Note: The song in this chapter is Rod Stewart's Reason to Believe.
Chapter Four
Softly, I hear music begin to play.
If I listen long enough to you, I'll find a way to believe that it's all true. Knowing, that you lied, straight faced while I cried. Still, I look to find a reason to believe.
Eyebrows furrowed, slightly open mouthed. "You love me?"
"Of course I do," Cal admits.
"I love you too."
I mean honestly, anyone could've made the same mistake I did. Anyone. I swear.
Cal gives me a slight smile. I'm sure it's the best he can do under the circumstances. "I know."
He lets go of my shoulders and pulls me into a hug, his arms resting around my waist. Meanwhile, I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my body close to his, feeling the warmth emanating from his body, and I rest my head on his shoulders. Slowly, we begin to sway to the music.
Someone like you, makes it hard to live without, somebody else. Someone like you makes it easy to give, never think about myself.
It's nice, the silence between us. Right now we're simply happy just swaying to the music, not thinking about the circumstance that got us here.
If I gave you time to change my mind, I'd try to leave all the past behind. Knowing, that you lied, straight faced while I cried. Still, I look to find a reason to believe.
In the back of my mind I figure that Emily's behind this matchmaking. If I'm smart, I would have already guessed; should've already known. Cal isn't the type of person to apologize with a song. He's not that creative, however, his daughter certainly is.
Someone like you, makes it easy to live without, somebody else. Someone like you makes it hard to give, never think about myself. Still I look to find a reason to believe.
We're still swaying, even after the music has ended, noticing the uncomfortable silence is setting in. When we stop dancing, I can still feel the heat of his body, more intensified. I'll blame the romantic atmosphere. I'll blame the music. I'll even blame Emily.
As if in slow motion, I stand up on my tip toes, licking my lips in anticipation, gently gripping his left arm with my right hand, and finally, pressing my lips to his.
Cal gently pushes me away. "Gill!"
"What's wrong?"
"What are you doin'?"
"I thought you love me?"
"I do, I do," he assures me. "But I'm not in love with you."
What? It takes me a minute for the information to sink in. Meanwhile, it's like I'm frozen in time. I look like I'm about to throw up, or die from embarrassment. Or both.
"I...I...I'm sorry," I say, backing towards the door. When I bump into the kitchen sink, I knock over a bunch of clean dishes and trip over my purse. This is enough humiliation for one day. I make a run for the door without looking back.
"Gill!" I hear him yell. But tears have already threatened to surface, and I've promised myself not to show Cal anymore weakness than I already have. He doesn't need the ammunition. I stumble finding my keys for a minute, discovering them in a side pocket of my purse. The car door beeps open, and I slide inside, slamming the door behind me. By now, Cal's already at the front door yelling stuff. But it's muffled; I can't really hear him anymore. What, with my body wrenching sobs, and tears streaming down my face. I wipe away my tears, and drive away. The last thing I hear Cal yelling is, "Gill! You can't leave without saying goodbye!"
333
I'm already outside, when Emily steps out of the shadows and stands beside her father. "Dad?"
Cal looks down at her. "Yeah?" He's still in a bit of shock from what happened.
"What did you do?" Emily asks him accusingly. Without waiting for an answer. "Aren't you gonna go after her?"
From behind the kitchen door, Emily hears Cal call out to me, "Gill! You can't leave without saying goodbye!"
333
I'm safe now. No Cal, no Emily. Ensconced on my living room couch, I settle in to watch reruns of Grey's Anatomy. During the first commercial break, I get up to pour myself a cup of tea. Sipping it at the counter, I decide that today deserves something a little bit stronger - some Irish Whiskey. Ah, I think, that's better. After downing the tea, and then pouring myself another, I end up falling asleep on the couch until after four pm.
I scold myself. I should really be packing. Don't I have a trip to go on? I don't really feel like leaving the comfort of my couch, but I venture into my room to pull out my oversized, over priced Louis Vuitton suitcase. I line up the entire line. Large suitcase, medium suitcase and carry-on bag. Unlike most travellers, I like to be prepared. All of my clothes have been neatly folded, make up separated into little baggies, footwear, underwear, and all travel documents have been set aside for about a week.
I sit down, thinking about the events that lead up to this moment...
Flashback #1...Cal gets physical on the eve of his mother's suicide, take 10...
"Gillian?"
"Oh, hey Joe. I'll be right over."
Joe's the owner and bartender of the small pub that Cal frequents, quite often lately, leading up to the anniversary of his mother's suicide. Ever since Joe discovered my business card in the breast pocket of Cal's jacket the first year since his divorce, I've been volunteered to drive him home every year. It was Zoe's burden before that. It takes me less than five minutes to drive, since it's right around the corner from work. At least Cal thinks conveniently.
"Another," Cal slurs.
"Sorry, buddy. You're being cut off."
"Another," he bangs the shot glass on the table. The noise echos across the empty pub.
"Do you know what time it is?" Joe asks, ignoring him. "After four. Do you know when we close? Two."
The clap, clap, clap of my heels is all I can hear when I enter the pub. "Hey Joe. How's business?" I ask, casually.
"Not bad. It would be even better if you can get him outta here."
"Sure thing," I say to him. Then I face Cal. "Come on, Cal. Let's go."
"Another," he bangs the shot glass on the table, again. Joe grabs the shot glass from him.
Both of us take hold of Cal under his arms and lift him up. He's not light. Cal's not making it any easier, 'cause he's decided to fight us off, twisting from side to side. Finally, after ten minutes we make it to my car in the parking lot. We shove him inside, whereby, he begins to puke up the contents of his drinks.
"Perfect," my sarcasm still evident, even though I'm still half asleep. "I won't be able to breathe in my car for the next year and a half."
Joe gives me a hug. "Good luck with that one," he nods in Cal's direction. "See you next year."
A wave of nausea hits me when I slide into my car. I try to hold my breath, but I'm having trouble driving at the same time. We arrive at Cal's in record time, thank god, twenty minutes to a dark and empty house. It's nice of Zoe to take Emily every year on this weekend.
"Let's get you up," I yawn, yanking Cal by the waist. I didn't realize that Cal would still be in fighting mode. With one swift kick to my stomach I'm down on the pavement. It takes me a minute to recover, but then, even more determined this time, I yank Cal, hard, by the waist and he slides to the right side to the car. Then, I slide his right arm across my shoulders. He sways to the right side, and I wobble a little bit before steadying my balance. Thinking I've won this battle, I relax a little. I have a feeling this is what Cal anticipated would happen. Turning Cal to the side, I struggle with opening the door, and shifting us both into the hallway and towards the couch. Suddenly, Cal shoves me against the wall in the hallway.
"Don't you dare rescue me again."
Then he drunkenly sways into the living room and flops down on the couch, falling asleep instantly. I crumble to the ground in anxiety and fear, shaking.
Two days later at work, he's his normal self again, the "incident" forgotten. It's never mentioned, but I'll never forget it. Next time I'm bringing Agent Reynolds with me.
Flashback #2...The lie...Cal knows which one...Detective Wallowski...
"That's brilliant, that is," Cal praises Detective Wallowski's lie, alone in his bedroom.
333
Cal, Loker, Agent Jenkins and I are standing outside of the cube, listening to Torres' interrogation of Detective Wallowski.
"You knew about Farr's relationship with Marco Swarez?"
"We're meant to form relationships with street level dealers," Wallowski replies emotionless.
"But did you know he was helping Swarez commit crimes?"
"No. I didn't know anything about that." Lie. But Cal doesn't call her on it, probably because he's the one that coached her to begin with.
"But you do know that he beat Prince John to cover his relationship with Swarez, to support Swarez's move to control the Nine Sixes."
"Now that he's confessed, sure, I guess." Torres crosses her arms; none of us are really buying her act, and Agent Jenkins has no clue what to think. Both Cal and I are at the opposite sides of the spectrum.
Loker looks over at Cal suspiciously. He knows something is up. Nobody lies that brilliantly except for Cal, himself.
"Is Detective Farr a good father to his children?"
"Which ones?"
"To his regular, family ones."
"You mean his white ones?" Wallowski argues.
"Don't deflect the question, Detective."
"I'm sorry, what was the question again?" Torres looks about to argue with her. "Oh yeah, he's incredible with his kids."
Now both myself and Agent Jenkins look over at him. I know he's coached her. How else could she pass the test so cleverly.
"Well, don't look at me, Loker. Give it to 'em, straight," Cal smirks.
Loker raises his eyebrows, pressing his lips together. He leans back. "I got nothing, here. Zip."
"Was Wallowski in on this with Farr, or not?"
"She's been coached," I say, partly out of spite and partly because it's the truth.
"Or maybe she's clean," Cal argues. Yeah, right I think to myself.
"You call yourselves scientists?"
"You call cops who disagree, cops, right?"
"Unless one of them's dirty."
"Well, she's saying Wallowski's clean," I look over at him with disdain. "Aren't ya, Dr. Foster?"
I walk out without saying a word. I'm beyond pissed at Cal right now.
"Oi," Cal walks after me. "What are you walking away for? That's not right, don't do that."
"Never mind." My anger is verging into rage, and I don't really want to explode, but if he presses...
"I'm not goin' anywhere, Gill, so let's have it."
"What do you see in her, Cal?"
"I'd done the same thing for my partner. It's called loyalty."
"That's kind of ironic, from where I'm standing."
"Well?" Agent Jenkins asks, "Is Wallowski lying?"
"Yes, absolutely...Farr's not a good dad, she's covering for him. As for the rest of it, she's not lying. She didn't know anything about Swarez, or any of it." I hate myself for lying. I feel like a fraud, and Cal's made me feel this way. It needs to end.
Agent Jenkins is confused. She turns to Cal. "Dr. Lightman?"
"Yeah, she's clean."
I stride down the hall towards the elevators, and Cal strides towards his office in the opposite direction, leaving Agent Jenkins standing in an empty hallway utterly confused.
Flashback #3...I'm sitting in Cal's office, in his chair, gazing out into the street staring at nothing in particular. Waiting for Cal to return, per usual...
"Hi, Cal," I greet him, swivelling around in his chair. "Just the man I'm waiting for."
"Whatcha ya doin' in my chair?" Cal asks, angrily.
"Waiting for you, silly," I answer him, condescendingly. "What does the FBI want with you?"
Cal's eyes narrow. "Nothin' that concerns you."
"Wrong. Anything and everything that concerns this company also concerns me."
"You mean my company. It says Lightman on the wall, doesn't it?" Cal makes a show of walking to the door to check on the sign. Ouch, that hurt.
"Yeah, you're right, it does. But what it doesn't say is that you needed my family's money in order to create this company. Isn't that right?"
Cal scowls. He doesn't respond, 'cause he knows I'm right.
"I don't need you," he spits at me.
"You don't need me?" I ask incredulously.
"I can deal with everything just fine."
"Well, who is the one who lines up all your clients? Who takes care of your books? Who looks after you when you're so out of it, you flop onto the coach and can't remember what you did the day before? Huh? Who helps you then?"
"I don't need you," he repeats.
"Fine. You don't need me. I'll leave." I get up off the chair and walk out the door. "Good riddance."