A/N Thank you for reading my new story. I hope you enjoy it. If you have read any of my other stories, welcome back and thank you for returning. If you are new, I hope this is the start of a beautiful friendship :)
The Love and the Anger
Chapter one
Callie and Brandon's mom
Take away the love and the anger
and a little piece of hope holding it together.
Looking for a moment that'll never happen.
Living in the gap between past and future.
Take away the stone and the timber
and a little piece of rope won't hold it together.
(Kate Bush)
It was meal time in the Foster house. Everyone was assembled in the kitchen; shouting, laughing, exchanging jibes, placing various dishes and plates on the table. Organised chaos. Callie felt like an audience of one watching a stage play being performed before her. Worse, she was a participant who had forgotten her lines and when her cue was, or had not been given a speaking part and had to sit here whilst the other players weaved around her.
Everyone spoke quickly and over each other. They mingled together; never colliding, but engaged in a dance where they all knew their own marks. She was mesmerised by the beauty of movement, concussed by the sounds, scared by the addictive nature of a family at peace with itself. She wanted to flee for fear of falling in love with something temporary, something wonderful yet with no chance of a follow through. She wanted to stay despite of all that, so she could at least create a happy memory.
Everyone sat down at their assigned place at the large kitchen table, seemingly in unison as though a bell had been sounded. Then a new movement commenced; dishes of different foodstuffs were passed round like port at a captains table. Callie helped herself to mashed potato and peas and broccoli.
Brandon leant near her and started to pour some wine into a glass placed in front of her. Callie reacted suddenly by pulling the glass away. "No!" She surprised everyone.
"It's OK," Brandon reassured with a smile. "It's not a test. We are allowed one glass with dinner."
"I...I don't drink," Callie stuttered looking to the two moms. Her eyes had a look almost of fear; of horror even.
"What, never?" Jesus was slightly incredulous.
"As if that's a bad thing?" Stef glanced in his direction.
"Never," Callie responded locking eyes with Stef. She looked down, unable to hold the gaze. "Never," she repeated more quietly. "Thank you for the offer, but I would rather not have a drink. I'm...I'm sorry."
"No problem, sweetie," Lena rescued her. "I wish my children were as enlightened." Callie did not miss the emphasis on 'my children', however unintentional it was. In other words, she was not one of them.
"Callie, are you OK with us drinking in front of you?" Stef asked her.
"Of course I am...I mean yes, that's fine...thank you for asking."
"Thank goodness for that," Jesus uttered and took a gulp from his glass as though in fear it would be withdrawn. This broke the attention everyone had on Callie and the meal resumed.
Brandon passed a plate containing pork chops. "You do eat meat, don't you?" He asked with a friendly mocking smile.
Not for the first time that evening – her first evening in the Foster's house, did she notice how attractive he was; not just his looks – although they trumped everything, but also his apparent gentleness. It shone like a beacon from his eyes. She feigned a sardonic expression and took one of the chops from the dish, fervently hoping the pause between doing so and the original offer had not been too long. She was only going to be here temporarily; relationships between foster siblings were not allowed; she already had a boyfriend. The order she listed the three excuses preyed on her mind.
After several minutes of being beaten about the head by the scene of family bonding and domestic bliss Callie was near to breaking point. She stood, unintentionally scraping her chair. The stage players went silent; all eyes locked on her again. Brandon stood up as if on cue – all gentlemen stood up when a woman stood, after all. Callie was impressed and found herself emotionally affected in a wondrous way. Again, she hoped her glance at him was not as long as it felt.
"May I be excused?" She asked politely. Politeness was one of the few things she remembered being taught by her mother. She relished exhibiting it when it was merited; hated it when it was not; refused to play the game when it was expected but not deserved.
"But, you've hardly touched your plate," Lena stated. Callie went cold with fear. "Are you OK, dear?" The feeling of relief at the question, so quick after the earlier statement was almost tangible. She could almost believe her emotions were being manipulated, that her limits were being tested, if it were not for the obvious sincerity that exuded from everyone. Everyone had an aura round them signposted with the words 'trust me'.
"I'm fine, thank you. I...I think I need some fresh air. May I sit on the veranda outside?"
"Of course," Stef granted.
"Thank you...the food was very nice...especially the pork chop," she glanced at Brandon to inject an element of humour to ease the mood of the scene. She backed away from the table and made a quick as was politely acceptable exit onto to the veranda, where she collapsed ungainly onto the seat.
She leant forward and cradled her head in her hands. She massaged her eyes, dragged her hands down her face then sat up. She had things she needed to do; people to contact. One person in particular occupied her mind. She had only partly been able to forget him that evening. The blissful theatre production she had just extricated herself from had shielded her from her worse fears for his well-being – and she felt drenched with guilt for allowing something to make her forget. But his image had still been haunting her: his smile; his laugh; his existence in her life after so long being absent. She felt an overwhelming feeling of desperation envelope her. She looked up and only just prevented herself from crying out. It was at that moment Stef chose to invade her privacy.
Callie stood up when the older woman appeared. It was the polite thing to do. "I'm sorry for leaving the room like that. I needed some fresh air and my bruises are still a little sore."
"Don't worry. I just thought I'd check on you; see that you're alright."
"I'm fine. It's kind of you to ask though." Callie pivoted on one foot awkwardly, then sat down when she thought it was OK to do so.
Stef sat along side her. "You know," she started, "You don't have to be so polite. We're quite an informal family...as you probably realise from the chaos inside." She smiled.
Callie juggled distress with a mounting anger. "Do you know how rare it is that I want to be polite to someone? How rare it is that someone warrants me being polite?" She was angry, yet she desperately wanted to make Stef understand. "Lena rescued me today from spending another night locked up, and probably from having fresh bruises on top of the ones I already have. You have all made me feel welcome. Please don't throw my gratitude back at me."
Stef was visibly impacted by the girl's open desire to be accepted and Callie felt immediate guilt. What on earth had made her emote so much?
"I didn't mean to question your sincerity," Brandon's mother – she was not sure why she labelled her thus, took her hands in her own. "Perhaps I am not used to such politeness. I certainly gave up trying top train Jesus years ago," she smiled again.
Stef's smile enveloped Callie. Her voice entwined itself around her and kidnapped her heart. Callie took her hands back and turned away from the glorious torture. She wanted to flee for fear of falling in love with something temporary, something wonderful yet with no chance of a follow through.
Stef stood up. Callie felt relieved. However, Brandon's mom – again why that choice of words, did not leave her alone. "I'm curious," she said, "why no alcohol?"
Callie was bemused at the question. She had a valid reason for not wishing to drink – extremely so, but she was not so at ease that she was going to reveal it. "I just don't like it. It dulls the senses. It...it changes people." That was all she was going to say.
With relief, it appeared Stef was satisfied with the response. "Did you want something to ease the soreness of your ribs?"
"No," Callie replied quickly. Too quickly. Again, for reasons she was not going to reveal here.
Stef appeared to realise she was not going to achieve any sense of bonding this evening. Callie yearned for her to stay, but desperately wanted her to go as well. The conflict in her head hurt. Stef reached the door. "I have a brother," Callie threw into the air in between.
Stef turned towards her. "Older or younger?"
"Younger. He's twelve. He's called Jude."
Stef sat back down next to Callie. "Where is he at the moment?"
"With the same foster father I left two weeks ago. The one whose car I smashed."
Stef must have noticed the catch in her voice; the despairing fear in her eyes. She took Callie's hands again. "Oh, my poor dear, you're scared he will mistreat Jude because of what you did."
Callie snatched her hands back – anger again. "The mind of a suburban housewife never ceases to amaze me. I mean, seriously, is that the order of events your mind chose?"
The mindset of suburbanites always shocked her; made her want to laugh at its predictability. Suburbia filled her with a cynicism beyond her years. The dangerous proximity of the horrific and the ordinary fascinated her when it was not exerting its worse. This may be a city of sunshine and beaches, but turn a corner and you could be in Hell; a desolate landscape of abusive foster fathers, indifference; people who turned the other way. To Callie's eyes nobody was innocent; everybody was implicated.
"Why do you think I smashed the car?" Callie asked – demanded.
"Are you saying you did it because he hurt Jude first?" Callie wanted to embrace Stef when she saw the horror in her eyes at the realisation of what she herself had been reliving for the weeks she had been locked up. "Did you tell anyone?" From the sublime to the ridiculous.
"Of course I did!" Callie was incredulous. "I told everyone," she cried. "Everyone."
"But no-one listened." Stef stated rather than asked.
"I'm fucking invisible." Callie looked away.
"No more, you're not. Callie..." Stef reached over and took hold of the girl's right arm, then gently pulled her round to face her. "You are as important as the next person, and as long as you are in my house you are one of my own."
Callie just stared at her. She did not know whether to hug Stef – was that acceptable? Or flee what was surely a mean joke being played on her.
"Tomorrow we will go and check on Jude, you and I and Lena." Callie felt tears form and fall. "I promise you," Stef gripped Callie's hands tightly. "I promise you he will not spend another night there after tonight if I have any doubt at his safety."
"You would do that...for someone you have never met?"
"For Jude and for you."
Callie almost threw herself into Stef's arms.
To be continued.
