This is the result of there being at least 2 1/2ft of snow in my driveway. Since when do I live in Maine?! Thanks to restless-mess and TexasJen for the input & reassurance.
That's no way to live
All tangled up like balls of string
And we woke at dawn,
And watched the sun glide over the hill
"Momma!"
Calleigh was not at all used to hearing that at work, and at first she thought she'd imagined it – some figment of her imagination, a by-product of being separated from her daughter for days.
It took her a moment to look up from the release form she was signing off on, but when she did she was pleasantly surprised to find Aubrey running toward her through the empty lobby. Her wet ringlets bouncing wildly, Aubrey nearly crashed into her mother's legs with the same vigor.
"Momma, I missed you," she whispered as Calleigh leaned down to encompass her tiny frame in a hug.
"I missed you, too."
Calleigh sighed as she hugged her daughter close, shutting her eyes as she simply took in her presence. Last night had been almost unbearable without them. After a night with Eric, a tangle of soft sheets, warm skin, and genuine comfort, she had wanted nothing more than to embed herself back within the perfect family life they'd had. She wanted to forget the negative, to rewind time and pick right back up before Eric started the night shift, when life had been a blur of love, stolen moments at work, and cuddling an adorable toddler to sleep each night. If not for her exhaustion and Eric's soothing voice, she never would've slept soundly with such a void.
Pulling back slightly, Calleigh watched a heart-melting grin form on her daughter's face and she smiled, tucking Aubrey's long hair behind her ear. "But this afternoon I'm picking you up from Abuela's," Calleigh told her as she hoisted Aubrey up onto her hip. "How does that sound?"
"Good." Aubrey giggled, eyes settling on her father as he caught up to them. Calleigh's gaze followed, her heart knocking hard against her chest as he came closer.
"I thought I said no running here," Eric reminded Aubrey, and Calleigh had to press her lips together to keep from smiling at his attempt to be firm.
"But I saw Momma!" Aubrey said, turning to her for help. Calleigh went as straight-faced as she could and shrugged, not wanting to undermine Eric's parenting, but a smile still lingered in her features.
Eric finally met her eyes for more than a fleeting moment, unable to conceal the smile that threatened to break out into a full-force, ear-to-ear grin. "Hey," he finally managed, eyes dancing back and forth between hers and the sight of her there with Aubrey.
"Hey," she replied softly, a little coyly, and shifted under the weight of his stare.
"Sorry," he began as he retrieved a stack of papers from the secretary's desk. "I, uh, didn't know you'd be here."
"Yeah, I had to sign the release papers for Adam Gables." Her gaze flickered to the papers she'd been signing, then back to Eric. "We held him for 24 hours, but we really have nothing to tie him to the case." Adjusting Aubrey on her hip, she asked, "What are you guys doing here so early?"
"A cross-jurisdictional mess," Eric answered, only slightly irritated. "They gave that case to Monroe County, so I have to sign off for the evidence to be transported. A Monroe detective has been hounding me since five this morning."
"We're gonna go get breakfast before Daddy takes me to Abuela's," Aubrey announced, smiling excitedly at her mother. "Can you come with us?"
Calleigh wanted to more than anything, but instead she took in a steadying breath and uncomfortably met Eric's eyes. Her own ache was reflected there, and that look stole her breath for a moment. Aubrey must've noticed because she sat there, eyes dancing between both parents as though sensing something much deeper than a decision about breakfast.
"No, baby," Calleigh finally answered regretfully. "I have to work."
Disappointment immediately etched its way across Aubrey's face and Calleigh frowned, squatting as she set Aubrey down. The lie was to protect her, but Calleigh still felt guilty. Turning down the invitation felt altogether wrong, so much so that she had to strengthen her resolve before she met her daughter's pained hazel eyes.
"We'll do something special later, just you and me," she promised.
"But I like it when you and Daddy are there, like for Cinderella at Abuela's," Aubrey hesitantly admitted, eyes again moving between the two of them.
The realization that Aubrey cherished those mere fifteen uncomfortable minutes they'd all spent together weeks ago hit her hard, and along with that familiar ache in her chest came the undeniable sting of tears behind her eyes. This was only getting more difficult and she had no idea where to draw the line. It was as though Aubrey could sense a change.
"Brie," Eric interjected, sensing Calleigh's internal struggle. "Momma has to work now so she can spend time with you later."
Aubrey frowned, confused by the sadness in her mother's eyes, but eventually conceded. She took Eric's hand but still focused on Calleigh, only somewhat convinced by her reassuring smile.
Calleigh kissed Aubrey's forehead, stood, and watched on as he tugged her tiny hand, reluctantly urging her away. As his gaze met Calleigh's again, he swallowed hard. Even as they walked away his eyes were on her, gaze lingering as Aubrey looked up at him and whispered, "I think Momma wanted to come."
Against his better judgment, Eric smiled and squeezed her hand gently. "Yeah, I kinda wanted her to come, too."
Aubrey grinned, skipping for a pace or two as she tried to keep up with her father's much longer stride.
Though she tried, Calleigh couldn't seem to divert her attention back to those papers. Instead she watched them, noting Aubrey's broad grin, the adorable difference in size between them, and the equally adorable way with which Eric held her hand, his shoulder sloped slightly to accommodate her.
This entire situation was wearing on her. She so badly wanted to be a part of that scene, to give in to what Aubrey so desperately wanted – what they all wanted. But the closer they came, the more Aubrey pushed for more, and Calleigh knew that they were far from ready to include her in this. There were certain issues that wouldn't go away overnight – certain issues, Calleigh realized as she was again reminded of just how good he was with children, that may never go away…
Eric deserved the large family he'd always dreamed of, and after the sequence of events throughout the past two years, Calleigh wasn't sure that was something she was capable of giving him. The stress of failed attempts and a miscarriage was a burden that served as a domino in the falling pieces of their relationship.
They could fix everything else. They could find a way to work similar hours, they could spend more time together…but there was no way to magically conjure up the family they'd always wanted.
Calleigh felt as though that stress would always be there, an undercurrent in their interactions and a constant strain on their relationship. And just like before Aubrey would witness it all – the pressure, the fighting, the sadness.
She swallowed hard. All together, it was almost enough to make her want to close off again, to rethink everything. If they cut ties now and they were firm with Aubrey, they could dash all hope from her now rather than tearing it from her later.
But the minute that thought entered her mind, her already heavy heart felt further burdened and her chest ached. Every part of her seemed to know how wrong that notion was except for her mind – and those thoughts just refused go away.
* * *
Though Calleigh was alone, this corner booth was filled with memories. Early on in their relationship, this Cuban restaurant had been a welcomed fallback – their choice when reservations were missed, the perfect spot to cozy up in after a long day at work. When Eric had suggested coming here, she'd thought only of the incredible food and the comfortable, relaxed atmosphere, not the onslaught of memories that would inevitably haunt her.
- - -
She was aware of nothing but the ghosting of his fingertips over the side of her thigh, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, and the low, gravelly words he kept murmuring into her ear. Her legs were draped over his so she was halfway in his lap already, and still she wanted to be closer.
Feeling this gone in public was both absolutely unacceptable and utterly amazing. Everywhere she went, she was always aware of everyone and everything, but now, curled up in a corner booth with Eric, she saw nothing but him.
And Eric was quite impressed with himself. He'd made her chuckle softly quite a few times, which, he'd quickly learned, was as close to giggling as Calleigh would get. And the tiny shiver his touch elicited as it crept beneath the fabric of her dress was not easily granted either.
He was absolutely loving this. She'd been his friend for nine years – a close one for three – but getting to know her like this was so very enlightening. And Calleigh in this red dress was so very, very sexy. It clung to curves he'd already memorized, dipped into a tantalizingly low v down her chest, and the deep red material made her skin look even creamier in comparison.
As if reading his thoughts, Calleigh smirked and took a sip of her sangria. "So you're finally takin' me out in the light of day," she teased, her Southern drawl driving him completely crazy.
He laughed appreciatively, eyes following his fingertips as they slid back down her thigh to circle her perfect knee. Perfect knee? God, he was really in for it this time…
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to take you out, Cal," he told her softly, the honesty in his words and the intensity of his eyes as they met hers catching her off guard. "Our schedules just haven't been very conducive to proper dinners and lunch dates."
"Yeah." She sighed a little, not too disappointed, and smiled up at him. "I've been enjoying our late nights, though."
"Mmm," he mumbled appreciatively, resting his forehead against her temple. "Me too."
Growing more playful, he splayed his fingers wide against her skin as he glided his hand back up the side of her thigh, covering much of her skin as his fingers again slid beneath the hem of her dress. He grinned as she leaned into him more, her fingers trailing up his forearm, over the curve of his elbow, and up to gently grip his bicep.
"And the mornings, too," he added, lips brushing her skin in what was just barely a kiss. "Can't forget the mornings."
"No," she agreed coyly, flashes of yesterday morning playing through her mind on loop. Warm caramel skin. Cream-colored sheets. Eric. Tangled legs. Gentle hands. Soft lips. Daylight. The slow hum of pleasure blossoming throughout her body.
Brought back by his bold hands creeping a little too high for where they were, she smiled, halting the daring journey his hands had begun.
"I don't wanna be out anymore," she murmured, cradling his jaw in her hands as she discreetly captured his lips with hers.
- - -
"Cal?"
Gradually, the tabletop she'd been staring at came into focus, followed shortly by Eric standing before her.
"Hey…" She smiled, forcing away the remnants of her daze as she scooted further into the corner to make room for him. "Sorry, I was just thinking."
Her nervous glance at him and her survey of their surroundings were dead giveaways, and he smiled understandingly as he slid in beside her.
"Haven't been here in a while," he noted, eyes drifting away from the still-familiar décor and back to Calleigh.
"Yeah." She looked away wistfully. "Not since before you switched to the night shift."
That little comment took them both back so quickly, reminding them of why they were really here.
Two days apart had made the ease with which they'd touched and talked dissipate, and instead a thick awkwardness settled between them. They'd fallen into each other so easily, and just as quickly they'd had to go back to the separation, the pretending.
Those few minutes with Aubrey yesterday had reminded them both of the stress of this all, of what was at stake, and that wedged anxiety and tension between them once again.
Eric watched her, taking in the flush to her cheeks and the tiredness in her eyes. Hesitantly, he rested his hand atop hers over her crossed legs, his thumb caressing her soft skin.
"How are you?" he asked, a little afraid of the answer.
"Okay," she assured softly, and she turned her hand over until their palms kissed and their fingers threaded. Smiling sadly, she met his eyes. "This is hard."
Glancing down at their hands, he let out a muffled, "Yeah," and gently squeezed her hand.
Everything had been easy and effortless in the shadows with nothing to consider, but now, in the light of day, they had to confront everything that stood between them. She bit her lip, unsure of what to say until she leaned into him and was reminded of the easy comfort his touch brought her. Releasing her hand only to settle his arms around her, he held her close and rested his head against hers, closing his eyes.
"I want to go back to how it was before," she admitted in a soft murmur against his shoulder.
Her confession surprised him, her words hitting him harder than he'd anticipated. Running his hand up and down her arm soothingly, he sighed heavily with the weight of all that had happened between them.
"Me too," he whispered back. Moving just slightly, he kissed her hair and breathed in the comforting scent of her golden locks.
"I just want to rewind back to two years ago and start over, do everything differently," she whispered hesitantly. "Maybe things would be different…"
That was so unlike the realistic, pragmatic Calleigh he knew that he recognized it for the defense mechanism it was. She wanted to go back and change everything so this wouldn't have gotten so damn hard, so that the void that had settled within them both after the miscarriage would dissipate. She had never dealt with it – had never wanted to.
"Calleigh," he let out softly, a warning. "We can't do that. We can't go back."
"I know." She sounded disappointed, less hopeful for change though no less desperate for it.
"Cal," he began carefully, considering his words. "A year ago…"
Calleigh tensed at the reminder, suddenly feeling anxiety settle in the pit of her stomach. At the prospect of discussing this she was pulling away from him, denying them both the connection they so direly needed, and nervously tucking her hair behind her ear.
"Was a year ago," she finished for him matter-of-factly. "It's in the past. If we can't change it, then…" She trailed off, shrugging and dragging a finger through the condensation on her cup. Her valiant effort at steeling herself had almost worked, but as she met his eyes he realized the sadness there, the void, couldn't be masked – not even with the defensive front she'd put up last year that had pissed him off enough to nearly fool him.
"No, we can't change it," he agreed noncommittally. "But you never dealt with it."
Behind those words was a deeper message – that he wanted her to deal with it now, wanted her to talk about it now – and the thought of that left her completely paralyzed. Air couldn't seem to fill her lungs, the lump in her throat refused to be swallowed down, and her hand stilled on the cup.
"I did deal with it," she replied evenly, though he sensed the bitter taste of that last word on her lips. They were referencing it without really discussing it, dancing around pained memories as usual. "Just not the way you wanted."
He was pretty sure they both recognized that for the heady defense mechanism it was. When she dealt with things, really dealt with things, she opened a little and the hurt eased with time. After Speedle died she'd let her guard down a little, had accepted a few hugs and let a couple tears escape, and then she'd moved on. They'd shared in their grief, had exchanged emotionally charged glances, and in the end she'd reached a sort of reluctant peace much sooner than he had.
But with this, she had "dealt" with it the Calleigh way, the non-way in which she buried things so deep it took them years, if ever, to resurface. And all the while she'd kept a cool, sometimes cold, guise up to further drive the point home that she was fine.
Eric sighed, trying to find some gentle way to shake her awake. He knew by the look in her eyes the other night, by the look in her eyes now, that she was as desperate for this to work as he was. They both wanted to go back, wanted to give in to the deep affection they shared for one another and heed to the sanctity of their little family that pulled them in like gravity.
But they couldn't just go back. They needed to move forward, all things considered, and he needed her to acknowledge why she'd shut him out. He needed that faith in trust and intimacy he'd had before all fears of infertility and miscarriages had tarnished their strong bond. Loving each other was easy – always had been. Staying open and honest amid a world of hurt, however, had proven to be almost impossible.
"You went to work the next day," he softly leveled with her. "That's not dealing, Cal. That's forgetting."
Sometimes she wondered if there was a difference.
- - -
He could hear her heels clacking against the wood in the foyer, her step heavy with impatience and regret. With the click of a lock and the drop of her keys, her footsteps slowed as she entered the living room hesitantly. They'd been walking on eggshells for weeks, ever since she'd turned off her heart and forced work to occupy her tired mind.
She'd shut him out, letting anger take the reins whenever he tried to intervene. Emptiness and directed anger were far easier to deal with than grief, and certainly easier to control.
Despite everything, her heart warmed at the sight of Aubrey cradled against his side, cocooned in a pink blanket and fast asleep with her fingers in her mouth. She couldn't wait to take her daughter into her arms, cradle her, and tuck her into that adorable, overly pink bed. Those few moments, which often turned into hours spent cuddled up next to a toddler in a bed that was too small even for her five-foot-three frame, were easily the most precious, the most calming, of the day. Calleigh's eyes then reluctantly drifted to Eric, who gave her the briefest glance before checking on Aubrey and then feigning interest in his book.
Calleigh leaned into the doorframe, resting on her shoulder. "I'm home," she offered, shrugging. She had done what he wanted; it seemed like a favorable gesture, but he appeared less than impressed.
"It's kinda late," he said simply. Putting the book down for the night – he'd barely kept his mind on it for a few pages, anyway – he pinched the bridge of his nose, praying for composure. Well, he was really praying for his wife to wake up and snap out of this, but that hadn't happened yet, so maintaining his own composure was his best bet.
"You said you wished I'd get home by eight." She shrugged, trying to be compliant. She understood what he wanted, but she also understood how much it hurt to look at him and remember what they'd lost. With his welcoming arms and sympathetic eyes, he was all too willing to hold her and console her, but she was terrified to give in. If he did that, he would open up the dam of pent-up grief that threatened to give way at the smallest hint of emotion. She was afraid that once she let go, she would never be able to stop, would never get up again. After what she'd lost, losing her control would be unbearable.
Eric scoffed, shaking his head disbelievingly. "Yeah, and you're a mere five minutes early." Standing, he slowly crossed the room to her because he knew where this was going, knew where he wanted to take it, and they definitely did not need to be in the same room as Aubrey for this discussion.
"I'm pretty sure the family of a murdered father is thankful for those extra few hours I put in," she uttered with the slightest hint of spite. He might have felt bad, even taken back his words, had he not known that this was just part of her new defense plan. She was throwing herself into other worthy causes, fixing and healing other families while keeping hers at a distance.
"What about our family, Cal?" he asked, taking in the way she immediately closed off and looked away. For the first time in days, he touched her, his hands on her waist and then at the small of her back as he led her from the room. Her beautiful curves should've been emphasized now with a life growing inside her, but instead she was getting smaller. As his fingertips skirted back over her side, he was surprised by the diminished softness there. "We lost a baby…"
"No," she insisted immediately, stepping out of range of his grasp. "We lost the prospect of a baby." She was protecting herself, he knew. Rationalizing her way out of something was the easiest way to convince herself her emotions were unwarranted and therefore easily pushed aside. Still, the words bit hard – and not just for him.
She hated herself for those words the second they left her lips, but, as with most loss, there was no calling them back.
"I know you don't think that way," he said assuredly.
As always, she was both amazed and warmed by his patience. He was wonderful, but she was afraid if she opened herself up to that world of hurt then she would never come out. And what would happen when they addressed the huge question that she knew weighed heavily on both their minds – what if they couldn't have more children?
What if Aubrey was it for them?
Would this be enough?
- - -
"You wouldn't talk to me," he continued. Shaking his head, he ran his hand through his short hair before settling his elbow back down on the table. "You pushed me away."
"It was easy," she responded wistfully, her words tinged with sadness and regret. "We were both gone all the time."
There was no sense of accusation in her voice, but he still felt the need to defend his intentions.
"You were the one who wanted me to stay on the night shift," he reminded her, his words hesitant and careful. "I was more than willing to find another job."
"I didn't want to take more from you," she whispered softly, before she realized the words were leaving her lips.
He caught the implication, along with the pained way she bit her lip, and knew immediately that she had just hinted at far more than she'd wanted to. Suddenly, he understood part of what had kept her away.
As if the miscarriage itself hadn't been enough, there was more to it than that. It had been the chaotic end to twelve long months – an entire year – of hoping for another baby, expecting one to happen just as naturally as it had the first time. Instead of alleviating their fears, though, the pregnancy had ended far too early, increasing those fears tenfold.
And it had happened amid an already rocky marriage – a marriage stressed under the weight of working opposite shifts and failed attempts to continue the larger family they'd always planned for. Aubrey had fallen in the middle of it all, swept up in a current of tension and pain.
Talking about the loss brought up everything – everything she wasn't ready to confront.
She could feel the pressure of it all on her chest and in her heart, along with the need to run stirring in her veins.
"Eric," she let out, her voice strained. "I can't talk about this. I can't do this right now."
Torn between wanting to comfort her and nearly losing his patience, he placed a soothing palm at the small of her back but all that did was urge her to come undone. A few nights ago his touch had been loving and heated, but now, after bordering on acknowledging everything that had transpired between them, his touch awakened far too much within her.
He reminded her of what she ached for but wouldn't let herself have, of what she'd lost and wasn't sure she could get back. He reminded her of the baby, of Aubrey, who had been dragged through far too much already and didn't deserve to suffer the harsh repercussions of their disappointment.
"I can't, I'm sorry," she apologized, clearly wrought with memories and heartache even as she tried to keep it together on the outside. He could tell, though, as green-blue met deep brown, that she was on the brink of feeling everything she'd shut out for the past year.
She pulled away from his touch, slowly regaining some semblance of control as she distanced herself from him. Filled with the sudden urge to protect everyone involved, she took a step back from that brink and left him alone in that haunting booth, because peaceful, empty co-existence was safer than potential chaos.