No Angels (Willow Creek Christmas)

7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Mike

Thanksgiving weekend is almost here, and mom told me to invite Bianca and Serena. I lingered after rehearsal tonight in the hope of getting her alone so I could ask. Evidently Cindy has been talking, because all of the moms showed up tonight, and some of the dads, when they picked up the kids. Like now they know exactly who Bianca is, they think it’s a legitimate endeavor or she’s lending it credibility. It pisses me off that they are so small-minded. I love Willow Creek, but it’s easy to forget how self-absorbed some community members can become. They’ll stay away and let everyone else do the grunt work until they think they have the chance to soak up some glory or brush their wings with someone notorious. I’m painting the main backdrop to look like a picture I once saw of Mt. Sinai, when I hear her footsteps come to a halt behind me.

“You’re really good at this.”

She sounds amazed by my competency, and I should be offended by her lack of trust. Instead, I blush. I never blush.

I hitch my left shoulder to my ear as I shrug and keep my face turned away so she won’t see how red my cheeks are underneath my beard. “That’s because I’ve done it before. I like painting murals. I was thinking of that old gospel song, Go Tell it on the Mountain.”

“You’re full of secrets, Callihan. Since when do you paint murals? Anything here in town?”

I focus on the getting the color of the sky just right so I won’t have to look at her when I answer. “The old O’Brien place.”

I heard the catch in her breath and I bet her eyes snapped wide open. “The haunted house?” She asks in disbelief.

“It wasn’t haunted,” I tell her. “Just neglected. You should see it now.”

“Who owns it? Do you think they’d take me on a tour?”

I know if I touched her right now she’d be quivering with excitement.

“I own it. And yes I’ll give you a tour.”

“That’s a big house for a bachelor.”

There’s a question buried somewhere in that observation. “Yeah. But I wasn’t a bachelor when I bought it.”

“You’re married?”

“Not anymore.” It didn’t feel like I was married even when I was married, because Carrie would never be Bianca. We tried, and I loved her with the tiny part of my heart that didn’t belong to the girl who left, but it wasn’t enough. And she hated small town life. “My wife asked for a dissolution a year after our son was born.”

“You have a son. Somehow, I never imagined that.”

She sounds wistful.

“Carrie and I co-parent Brady. She probably resents the fact that she can’t move closer to the city, but there was no way I wasn’t going to be a part of Brady’s life.”

“How old is he?” She kneels beside me and grabs a brush. Her shoulder bumps mine as she starts swiping green paint along the bottom of the panel.

“He’s eight. And you never told me you were a painter too.”

She shrugs and flushes just like I did a minute ago. “I dabble in watercolors, and everyone who does theater has to kind of become a jill of all trades. But I’m just the pinch hitter, and there’s always the possibility I’ll strike out. I’m nothing even close to a master. Not like you.”

“I’m not a master either, but sometimes it’s a great outlet for the way I feel when I can’t put things in a box or ignore them.”

She smiles wistfully. “That sounds like it could be really useful sometimes.”

“I could cook dinner for us if you want to take a tour of the house tomorrow night.”

When she turns around, the paintbrush is dangling from her hand and she’s grinning. “Are you officially asking me out, Callihan?”

Suddenly my face is burning again. I’m supposed to be asking her to Thanksgiving dinner next week, not my house. But if she says yes, I can ask her the other question then. I shrug. “If that’s the label you wanna give it.”

She tips her head to the side. “What other label is there?”

“Just a couple of old friends catching up.”

“You can call it that if you want. But I’m still going to call it a date. Especially if Farrah hears about it. Maybe she’ll get off my case then.”

“Why’s Farrah on your case?”

“Our visit to Dairy Freeze was heartily observed and well-documented.”

“You can use me as prop, Cassidy. I don’t mind.”

“I don’t consider you a prop, Callihan. If I tell her we’re going on a date, she’ll stop trying to think of ways to throw us together.”

“I’m glad to be of assistance. You can bring the wine.”

“Text me the directions and I’ll be there at six thirty sharp.”

“Dinner will be ready. Just be careful – there are a lot of deer out that way this time of year.”

“I promise I’ll be careful.”

I want to show the house in the best light possible, so I putter around all day Saturday. I have my mom’s chicken cacciatore recipe in the crockpot and the garlic bread is ready to pop in the oven. One of the Mantovani records I borrowed from my mom is in the record player. I just need to finish nailing down the loose boards in the hallway and painting over the dark spots in the oyster plaster.

I have time to do that and hop in the shower, because Bianca was always late for everything when we were growing up. I set the alarm on my phone and get to work.