Never feel alone

Chapter 34

Callie

"Callie, can you come here for a minute?"

I stopped in the hallway. I could see Stef in her room, perched on the edge of her bed. My palms began to sweat. Did she know I'd sneaked out earlier?

Reluctantly, I went into the bedroom and stood before her. "I was just going to bed. Is everything okay?"

"I just wanted to talk to you for a minute," she said. "Have a seat."

I sat down numbly. My moms weren't harsh disciplinarians, like some foster parents I'd lived with, so I wasn't afraid of whatever my punishment would be for going behind their backs; I could handle losing privileges that I didn't really care about anyway, or being grounded for a few days. And I trusted by now that they would never, ever hit me. I was mostly afraid of disappointing them. "Is everything okay?" I asked.

Stef smiled and I felt myself relax a little. "Everything's fine," she said. "I just haven't heard much out of you tonight. I wanted to ask you how you're doing. Are you okay? Anything you want to talk about?"

I'm fine," I told her, swallowing a wave of guilt. "Thanks."
Promise you'll come to us if you do want to talk?"

I nodded, unable to look her in the eye. "Okay."

Before I could get up and leave, she spoke again. "I also wanted to tell you that I think you behaved very maturely today," she said. "I know you were hurt that your dad didn't show up too, not just Sophia. You held it together really well. I'm proud of you, love."

"You are?" I shakily asked.

"Yes," she answered. "I can see that you're learning how to handle things that are out of your control. You're really becoming an amazing young woman, Cal."

I sighed heavily, feeling horrible. For a moment, I wondered if she knew what I'd done, and was using some kind of reverse psychology to get me to confess. "Don't be proud of me," I blurted, unable to take the pressure any longer.

She frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"I did something wrong," I admitted.

"You did?" her eyes searched mine, and she seemed genuinely puzzled. "Well, do you want to tell me about it?"

I looked away from her, my cheeks burning with shame. "I sneaked out and went to see my dad," I confided. "Earlier tonight."

She raised an eyebrow and frowned. "I don't understand, Cal. How did you even know where he lives?"

"I looked through your papers," I said quietly. "In the desk. I found his address. I'm so sorry. I just had to know why he didn't come. I needed answers." Hot tears sprung to my eyes. "I guess I'm not as mature as you thought."

"Honey," Stef sighed. "Come here. You look like you need a hug." She drew me to her and stroked my back. I hugged her tight, hungry for comfort and security.

When we parted, she looked me in the eye, meaningfully. "I understand wanting answers," she said. "I do. But I'm uncomfortable with what you did. I don't know your dad."

"He wouldn't hurt me," I assured her.

"I believe you," she said. "But I also know that the neighborhood he lives in isn't safe. And you didn't tell us where you were going. If something had happened to you, we wouldn't have known. We're responsible for your safety, love. And you're still a ward of the state right now. If something happened tonight, we could've lost both you and Sophia."

"I'm sorry," I repeated.

"Please don't do anything like that ever again," she said. "Because I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Are you going to punish me?" I asked, looking up.

"I'll have to talk it over with Mama," she said, cupping my chin in her hand. "But in the meantime, no more sneaking around. Okay? You can come to us for help with any problem you have, baby. Anything at all."

"I know," I nodded. "It won't happen again."

She nodded. "Thank you for being honest." Her curiosity must have gotten the better of her then, because she asked, "So what happened? With your dad?"

I shrugged. "We just talked. I barely recognized him. He got so old. When I saw him, I couldn't be too mad."

"Did he tell you why he didn't come?"

"He just got scared," I explained. "We was afraid we wouldn't want him in our lives."

"Isn't that interesting?" she said. "Both of you were afraid of the same thing."

"I guess so," I agreed. "I never really thought of it that way. He said I look just like my mom. We talked about when I was little, and I told him about The Brian Thing." I brushed my finger across my nose. "I made him promise to come on Sunday. He said he would."

"That's good," she said. "I hope he does."

"Mom?" I asked.

"Hmm?"

"Please, don't let Sophia know I went there, and asked him to come. I don't want her to think he's only coming because I asked him to."

"I won't," she promised.

"Thanks," I yawned. "Is it okay if I go to bed now?"

"Of course," she said. "Can I have a goodnight kiss first?"

I nodded, and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Goodnight, mom. I love you."

"Goodnight, slug-a-bug," she said, as she hugged and kissed me. "I love you too. And," she added, "I'm still proud of you. I always will be."

"Thanks," I smiled, before heading to my room.

When I got there, the lights were already off. Sophia was a dark lump in her bed. I crawled under my covers, thinking she was already asleep until I heard her sobbing, almost silently. I ached to tell her about my visit with dad, and his promise to come and see us. But I couldn't, just in case he got cold feet again.

"Soph?" I said quietly.

"What?" she said in a muffled voice.

"Do you want to sleep in my bed?" I asked her. "I don't want to sleep alone tonight."

I heard her bed creak as she slid out. I held up my comforter. "Come here." She climbed in and nestled into my side. "That's better," I said, nuzzling her freshly-washed hair.

Sophia wrapped her arms around my waist. "I'm sorry I was mean to you before," she apologized. "I didn't mean it."

I fluffed my pillow and laid back. "It's okay, baby. I'm not mad. I mean, sister can't get along all the time, right?"

"But I want us to," she insisted. "I want us to always be best friends."

"Me too," I smiled, brushing my fingers across her tear-stained cheek. "You know what i was just thinking about?"

"What?" she asked.

"The first time I ever saw dad cry," I said softly, staring up at the ceiling. "You were three or four. It was when mom was working at Walmart. He took us there one day to pick her up. We were late, and you were being fussy, and dad was getting impatient. He helped you out of the car, and when he shut the door, he accidentally slammed it on your fingers."

"What happened?" she asked, enthralled by my story.

"You screamed and started to cry," I went on. "And when dad realized what he'd done, he started crying too. He felt so bad. He picked you up and kissed your fingers and hugged you until you felt better."

"I don't remember that," she said. Her voice sounded far away.

"Well, I do," I said. "He never wanted to hurt you, Sophia. He'll come and see you. Don't worry."