Beautiful Beast (Enchanted Fairytales) (9 page)

Alex’s stomach tightened with nerves. He worried about what she might ask. Instinctively he raised one hand to his face, but stopped halfway and folded his arms.

He stood and held a hand out to her, realizing a split second too late that it was a gesture he should not have performed. It made this feel too much like it
was
a date, and that was an impression he had to avoid at all costs. But Calli simply placed her hand in his, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and followed him into what he referred to as his spare room.

* * * * *

Calli looked around the stark white room.
Everything was painted flat white, the floor covered with plain white tiles. A white fridge, stove, and microwave lined one wall. The only color came from the brown table and chairs that sat in the middle of the room. This room was decidedly more depressing than his room, but she chose to keep her mouth closed about this as well.

Alex pulled their dinner out of the oven where it had been warming, and some other items from the fridge. They sat and ate, asking questions back and forth.

“Tell me about your friends,” he said.

“Brittany and Jennae are my best friends, have been since we were in Kindergarten. Eli and Brandon are usually with us. Brandon wants to be anywhere Brittany is. I have other friends at school, but they are who I mostly hang out with. Tell me about your father.”

“What’s to know?” he said. “You probably know him better than I do. He owns the bank. He likes playing God with the people in town. He has no sense of humor—or honor.”

“Really? Is that what you think of him?”

“Is that your next question?” he asked. “I believe it’s my turn. Tell me about your school.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but let it go. “Fine. Just remember you set the rules. My school is like any other school.” When he raised his brows at her, she realized he would have no idea what school as like. “I live on the poor side of town, so I hang with the others who live near me. None of us play football, are cheerleaders, or run for school officers. We don’t associate with the richies. The teachers could care less about any of us, though they care a little more about those whose parents have the means to donate to their programs. Learning anything is a personal choice, because you aren’t going to learn from the teachers.”

When she stopped speaking, he looked as if he were going to ask her to expound, so she raised a finger. “My turn. Why do you work out so much?”

Alex shrugged, turning his attention to his dinner. “It helps keep things loose, you know. If I don’t, my scars tighten up and make it harder to loosen them up again.”

Her shoulders slumped. She thought about all the guys at school who worked out to bulk up for the purpose of looking good for girls. Then she thought about Alex, who did it to try to stave off the pain. “Alex, I’m sor—”

“Don’t,” he said, holding a hand up. “Don’t be sorry. Not . . . not you. Please.”

Calli bit the inside of her cheek. A flush had crept up Alex’s left cheek. “Why don’t you ever eat with your dad?” she asked quietly.

She thought he might not answer. It was his turn after all. But he surprised her when he met her gaze and said, “I can’t stand to see him looking at me, and seeing nothing more than the loss of his wife and daughter.”

Calli wanted to argue with him. Surely Mr. Stratford didn’t blame Alex, or the little boy he had been. He had to be grateful that his son was saved. But she couldn’t argue it, because she didn’t know. She hadn’t ever seen them together, or even talked to Mr. Stratford about what had happened. What she could see was the pain and guilt in Alex’s eyes, and the loneliness.

She pushed her plate away from her. “Got any good movies?” He looked at her, a question in his eyes. “Well, every good non-date should end with a movie in a non-theater. We’ll eat a piece of Javier’s peach pie that I saw in your fridge, and that will be our non-popcorn.”

Alex smiled at her. “You’re pretty non-normal, Callidora Clayson.”

“Finally,” she said, throwing her hands in the air, “he gets me.” She stood and this time held her hand out to him. “C’mon, friend.”

He looked at her hand for a second, then took it and followed her back out into his room. She stopped there.

“Um, can I use your restroom first?” she asked.

He waved a hand toward the door and she went in. She leaned against the edge of the sink and took deep breaths. Sympathy for Alex overwhelmed her. She wanted to go back in time and hold that little boy who thought it was his fault he couldn’t rescue two others from a burning building. She wanted to hold the almost-man he was now for the pain that continued to rip him apart and kept him hidden like a . . . well, like a monster.

Her fingers tightened against the corner and she held her breath to stifle the sobs. Finally she splashed some water onto her neck and glanced up into the mirror to make sure no traces of her anguish remained.

No mirror.

She turned in a circle in the large bathroom. No mirrors anywhere. His closet led from the back of the bathroom, same as hers. She peeked in, not wanting to snoop, but snooping anyway. Rows of sweatshirts and long-sleeved t-shirts lined the racks. No mirrors.

Weird. Understandable, but weird. And not a little heartbreaking.

* * * * *

Alex paced as he waited for Calli to come out of his bathroom.
He’d said too much. He found himself doing that more and more with her. He’d told her more than he’d ever told his psychiatrist in all his years of therapy. It made him edgy that he’d shared so much with her.

She came out, her usual happy countenance back in place. She took a look around his room, as if searching for something, then said, “Let’s go.”

They went out to the theater room, and he listed some of the movies he had.

“Well, I can see this is something we’re going to have to do more often,” she said. “I haven’t seen
any
of those.”

She chose one, and he put it in the player while she dished them up two pieces of pie. He sat on the couch, and when she came over, she sat down right next to him. Alex thought he should feel nervous about that, but somehow it felt right.

The movie started, and Calli exclaimed over the size of the screen and the sound in the room. “This is so much better than the theater. And my feet don’t stick to the floor.”

“Why would your feet stick to the floor?”

“I don’t know. I guess they never mop up the spilled drinks and stuff. But you have to be careful or you could lose a shoe.”

Alex laughed and took her empty plate, setting it on the end table with his. He turned his attention back to the movie, and soon Calli tucked her feet up next to her, leaned over, and laid her head on his shoulder. Alex stiffened.

“Is this okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. And it was. She snaked her arm through his, tangling her fingers with his. Alex relaxed against her. He didn’t think he’d ever enjoyed a movie more.

* * * * *

“
You can’t put the star on yet,”
Calli told Alex, reaching to snatch it out of his hand.

“Why not?” He laughed, holding it up out of her reach.

“It goes on last. You have to hang all the ornaments and the strings of popcorn before you can top the tree.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “And who decided that it would be fun to spend hours stringing popcorn just to hang on a Christmas tree. We had enough decorations already.” Alex would never admit it, but the hours they’d spent stringing—and eating—the popcorn
had
been fun.

The four months Calli had been living in Alex’s home had sped by. Four months of Alex feeling
alive
again. Calli rarely went home on weekends anymore. At first it had only been occasionally that she stayed. She hadn’t gone home for the last six weeks solid.

Alex now ate dinner with her and his father every night. How she’d talked him into that he couldn’t say, but he realized how much easier it was to be around his father with her there. He could ignore his father’s looks, and watch Calli tease him.
Tease
Winston Stratford. He didn’t think another soul could get away with that.

Alex looked down into the box he held. “Look, Calli, there’s only one little box of ornaments left. How can putting those up first possibly make a difference?”

“Alex. Callidora. What are you two up to?” his father asked, entering the room. Alex stiffened, putting up his guard as he always did when his father was near.

“Hey, Winny. What’s up?” Calli asked. Alex’s father bristled. When he kept addressing her as Callidora she began calling him the ridiculous nickname of Winny. It had become a battle of wills regarding their names. Alex suspected Calli would win.

“My name is Winston, as you well know.”

“And mine is Calli, as
you
well know. Wanna help us put this last box of ornaments on the tree?”

Alex waited for his father’s expected refusal. Surprisingly, Alex heard him say, “Sure.”

Disappointment filled Alex. He’d been having fun until now. He preferred his father to leave and let them get back to the fun. Instead, Calli leaned into the larger box and withdrew the small box of ornaments, which she handed to his father.

“Callido—Calli, why don’t you go see if Javier will make us some eggnog while Alex and I put these on the tree.”

“Sure,” Calli cheerfully agreed before Alex could offer to go himself. He didn’t want to be left alone with his father. Calli left the room, and Alex grudgingly stayed put.

His father opened the box, tipping it toward Alex so he could see inside. “Do you remember these ornaments, Alex?”

Alex looked into the box. The ornaments were the cheap, glass kind. They were pink and silver. They didn’t look familiar. Their tree was always professionally decorated—and definitely had never included strands of popcorn.

“No, I’ve never seen them,” he said curtly.

His father looked down at the ornaments, caressing them with his free hand almost reverently. “They were your mom’s.”

Alex jerked at the mention of his mom. His father had never spoken of her to Alex. In fact, Alex had been informed of her death—which he’d already known anyway—by one of his nurses at the hospital.

“She bought them the first year we were married at a run-down dollar store. They were all we could afford.” He smiled to himself, lost in memory. “When we got home, she dragged me up the mountain to dig up a tree. We had to be very careful so that after Christmas it could be planted in the yard.”

Alex suddenly had a clear memory of a backyard with pine trees of varying sizes planted along the back fence. It didn’t occur to him to wonder about them at the time. Did he know that she’d planted their Christmas tree every year?

His father looked up at the tree Alex and Calli had decorated. He stepped forward and fingered the popcorn strand. He turned and Alex was surprised to see his eyes were shiny with tears.

“She did this as well, because it also was cheap. Even later, when we had money, she still strung popcorn for the tree.” He looked down at the ornaments again and caressed them. “I miss her, Alex,” he whispered.

Alex clenched his fists, fighting the tide of emotion and guilt that swept over him. He knew there had been some things saved from the fire, some things that were in the garage. But he’d never seen anything. He didn’t have any pictures of his mom or his sister. He didn’t know ornaments had made it into their home until now.

“I know you do,” Alex said, his voice low and rough. “I . . . I’m sorry . . . I tried to . . . I couldn’t get to them. I tried . . . I tried so hard . . .”

As he gave his halting speech, his father’s look went from confused to stunned realization to disbelief. He stepped toward Alex, setting the ornaments on the table and taking Alex by both arms.