Inseverable: A Carolina Beach Novel by Cecy Robson

Author:Cecy Robson [Robson, Cecy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Cecy Robson, LLC
Published: 2016-06-20T23:00:00+00:00

I remain at the beach a lot longer than I intend. By the time I pull into Callahan’s gravel driveway and skid to a stop, it’s almost dark. I don’t mean to run, but I do, anxious to reach him.

The house is dark when I hurry in, exactly like it was the previous the night. This time, instead of that horrible silence I encountered yesterday evening, the sound of pouring rain blasts from his bedroom. He’s listening to the CD I purchased him, even though there’s no noise in the distance. I don’t know what he’s doing, I only hope that it’s helping.

“Callahan?”

I stop short when I find him sprawled across his large bed. His arm is draped over his face and the opened container of earplugs is on the nightstand to his right. I don’t think he can see or hear me, but somehow, he realizes I’m there.

He drops his arm away and sits up, his eyelids heavy from more than just the lack of sleep. Callahan is a man exhausted by life and all he’s endured in its grip. I sit beside him and pass my hand along his bare chest.

“Hi,” I whisper.

My voice is so low, I’m not sure he can hear me with all the white noise despite that I notice he’s not using the earplugs I’d brought him.

He brushes my hair from my shoulders. “Hey,” he says back.

“Did you have dinner?” I ask.

“No,” he replies. “It’s been a bad night.”

Because of those awful memories, he doesn’t add. “Are you hungry?” I ask.

He nods, and rubs his face, searching for something to say. But he’s already shown me enough.

I lean in, offering him a brief kiss. “I’ll make you something to eat. Why don’t you lie back and try to relax?”

When he doesn’t move, I press my hand against his shoulder. He clasps it, his face on mine as I edge him down to the mattress.

The way he holds my hand against his shoulder, I think he means for me to join him. But then it slips away. I watch him as I back away. Something in his leaden stare telling me that despite the white noise CD, the voices of his demons continue to whisper.

I head into the kitchen and wash my hands, then fish around for something to make him. I settle on grilled cheese and tomato soup given that it’s fast and easy to prepare. It's cold in the house with the A.C. blasting, but I think the hum from the motor is the reason it’s on so high.

I make several sandwiches and cut them up into tiny triangles that he can dip into the soup. It’s not much of a meal, but we both need to eat, and I need to get back to him.

When I make it back to his room, he’s covering his eyes again, but appears more restless, clenching and unclenching his fists like he’s raring for a fight. I reach to stroke his foot so he knows I’m back, but end up startling him instead.

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