Page 40 of Operator
GWEN
Callum reluctantly setsup a meet time with Ford. I’m both nervous and excited to finally meet him. He and his girlfriend Peyton can’t come down for right away because they’re in the swing of tourist season, but there’s a tentative dinner planned once they’re free. The time is fine by me. Even though I want answers, I also want time to finish healing and get my bearings back.
Now that I may have answers about Ian—I’m afraid of what we may find.
For now, I’m going to put my mind to Violet and everything else will take care of itself.
At Callum’s insistence, I turn the footage of the break-in over to the police, who dutifully take a report. They instruct me to tighten up my security—which Callum already did—and call the moment I think they’ve come back. I promise to do just that and life goes back to normal.
Or rather, my new normal.
Violet is six weeks old now and already seems so much different from when she was born. I ache to tell Ian about all the new things she’s doing and find myself telling them to Callum instead. He’s patient with every new text message and picture of her newest accomplishments. From napping on her own—once!—to what I think is a smile.
Every time I think he’s going to brush off my inane near constant stream of text messages, he responds with patience and enthusiasm. If I’m being honest, he’s acting the way I’d imagined Ian would. And I don’t know how to feel about it.
Confused.
Guilty.
A little pleased.
Hopeful.
Terrified.
Desperate.
I don’t want this bubble of contentment to end, and I’m afraid it’s going to.
For now, I enjoy having the two of them close and mostly all to myself. Callum leaves in the mornings now to tend to the diner, filling in for both his father and me. He spends nearly all day there from sunup to sundown waiting tables, filling orders, repairing broken appliances, and smoothing ruffled customer feathers. Then he spends half the night up with the baby, feeding her pumped milk and soothing her back to sleep so I can get a stretch of uninterrupted rest. Then I take the second shift so he can sleep.
Frankly, I don’t know what I would have done without him. Drowned. Bunny helps, but her helping is mostly holding the baby and talking nonstop. Not that I’m not grateful, but I really needed someone to help me around the house, picking up the slack. Of course, Callum is the first to volunteer there as well. From the dishes, to doing my late-night adult diaper runs in the beginning, to washing my breastmilk-stained shirts.
Let’s just say any semblance of mystery is long since gone—though I guess that disappeared when he got a front-row seat to a baby coming out of my vagina.
He hasn’t tried to kiss me again, either. Which is probably for the best. After all, I was the one who told him we shouldn’t.
Then why am I disappointed?
I guess that’s why I can’t stop looking at him when he’s home. When did I start calling this his home, too? Like now, for instance. He’s been back from the diner for about an hour. We’d eaten the chicken and rice casserole I made for dinner—Callum went back for thirds—and the baby fell asleep nursing as we watched a movie on Netflix. I find myself feeling relaxed for the first time in I don’t know how long. Then I immediately feel guilty.
I look away from Callum and back down at the baby. Thankfully, the living room is dark save for the flashes of light from the screen, so he can’t see the emotions play over my face. Violet is milk drunk and content in my arms. She doesn’t have a care in the world at the moment, dreaming whatever babies dream of.
That’s all that matters. That she’s happy and loved.
Except…
Except I thought Callum would have left by now.
I thought he would have gotten bored after a couple of weeks of the boring day-to-day life. That’s what he always said he hated—knowing what would happen every day. Being trapped in this place like his parents. It’s why he joined the military in the first place. To get out and see things. It’s why we would have never worked. Ian had been different. He loved what he did, but he was also looking forward to building a life outside of it—or I thought he had been. Seeing Callum settle into this domestic role is proving everything I thought I knew about him completely wrong, which is even more confusing than all of it.
“What are you looking so serious for? This is supposed to be a comedy,” Callum says, breaking into my thoughts.
Caught.“What?” I shift around and fake a yawn, hoping he didn’t catch me staring at him like a creep.
“You’re not even watching this, are you?”
I can’t lie to him, so I say, “That obvious? I’m sorry. My mind was drifting.” When all else fails, blame the baby. “I can’t help it. It’s the melatonin from the baby. I swear!”
