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“If you can envision it, we can figure out how to get the tub up there.” Knox was nothing if not encouraging. “And Cal’s brilliant. Make a brand-new suite. One with fresh energy.”
“Yeah. I like this idea,” Sam said slowly, eyes distant, deep in thought. “A soaking tub. Small, black one. Japanese style. Dove gray walls. Cream linens. Plants on the balcony and in the windows…”
“You’re the boss.” Cal chuckled. “It’s on you to keep the plants alive, but I think we can deliver a suite you’ll be happy with.”
“We?” Sam raised his thin, arched eyebrows. “You gonna stick around to help?”
Cal shrugged, but his face twisted with discomfort. “Guess so. Yeah. Still working on the RV fund.”
That was hardly a ringing endorsement. More like he had nothing better to do. If the house project, which he seemed to have made a personal mission, wasn’t enough to keep him here, how could I expect to be a good enough reason for him to put down stakes?
“How’s that RV fund coming?” Monroe was in a good mood, arm slung over Knox’s shoulders, impervious to my mental request to stop talking about Cal leaving. “With summer getting closer, I guess there will be more dive requests and opportunities for you.”
“I have an updated website now.” Cal sounded vaguely ill. We’d spent an evening installing a new template and fundraising widget on his existing site. Cal had grumbled the whole time then too, but I’d felt compelled to come through with at least some sort of fundraising plans. I might want to keep him here forever, but I was also a man of my word. “With a landing page for Holden’s big fundraising plans for selling bumper sticker space. And I guess I need to add Sam’s testimonial idea.”
“You do.” Sam whipped out his phone. “I’m sending you a reminder message to email me a list of contact information for prior dives, so I can gather the praise quotes for you.”
Sam’s ready offer had me wishing I’d thought of adding testimonials and collecting them myself to save Cal the work of asking.
“You’d do that?” Sure enough, Cal’s wide-eyed gratitude had vinegar rising up the back of my throat.
“I can help too.” I wasn’t sure anyone heard me because none of them glanced in my direction.
“I wonder if the…news will help or hinder Cal’s fundraising efforts.” Knox twirled the straw for his drink. The five of us knew what Cal had found, but the official investigatory team was still reviewing the documents and had yet to announce another press conference. The indictment process was also still grinding on. Intrastate politics were undoubtedly slowing things further.
“Is it wrong to hope Cal’s find doesn’t come out till after the memorial?” Sam grimaced, staring down at his share of the fried pickles. “Mrs. Stapleton deserves her dignity a little longer.”
I made a frustrated noise, then lowered my voice to a harsh whisper. “Someone trusting the wrong person doesn’t make them bad or unworthy of respect.”
“Of course.” Sam visibly recoiled, sitting back in his chair. “I didn’t mean to sound judgmental. The discovery doesn’t change all the good she did for the community.”
“Gossip won’t care how good of a person she was.” Cal pursed his mouth. “Last thing I want is a boost in fundraising from the public airing of dirty laundry.”
“I know.” I patted his leg under the table. “And I think we’re all worried about Worth. Whatever the public reaction, his is the one that matters most.”
“Yeah.” Sam pulled his phone back out, and I didn’t need to ask to know he was checking his messages again. The turn in the conversation made my pain flare again, made me that much more aware of how damn tired I was, how long this week had been, and by the time we made it through two rounds of the trivia game, I was more than ready to head back out into the rain.
“Thanks for coming, Cal.” Knox offered him a fist bump as we all settled up and prepared to leave. “How’d you learn so much history trivia?”
“A hell of a lot of sleepless nights and documentaries. And last few years, long drives and certain informative podcasts.” Cal gave me a knowing almost-fond look. That I wasn’t leaving alone was nice. Comforting. Indeed, Cal’s presence all evening had been most welcome. Having someone to share long gazes and little jokes with had been a major bright spot in a rough evening, and I returned his look with one of my own, which made him smile wider. “Lot of good…hypnotic voices out there.”
I heard praise for the podcast all the time, but coming from Cal, the compliment landed in a softer, more vulnerable place and lingered, warm and fuzzy, like an unexpected neck rub.
However, his praise turned to concern as soon as we were alone in my car.
