Page 74 of Finding Home

Next up, we’re treated to a music studio featuring an elaborate drum kit, a vocal booth in the corner, and even more framed platinum records and memorabilia. There’s also a fully stocked bar in the corner of the room, I can’t help noticing. One I’m going to clear out, immediately after my sweep of the kitchen.

“I’ll get all that stuff cleared out and replaced with seltzer water and juice,” Caleb murmurs, reading my mind. “I went straight to rehab from New York, so I haven’t been home and had a chance to?—”

“It’s all good, honey,” I say reassuringly. “I’ll clear out everything for you, just like I did back home.”Fuck. It’s one thing for Caleb to say that, but he might feel pressured bymesaying it.

“Thanks,” he says, seemingly unfazed by my word choice. In fact, he’s smiling from ear to ear. Is that because I offered to help? Because I called him honey? Or is he happy to discover, somewhere along the line, I’ve grown to consider the lake house my home?

“It’s a good thing we came home two days before the meeting with the social worker, huh?” Caleb says. “It would have been terrible, if she saw this place, as it is.”

“We definitely dodged a bullet there.”

We share a smile, but I’m honestly feeling a bit stressed. In Montana, I had no doubts about Caleb’s readinessto take on Raine, forever. But here, I can’t help wondering if he’s truly ready for a job that big. If he’s got any doubts about his commitment to fatherhood, he’d better tell me soon, because in a matter of days, I’m going to testify in support of his bid for full custody, with full visitation rights for me, rather than the other way around. And I can’t do that, if he’s not one-hundred-percent committed.

I keep telling myself Raine belongs with her father. That it’s the best thing for her, even though I want her for myself. But the more I fall for Caleb—orthinkI’m falling, anyway—being here is making me wonder if I’ve been falling for the fantasticalMontanaversion of him—the more I’m worried my judgment has become hopelessly clouded by my feelings. Has Caleb been playing me, this whole time? I don’t think so.But what if I’m wrong?

We continue the tour and visit a game room next, one featuring a pool table, foosball table, several pinball machines, and, surprise, surprise, an astonishing array of bongs, ashtrays, and booze bottles.

“Shit,” Caleb says, when he beholds the vestiges of his past life all around us. “I mean,shoot. Sorry, Shortcake.”

“Shit,” Raine echoes.

“Shoot,” Caleb corrects. “Shoot, shoot, shoot.”

“Shit.”

“Just leave it, and she’ll forget.”

With a sigh, Caleb moves to the next room—a space filled with comfy sitting areas and a big-screen TV; and not surprisingly, another round of ashtrays, bongs, and papers used to roll joints.

Caleb slides Raine off his back, looking distraught. “I should have had someone check the whole house before we got here,” he murmurs. “Sorry. I didn’t think to do that.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “After we have some lunch, you can take Raine to the beach while I clear out the house.”

Caleb looks stressed. “Thanks, Aubrey. I appreciate that.”

I lay a palm on his forearm and smile reassuringly. “I think it’s good you’re seeing the house with sober eyes. If this place had already been cleaned out when we got here, maybe the new you wouldn’t have realized just how much the old you probably needed mandatory rehab.”

Caleb contemplates that. “Yeah, I think you’re right. I probably needed it, without realizing it.” He looks beautifully vulnerable in this moment. So much so, I’d kiss him right now, if Raine weren’t here.

Off we go again, this time into a long hallway. As we walk, Caleb motions to a passing guestroom. “That’ll be your room, A-Bomb.” He winks. “As far as the social worker will know, anyway.”

We enter a room at the end of the long hallway. Caleb’s bedroom. The primary suite, featuring the same spectacular ocean views as the living room. Not surprisingly, given the rest of the house, Caleb’s bedroom is a beautiful space. One that’s fit for a king and decorated by a pro. There’s an attached bathroom that’s bigger than my parents’ living room. A walk-in closet that’s bigger than my childhood bedroom. A fireplace, sitting room, and more framed memorabilia. And best of all, there’s a small shelf in a corner filled with framed family photos.

I study Caleb’s collection of family photos, as father and daughter chatter about the ocean view in another corner of the room. Suddenly, I notice a framed photo that makes me gasp and clutch my heart. Somehow, Caleb managed to add a photo of Raine to his collection—a smiling shot of hersitting on the shore of Lake Lucille with her beloved sand toys strewn around her. I didn’t take the shot. In fact, I’ve never seen it before. Which means Caleb must have snapped it and asked someone here in LA to frame it for him.

“What is it?” Caleb asks, reacting to my audible gasp.

“This photo of Raine.”

Caleb and Raine join me at the photo collection.

“Dat me!” Raine says, pointing.

“It sure is,” Caleb says. “And you know why? Because this shelf is for photos of everyone I love most in the whole world. That’s why you’re there, front and center. Because I love you so, so much.”

“Who dat?”

“That’s two of my best friends, Colin and Amy, and their little boy, Rocco. He’s the same age as you. You’re gonna meet him soon.”

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