lifted her drink back to her lips and Wyatt glanced at her, sideyed so she wouldn't notice his stare. It was early afternoon, the sun was bright, breaking through the leaves of the many trees that covered the sidewalk this apartment complex just happened to nestled on, and was lighting up her face. Kelly, with her big eyes and her small nose and her golden hair. Wyatt felt a pang of fear in his chest, and he looked away, clearing his throat.
"Yeah, well, I am gonna do whatever it takes to be his opposite," he said, "enough people fear me as it is, I'm sure. My kids don't need to be on that list too."
***
Celia had had a busy day.
First work, then she had to pick up her son, Daryl, and now the two of them were at the pediatricians office. He was on the floor, playing with one toy or another with a little girl around his age. Daryl was 5 and she was 7. Celia was glancing up over the top of her book on occasion and smiling at the sight before going back to reading.
"What are you in?" a woman asked, sitting nearby, making Celia chuckle.
"Um, he's having a problem sleeping through the night," Celia said, "I want to rule out anything like sleep apnea or whatever, you know? That way I can rest easy knowing he's resting easy. What about you?"
"My daughter's just here for a minor checkup," she replied, "nothing serious. We have other doctors to attend to her medical needs, this is just a general practitioner visit, you know?"
"I hope he's not running late, I have to get back to work," Celia said, checking her watch, "last thing I wanna do is be coming home late again. At some point the babysitter is gonna accuse me of child labor for all the hours she's had to watch him for me. Girl shouldn't be complaining, she's makin' a mint off me, lemme tell ya."
The woman snickered, and Celia smiled. It was nice, she thought, chatting with another mom. A totally normal, simple thing to do. Almost made her feel like her life wasn't the kind of fucked up twisted soap opera it was.
"What about his father?" the woman asked, and Celia sighed.
"We aren't together," Celia said, "he actually isn't even in town anymore. He wasn't abusive or anything, don't let me give you the wrong idea, we just...he had things he had to figure out, and we weren't as ready to have a kid as we thought. We were young. Believed in true love and all that nonsense that accompanies it. I try to hold no ill will towards him, but it can be hard. What about you?"
"My husband is dead," the woman said, sniffling, "um, but, you know, I make do. With settlement money, lawsuit money, money from his job, savings, etc. We manage."
"I'm so sorry, what happened to you-" Celia started, when a nurse came from the back with a clipboard.
"Leslie Grudin, the doctor will see your daughter now," she said. The woman gathered her things, stood up and took her daughter by the hand, waving goodbye at Celia, who stared on dumbstruck. She couldn't believe her eyes. Of all the mothers she could've been seated by, it was Leslie goddamned Grudin. And the worst part? This wasn't even the most shocking thing that would happen to her today.
***
"Where are Calvin's papers?" Amelia asked.
She was standing with her parents in the living room, the two of them seated on the couch watching a golf tournament while sharing a bowl of mixed nuts. Her father stood up, wiped his hands on his pants and motioned for her to follow him. As they headed down the downstairs hall, to his office, Amelia didn't know what to expect, really, from her brothers will.
"When you two were little," her father, Barry, said, "you guys used to hide things all around the house, remember? Little notes and stuff. Stuff for mom and I to find. You'd put 'em in our books, in our dressers, anywhere you knew was important enough that we would find them. So, when Calvin came to me, asking for a place to keep this kind of stuff once he was married and it became important to him, I knew just the right spot."
Barry opened the door to his home office, and the two of them walked inside, Barry shutting the door behind them. He then turned his attention to an air vent, pointing. Amelia dragged his desk chair over to the wall, climbed up on top of it and pulled the grate off, then reached inside, pulling out a folder.
"This isn't even a proper air vent," she said.
"No, it's not, I hollowed it out to make room for this specifically," Barry said, and Amelia couldn't help but smile at their fathers efforts for them. She climbed back down from the chair while he held it steady, then once her feet were flat on the floor, she opened the folder and looked inside.
"Anything in here I should know about that you already know about or?" Amelia asked, and Barry shrugged.
"I never read it. He named you the sole benefactor of his estate," Barry said, "didn't want us dealing with it. I think...I think maybe he knew how it would hurt us, because of the loss he went through firsthand. Didn't wanna impart that on his own folks on his way out."
Barry sat down in the chair and covered his face with his hands as Amelia shut the folder, tucked it under one arm and put her other hand on her fathers back, rubbing in a slow, soothing motion.
"I miss him so much," Barry whispered, trying not to cry, "...I can't believe he did this. I mean, on one hand, and your mother would never want to hear or agree with it but, on one hand, it really isn't all that surprising. He lost everything. He was lost, himself. He had a few friends, but that was it. Otherwise he spent most of his time out in the shed, working on various little projects. Keeping his mind occupied. Because that's what hobbies become when you have nothing else, they become your everything. Instead of a hobby, they become an outright distraction from the pain. When I was in college, my grandfather, who I'd been very close to, died suddenly, and as a result, I started building model airplanes with alarming regularity. It was something we'd done together. At first I figured, you know, it made it feel like he wasn't gone but...but in actuality all I was doing was hiding from the fact that he was. He was gone. And now my son is gone too."
Amelia, now doing her best not to cry either, leaned down and kissed her father on the head.
"I got this dad, you don't have to worry," she whispered, "I'll take care of it all. We'd always been close, so I don't mind."
After they left the office, Barry heading back to the living room while Amelia headed back to Calvin's room, all she could think about was how her father was right. Calvin's death, presumably suicide to his family - that's what it had been labeled as anyway, despite the shot being in a rather suspicious place - really didn't come as that much of a shock after the initial, inevitable shock. Calvin had always had one foot in the grave, she felt. They both hand, they were morbid, that was part of what they had in common. Amelia set the folder down on the bedside table and then curled up on her brothers bed once more, pulling a stuffed bunny to her chest and hugging it tightly.
Ironic, she thought. She always assumed she'd be the one to off herself.
***
Wyatt and Kelly were in her apartment loft, as Angie had to attend another engagement so she couldn't help finish the job. The place was spacious, with a sunken in area in the middle of the living room for a couch and a table, large sliding glass doors that led to a balcony, tons of closet space. Wyatt had to admit, he was impressed. He didn't know news anchors made this much. Course, Kelly probably got a mint from the airline for the crash, which probably didn't hurt. He dropped a box onto the floor and sat on it, as she came walking in.
"No no, don't sit on that!" she shouted, and he quickly leapt off.
"Sorry, I didn't...I didn't know it was fragile or something, it's not labeled," Wyatt said, as she opened the lid, revealing her plastic horse collection.
"Well why would I label anything, I moved across town, not to another city with a moving company handling it, I know what's in what," Kelly said, Wyatt smirking as she pulled out a few horses and checked them; after a moment she looked up at him and blushed, asking, "what?"
"Nothing, just...nothing. You're such a girl," he said, laughing.
"Ya know, girls aren't the only ones who like horses," Kelly said, standing up and walking to a nearby buit in wall shelf where she started to place the horses, adding, "I mean, most of the most famous people in the west were guys, cowboys. Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Sherrif Matt Dillon from Gunsmoke. We're not the weird ones. Guys liked horses just as much. It's just that, at some point, society decided that horses were a girl animal and now guys are afraid to like them."
"I won't argue with you on that, cause you're right," Wyatt said, stepping down into the sunken area and plopping onto the couch as Kelly continued putting her horses on the shelf.
"I loved riding," Kelly said, "I'm so sad I probably won't get to do it again."
"Who says you can't do it again?" Wyatt asked.
"I mean, prosthetic leg, hello?" Kelly asked.
"So fuckin' what?" Wyatt asked, making her laugh; he leaned forward as she sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, and he continued, "I mean, you yourself told me about that girl in college, the track girl, and she had a prosthetic leg. You can do the same things you did before, Kelly, you're the same person. You're not fucking suddenly prisoner to some weird ass restrictions, okay?"
Kelly smiled and looked at her hands in her lap, playing with her false nails.
"Do you, I mean...have you gone horseback riding?" she asked.
"Kelly I'm rich, yes, I've been horseback riding. I don't know if you know this, but rich people use horses a lot. Fox hunting, polo, it's a little ridiculous actually, our reliance on the equine. Especially when we can afford Ferrari's," Wyatt said.
"Yeah but you can't hunt foxes in a Ferrari," Kelly said, as Wyatt snapped his fingers and pointed at her.
"No need for guns when you can run 'em down," he said, the both of them laughing. After the laugh ended, they sat in their respective seats and looked at one another. It was getting later in the day, and Wyatt figured he should be going home. He stood up, and she did as well, surprising him with her sudden movement.
"Are you going?" she asked.
"I really should have dinner with them, much as I don't want to," Wyatt said.
"Oh, right, okay that makes sense," Kelly said, walking with him to the door. As they got to it, Wyatt stopped and turned to face her.
"You wanna go horseback riding with me and my daughter?" Wyatt asked, and Kelly's eyes widened in excitement.
"Really?!" she asked, with the infectious enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning.
"Yeah, really. I bought her a pony, you know that. We can use some of the horses at the stable, just go for a ride. Prove to yourself you can still do it," Wyatt said, and Kellys face redened more than he'd ever seen as she looked at her feet, smiling like an idiot.
"I would love to," she said, "thank you."
"I got you girl, we'll go soon," Wyatt said, before exiting into the hall, Kelly holding the door open as he went. He stopped again and looked back once more, adding, "it's a nice place. I'm a little jealous. Hopefully by the time I come back, you'll have it fully furnished, and I can see all the things you're interested in so I can more accurately make fun of you."
"That's what friends are for," Kelly said, shrugging, the both of them laughing. He hugged her, then went along his way. Kelly watched him disappear down the hall, into the flight of stairs, and she sighed. She wanted him to stay. She wanted him to have dinner here, with her. She wanted to keep cracking wise, unpacking with him, and then, after they were finished, she wanted him to take her to the bed and make love to her. She wanted to feel him inside her, to feel like she finally understood what it was to be desired by someone. But he had a wife. He had a family, and children. Kelly would, as she'd done so many times in her life, have to live inside a fantasy instead.
Part of being a weather girl, really. Her head was always in the clouds.
***
Celia had put Daryl to bed and was finally winding down for the evening. She was sitting on her bed, eating ice cream in her silk black and pink pajama set. She didn't have anything in particular on the TV, she was just watching it rather absentmindedly, but the background noise helped keeping her thoughts from returning to the afternoon. To the interaction with Leslie. She sighed and shook her head. After Celia finished her ice cream, she took her bowl to the kitchen, filled it with some water and left it in the sink. She would deal with it in the morning. Halfway back down the hall was when the knock on the front door came. She turned and walked back, peering through the peephole before sighing and opening it.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"We have to talk," Paul said, "We have to, Celia."
"...I won't fight you on that, I do think we need to talk. He's asleep already, in case you were hoping to see him."
"I can wait," Paul said, "but you and I need to discuss some things. Can I come in?"
Celia sighed and stepped aside, allowing her estranged husband to enter the house. Meanwhile, across town, Amelia had just woken up from a nap. She went downstairs and found it quiet. Parents already in bed, clearly. TV still on in the living room, but on mute. She clicked it off before hitting the bathroom and brushing out her hair. She then headed for the kitchen, made herself some cocoa and took it back upstairs. Once back in Calvin's room, she sat on the bed and set the glass down on the bedside table, atop the folder. As she moved to get into the bed, her knee knocked against the table, making it shake, the glass spilling a bit onto the folder and the photograph she'd been looking at of the two of them falling back between the table and the wall. Amelia grasped at her knee, wincing.
"Mother fuck," she whispered, before pulling the table out a bit to retrieve the picture. Instead, what her hand grabbed, was a small black book. She pulled it out and opened it. A day planner. And inside, on the day he'd died, Calvin had written one thing.
"Call Rachel."
"Who the fuck is Rachel?" she mumbled to herself, before flipping through and her eyes catching something else, from a few pages back. Something about a lunch. A lunch with Wyatt Bloom.
A feeling which, at this very moment, Wyatt himself was wishing was true about himself and his father.
Wyatt and Angie were carrying a dresser off a moving truck while Kelly leaned against the wall of the apartment building, sipping her iced coffee.
"You need to tilt, you need to tilt forward, give me more leverage if we're gonna get this thing down the ramp," Wyatt said, groaning.
"I don't have much upper body strength," Angie grumbled, "what is inside this?! Your rock collection!?"
As they got to the bottom and dropped it on the ground gently, Wyatt leaned against it and wiped his forehead against his arm while Angie put her face down against the wood grain. Wyatt looked up to Kelly who just smiled at him, making him smirk.
"Can we get you anything? A pillow or perhaps one of those pair of binoculars rich people use at the opera?" Wyatt asked, and Kelly laughed.
"No I'm good, thanks," she said.
Kelly had purchased a new apartment and was finally moving out of her parents house, ready to be back on her own. Her folks were worried she wouldn't manage it, but she'd gotten better at walking with her new prosthetic and she was feeling pretty confident. She didn't have to walk down stairs, she could take the elevator, plus anyone at work would help if she needed it, and then of course she knew she could rely on Wyatt if she really needed to. Angie finally looked up and exhaled.
"I need two things, something to drink and somewhere to pee, not exactly in that order," Angie said.
"There's a corner store down the street," Kelly said, as Wyatt pulled his wallet out, grabbed some cash and handed it to Angie.
"Get me something too," he said, "root beer and some chips, don't care what kind, something sour cream related."
"You can't say you don't care then give me specifics, those two cancel one another out," Angie said, taking the money and walking off. Wyatt walked up beside Kelly and together they sat on a nearby bench, taking a moment to relax. As Angie disappeared down the street, Kelly, sipping her coffee, motioned towards her.
"What is with that girl?" she asked.
"It's a long story," Wyatt said, "so, are you...I mean, will you be okay? I can stay for dinner if you'd like."
"Oh?" Kelly asked, smiling, "inviting yourself in already?"
"I just don't wanna see my parents," Wyatt said, "my father's been...hounding me, and I'd really rather not see them. Supposed to have dinner with them tonight, but I don't wanna go home. I don't wanna deal with him. He's...he's terrifying."
Kelly was surprised to hear this fear from Wyatt. He'd always seemed so collected, so very sturdy. It didn't make her like him any less, of course, if anything it just made him all the more real to her. Wyatt sighed as Kelly handed him her coffee, and he smiled, taking a drink of it.
"You'd think," he continued, "that with everything we've been through, I'd be a rock by now, but, that just isn't the case. No matter what happens, no matter what I endure and survive, I think my father will always terrify me, and that sucks. I hope my children never feel terrified of me. I don't want that to be the thing they remember best about me, is their fear of me."
"I'm sure that won't be the case," Kelly said, taking her coffee back, "I know it won't."
Kelly lifted her drink back to her lips and Wyatt glanced at her, sideyed so she wouldn't notice his stare. It was early afternoon, the sun was bright, breaking through the leaves of the many trees that covered the sidewalk this apartment complex just happened to nestled on, and was lighting up her face. Kelly, with her big eyes and her small nose and her golden hair. Wyatt felt a pang of fear in his chest, and he looked away, clearing his throat.
"Yeah, well, I am gonna do whatever it takes to be his opposite," he said, "enough people fear me as it is, I'm sure. My kids don't need to be on that list too."
***
Celia had had a busy day.
First work, then she had to pick up her son, Daryl, and now the two of them were at the pediatricians office. He was on the floor, playing with one toy or another with a little girl around his age. Daryl was 5 and she was 7. Celia was glancing up over the top of her book on occasion and smiling at the sight before going back to reading.
"What are you in?" a woman asked, sitting nearby, making Celia chuckle.
"Um, he's having a problem sleeping through the night," Celia said, "I want to rule out anything like sleep apnea or whatever, you know? That way I can rest easy knowing he's resting easy. What about you?"
"My daughter's just here for a minor checkup," she replied, "nothing serious. We have other doctors to attend to her medical needs, this is just a general practitioner visit, you know?"
"I hope he's not running late, I have to get back to work," Celia said, checking her watch, "last thing I wanna do is be coming home late again. At some point the babysitter is gonna accuse me of child labor for all the hours she's had to watch him for me. Girl shouldn't be complaining, she's makin' a mint off me, lemme tell ya."
The woman snickered, and Celia smiled. It was nice, she thought, chatting with another mom. A totally normal, simple thing to do. Almost made her feel like her life wasn't the kind of fucked up twisted soap opera it was.
"What about his father?" the woman asked, and Celia sighed.
"We aren't together," Celia said, "he actually isn't even in town anymore. He wasn't abusive or anything, don't let me give you the wrong idea, we just...he had things he had to figure out, and we weren't as ready to have a kid as we thought. We were young. Believed in true love and all that nonsense that accompanies it. I try to hold no ill will towards him, but it can be hard. What about you?"
"My husband is dead," the woman said, sniffling, "um, but, you know, I make do. With settlement money, lawsuit money, money from his job, savings, etc. We manage."
"I'm so sorry, what happened to you-" Celia started, when a nurse came from the back with a clipboard.
"Leslie Grudin, the doctor will see your daughter now," she said. The woman gathered her things, stood up and took her daughter by the hand, waving goodbye at Celia, who stared on dumbstruck. She couldn't believe her eyes. Of all the mothers she could've been seated by, it was Leslie goddamned Grudin. And the worst part? This wasn't even the most shocking thing that would happen to her today.
***
"Where are Calvin's papers?" Amelia asked.
She was standing with her parents in the living room, the two of them seated on the couch watching a golf tournament while sharing a bowl of mixed nuts. Her father stood up, wiped his hands on his pants and motioned for her to follow him. As they headed down the downstairs hall, to his office, Amelia didn't know what to expect, really, from her brothers will.
"When you two were little," her father, Barry, said, "you guys used to hide things all around the house, remember? Little notes and stuff. Stuff for mom and I to find. You'd put 'em in our books, in our dressers, anywhere you knew was important enough that we would find them. So, when Calvin came to me, asking for a place to keep this kind of stuff once he was married and it became important to him, I knew just the right spot."
Barry opened the door to his home office, and the two of them walked inside, Barry shutting the door behind them. He then turned his attention to an air vent, pointing. Amelia dragged his desk chair over to the wall, climbed up on top of it and pulled the grate off, then reached inside, pulling out a folder.
"This isn't even a proper air vent," she said.
"No, it's not, I hollowed it out to make room for this specifically," Barry said, and Amelia couldn't help but smile at their fathers efforts for them. She climbed back down from the chair while he held it steady, then once her feet were flat on the floor, she opened the folder and looked inside.
"Anything in here I should know about that you already know about or?" Amelia asked, and Barry shrugged.
"I never read it. He named you the sole benefactor of his estate," Barry said, "didn't want us dealing with it. I think...I think maybe he knew how it would hurt us, because of the loss he went through firsthand. Didn't wanna impart that on his own folks on his way out."
Barry sat down in the chair and covered his face with his hands as Amelia shut the folder, tucked it under one arm and put her other hand on her fathers back, rubbing in a slow, soothing motion.
"I miss him so much," Barry whispered, trying not to cry, "...I can't believe he did this. I mean, on one hand, and your mother would never want to hear or agree with it but, on one hand, it really isn't all that surprising. He lost everything. He was lost, himself. He had a few friends, but that was it. Otherwise he spent most of his time out in the shed, working on various little projects. Keeping his mind occupied. Because that's what hobbies become when you have nothing else, they become your everything. Instead of a hobby, they become an outright distraction from the pain. When I was in college, my grandfather, who I'd been very close to, died suddenly, and as a result, I started building model airplanes with alarming regularity. It was something we'd done together. At first I figured, you know, it made it feel like he wasn't gone but...but in actuality all I was doing was hiding from the fact that he was. He was gone. And now my son is gone too."
Amelia, now doing her best not to cry either, leaned down and kissed her father on the head.
"I got this dad, you don't have to worry," she whispered, "I'll take care of it all. We'd always been close, so I don't mind."
After they left the office, Barry heading back to the living room while Amelia headed back to Calvin's room, all she could think about was how her father was right. Calvin's death, presumably suicide to his family - that's what it had been labeled as anyway, despite the shot being in a rather suspicious place - really didn't come as that much of a shock after the initial, inevitable shock. Calvin had always had one foot in the grave, she felt. They both hand, they were morbid, that was part of what they had in common. Amelia set the folder down on the bedside table and then curled up on her brothers bed once more, pulling a stuffed bunny to her chest and hugging it tightly.
Ironic, she thought. She always assumed she'd be the one to off herself.
***
Wyatt and Kelly were in her apartment loft, as Angie had to attend another engagement so she couldn't help finish the job. The place was spacious, with a sunken in area in the middle of the living room for a couch and a table, large sliding glass doors that led to a balcony, tons of closet space. Wyatt had to admit, he was impressed. He didn't know news anchors made this much. Course, Kelly probably got a mint from the airline for the crash, which probably didn't hurt. He dropped a box onto the floor and sat on it, as she came walking in.
"No no, don't sit on that!" she shouted, and he quickly leapt off.
"Sorry, I didn't...I didn't know it was fragile or something, it's not labeled," Wyatt said, as she opened the lid, revealing her plastic horse collection.
"Well why would I label anything, I moved across town, not to another city with a moving company handling it, I know what's in what," Kelly said, Wyatt smirking as she pulled out a few horses and checked them; after a moment she looked up at him and blushed, asking, "what?"
"Nothing, just...nothing. You're such a girl," he said, laughing.
"Ya know, girls aren't the only ones who like horses," Kelly said, standing up and walking to a nearby buit in wall shelf where she started to place the horses, adding, "I mean, most of the most famous people in the west were guys, cowboys. Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Sherrif Matt Dillon from Gunsmoke. We're not the weird ones. Guys liked horses just as much. It's just that, at some point, society decided that horses were a girl animal and now guys are afraid to like them."
"I won't argue with you on that, cause you're right," Wyatt said, stepping down into the sunken area and plopping onto the couch as Kelly continued putting her horses on the shelf.
"I loved riding," Kelly said, "I'm so sad I probably won't get to do it again."
"Who says you can't do it again?" Wyatt asked.
"I mean, prosthetic leg, hello?" Kelly asked.
"So fuckin' what?" Wyatt asked, making her laugh; he leaned forward as she sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, and he continued, "I mean, you yourself told me about that girl in college, the track girl, and she had a prosthetic leg. You can do the same things you did before, Kelly, you're the same person. You're not fucking suddenly prisoner to some weird ass restrictions, okay?"
Kelly smiled and looked at her hands in her lap, playing with her false nails.
"Do you, I mean...have you gone horseback riding?" she asked.
"Kelly I'm rich, yes, I've been horseback riding. I don't know if you know this, but rich people use horses a lot. Fox hunting, polo, it's a little ridiculous actually, our reliance on the equine. Especially when we can afford Ferrari's," Wyatt said.
"Yeah but you can't hunt foxes in a Ferrari," Kelly said, as Wyatt snapped his fingers and pointed at her.
"No need for guns when you can run 'em down," he said, the both of them laughing. After the laugh ended, they sat in their respective seats and looked at one another. It was getting later in the day, and Wyatt figured he should be going home. He stood up, and she did as well, surprising him with her sudden movement.
"Are you going?" she asked.
"I really should have dinner with them, much as I don't want to," Wyatt said.
"Oh, right, okay that makes sense," Kelly said, walking with him to the door. As they got to it, Wyatt stopped and turned to face her.
"You wanna go horseback riding with me and my daughter?" Wyatt asked, and Kelly's eyes widened in excitement.
"Really?!" she asked, with the infectious enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning.
"Yeah, really. I bought her a pony, you know that. We can use some of the horses at the stable, just go for a ride. Prove to yourself you can still do it," Wyatt said, and Kellys face redened more than he'd ever seen as she looked at her feet, smiling like an idiot.
"I would love to," she said, "thank you."
"I got you girl, we'll go soon," Wyatt said, before exiting into the hall, Kelly holding the door open as he went. He stopped again and looked back once more, adding, "it's a nice place. I'm a little jealous. Hopefully by the time I come back, you'll have it fully furnished, and I can see all the things you're interested in so I can more accurately make fun of you."
"That's what friends are for," Kelly said, shrugging, the both of them laughing. He hugged her, then went along his way. Kelly watched him disappear down the hall, into the flight of stairs, and she sighed. She wanted him to stay. She wanted him to have dinner here, with her. She wanted to keep cracking wise, unpacking with him, and then, after they were finished, she wanted him to take her to the bed and make love to her. She wanted to feel him inside her, to feel like she finally understood what it was to be desired by someone. But he had a wife. He had a family, and children. Kelly would, as she'd done so many times in her life, have to live inside a fantasy instead.
Part of being a weather girl, really. Her head was always in the clouds.
***
Celia had put Daryl to bed and was finally winding down for the evening. She was sitting on her bed, eating ice cream in her silk black and pink pajama set. She didn't have anything in particular on the TV, she was just watching it rather absentmindedly, but the background noise helped keeping her thoughts from returning to the afternoon. To the interaction with Leslie. She sighed and shook her head. After Celia finished her ice cream, she took her bowl to the kitchen, filled it with some water and left it in the sink. She would deal with it in the morning. Halfway back down the hall was when the knock on the front door came. She turned and walked back, peering through the peephole before sighing and opening it.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"We have to talk," Paul said, "We have to, Celia."
"...I won't fight you on that, I do think we need to talk. He's asleep already, in case you were hoping to see him."
"I can wait," Paul said, "but you and I need to discuss some things. Can I come in?"
Celia sighed and stepped aside, allowing her estranged husband to enter the house. Meanwhile, across town, Amelia had just woken up from a nap. She went downstairs and found it quiet. Parents already in bed, clearly. TV still on in the living room, but on mute. She clicked it off before hitting the bathroom and brushing out her hair. She then headed for the kitchen, made herself some cocoa and took it back upstairs. Once back in Calvin's room, she sat on the bed and set the glass down on the bedside table, atop the folder. As she moved to get into the bed, her knee knocked against the table, making it shake, the glass spilling a bit onto the folder and the photograph she'd been looking at of the two of them falling back between the table and the wall. Amelia grasped at her knee, wincing.
"Mother fuck," she whispered, before pulling the table out a bit to retrieve the picture. Instead, what her hand grabbed, was a small black book. She pulled it out and opened it. A day planner. And inside, on the day he'd died, Calvin had written one thing.
"Call Rachel."
"Who the fuck is Rachel?" she mumbled to herself, before flipping through and her eyes catching something else, from a few pages back. Something about a lunch. A lunch with Wyatt Bloom.