Page 62 of Ripple Effect
My boss, my mentor, and now the man I call a friend merely smiles at me. “Cal, according to you, too much knowledge can potentially be dangerous to those you care about. It can cause them too much stress and worry. That’s not for you to be concerned with. All I need are some numbers.”
Finishing my own drink, I set the glass down carefully. I see his play. Now that he’s met Libby, he’s pissed—just like Sam and Iris are—that she’s being kept in the dark about the nature of our work. “Okay. I’ll work on that.”
“Good. Be safe going home. Give my best to Libby.” That’s a new add-on to the end of our celebratory conversation, but not that surprising considering how taken with her he was.
“I’ll be sure to let her know. My best to Molly.”
Yarborough pauses in the doorway. “In all the years we’ve worked together, that’s the first time you’ve said that too. Libby truly does bring out the light in you, Cal. Don’t fuck it up.” And with advice that’s as delicate as a two-by-four upside the head, he saunters out the door, leaving me to wonder if the things that haunt me in the middle of the night are fears that Libby will be in danger.
Or are they my fears that she walks away because of the lies I’ve told despite the love that encompasses every decision I make for her, for us?
Either way, I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.
40
Calhoun
Year Two - Nine Years Ago from Present Day
“Icould stay just like this forever,” I tell my wife honestly. I trail my fingers over the smooth curve of her hip that’s been exposed during our lovemaking. With a grin, I ask, “We can have food delivered to our bed, right? That can be considered special instructions on our to-go order.”
Libby rolls onto her back as she laughs hysterically. Even though I love I evoked my favorite sound in the world from her, right now she’s too far away. “C’mere.” I pull her back so her curves are nestled against my body and her head lies against my heart. “You realize everyone thinks we’re on a tropical island somewhere,” I begin.
Libby rolls onto her stomach and pushes up on an elbow. “That’s because we couldn’t decide on time for you to give work enough notice. I would have been happy with that small island off the coast of Africa.”
Yeah, if I wanted to worry the whole time about the intel that crossed my desk about two months ago. Without an ounce of remorse, I smooth my hand over her ass before giving it a smack to distract from an argument I thought we’d already buried.
“Hey!” Libby cries out indignantly, reaching back to rub the stinging spot.
“I was just letting you feel what it would have been like to have received all the shots you would have needed for that trip.” I slip on an innocent look that my wife scoffs at.
“As much as I hate to admit it”—a smile tugs at the edges of my mouth as Libby speaks—“I love the idea that everyone thinks we just decided to go back to the Caymans. At least this way we can stay here and still answer the barrage of questions about what we did.”
“If they know us half as well as they claim they do, they should assume we’re doing exactly what we’re about to do,” I mutter.
“Which is?” Libby flutters her lashes coquettishly at me.
“This.” Right before I roll her onto her back and proceed to demonstrate how years into our marriage, she still sets my blood on fire.
* * *
Hours later,our stomachs can’t be ignored. I finally requested for an order of subs to be delivered to the house from a place that normally doesn’t do it—paying an enormous sum for the delivery when I explain I also need them to go by their floral department along the way. We’re still in the bathroom after our very enjoyable shower when the bell rings. “I’ll get it,” I say quickly. Drawing up a pair of basketball shorts over my legs, I drop a kiss on Libby’s lips and race for the front door. Fortunately, she’s in the middle of pulling up one side of her long hair, so I know I have about twenty minutes before she’s ready to join me.
I make it to the door in record time, snagging my wallet along the way. When I open it, the patiently waiting delivery kid is holding not only a bag overflowing with subs—which Libby claimed she was craving—but a bouquet of sunflowers.
Perfect.
“Thanks so much for doing this.” I wanted a surprise for Libby even though we agreed on no gifts since we just bought a new house. But flowers don’t count, right? I want today to be about her and me, not about any mistakes.
Especially the ones she has no idea I make day after day.
“Not a problem at all, Mr. Sullivan.” I’m handed the bag, then the enormous vase of sunflowers the store put together.
Cradling the blue vase carefully, I slip a few twenties out of my wallet and hand them to the surprised teen. “I don’t have any change, sir.”
I shake my head. “That’s for you. You have no idea about how happy you’re about to make my wife. Thanks again.”
“No, thank you, sir.” The kid practically leaps down our front steps toward a beat-up Honda. I don’t spend too much time remembering I used to drive a car almost exactly like that when I was first in college. Instead, I hurry back inside and begin setting the dining room table, placing the sunflowers in the center with lit candles on either side.
