Page 44

Forty-One

We finish our meal, and all six of Callum’s family members do the dishes. Together. I sort of feel like I am in an episode of the more athletic Brady Bunch , and I love it.

Afterward, we gather in the living room to play Tiffany’s favorite game. The whole thing feels like a movie. This is what I’ve been talking about. This is exactly what I want.

But I keep quiet and wait for instructions on Murder in the Dark.

“I hate this game,” Asher says. “I’m twenty years old. Do I have to play this game?”

“I’m with Ash,” Kailey says. “Where’s the Phase Ten deck?”

“Hey!” Tiff whines. “I love this game, and I can’t play with just Mom and Dad. It wouldn’t work. You all grew up and left home, so it’s your duty to play it with me when you come back.”

Asher groans.

“Tiff, don’t be childish.”

“She is a child, K,” Callum’s mom says. “And we’re going to allow that for as long as possible. You’re playing. All of you.” Kristina eyes all of her children, a look that tells them to hush up and get on board.

“Besides,” Tiff says, “Callum promised me last time he was here that we could play next time he came.”

“I sure did,” Callum says. “So, let’s do this.” He claps his hands, then rubs them together, as if mentally preparing. I am pretty sure he has only looked more adorable in a soccer uniform, running to the side of the field to kiss me.

“We haven’t even talked about the Red Tails last game,” Asher whines.

“What else do you need to know?” Tiff says, her tone exasperated. “You watch every game on YouTube, and you look up all the stats. Can’t we have one night where we don’t talk about soccer?”

“YouTube doesn’t tell me if Roman Graves popped his top again. Last time Cal was home, we heard stories about Graves booting a ball clear out of the stands. Do you have any idea how much power that takes? He was pissed and?—”

“Asher—that’s enough. We’re playing your sister’s favorite game. You can ask your brother about that hot head later.”

“Hot head?” I laugh. I’m not sure I’ve ever really paid attention to Graves.

“Mom doesn’t approve of Roman’s antics,” Callum whispers to me.

Tiff stands in front of us all. “Okay, I’ll lead the game.”

“She doesn’t even play,” Asher says. “She facilitates.”

“Asher, shut it,” Callum says.

“Thank you, Cal.” Tiff nods her approval.

“Let me explain for Fran. You take a card, and it will tell you who you are. You have three options: sheriff, townsman, or murderer. Don’t tell anyone who you are.

” She looks right at me as she says this, ensuring that I’m listening to her every word.

“You’re going to introduce yourself as a townsman, and then you’ll just listen for instructions.

The goal of the townsman is to figure out the murderer.

And the goal for the murderer is to never get caught. ”

“And the sheriff?” I ask—I am a very good student. I’m listening.

“He helps the townsman. You’ll see.”

Tiff passes out the cards, and I peek at mine. This isn’t exactly a romcom-loving girl’s sort of game. Murder? Not my thing. But I’m willing to play—for Tiff.

I peek at my card, keeping it secret from Callum right next to me. I am the sheriff—which means what? I have no idea.

After going around for fake and awkward introductions of who each of us is—Callum is a baker named Bob, who would never harm a soul (or so he says!)—we begin.

Tiff has us all close our eyes. She asks the murderer to open their eyes and point to someone they want to kill—what kind of games do the Whitakers teach their children?

Then Tiff asks the sheriff to open their eyes. I do and find everyone around me with their eyes still shut. I look at Tiff, who smiles and says, “Sheriff, who do you want to protect this round?” She makes a lip zipping motion, telling me to be quiet.

So, I silently point to Callum—which gets me a full-on eye roll from Tiffany.

“Okay, sheriff, shut your eyes.” After only a second, she adds, “Everyone open your eyes.” We do, and Tiff says, “There’s been a murder! Carl the carpenter has been found with his head chopped off!”

I cringe. “Head cut off?”

Kristina taps her husband’s shoulder. “That’s you, honey.”

“Oh, right.” Brady slides partway down his chair, his body flopping, his tongue out.

“That’s enough, honey.” Kristina pats him again.

I watch, my brows knit.

“Okay, let’s talk,” Tiffany says. “Who do you think it was?”

I sit quietly while Callum’s family argues about who would have the gall to kill Dad first. Asher seems to think it’s his mother, while Kailey is convinced it’s Callum. Callum professes his innocence as a friendly local baker.

I don’t have anything to add—there are literally zero clues. I don’t get it. I can see why the game annoys Asher. It’s acting and luck.

We go through two more rounds—Asher dies, then Kailey, all while I attempt to save Callum. Again and again. It’s instinct. I realize it’s a game, but he’s the only person I know here.

“Down to Mom, Callum, and Fran,” Tiffany says. “Any guesses?” This girl has a future in game show hosting. She’s good.

“It’s got to be Mom,” Cal says with a shrug.

Kristina laughs. “We all know it’s you, Callum. You never kill me. You’re a sweet mama’s boy. We all know it.”

“Gah! I told you!” Kailey growls.

“Hey! Dead people can’t talk!” Tiff yells, pointing at her sister.

Slumped in his seat, Asher mutters, “I hate this game.”

“Maybe it’s Fran,” Callum says. He shrugs one shoulder. I’m seated so close to the man that his shrug bumps my side. “She’s been pretty quiet this whole time.”

“Hey!” I speak up. “It’s not me! I’m quiet because I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Meh,” Cal says, his tone high. “That’s what all the newbies say.”

“Cal!” I bark. “I have been saving you this entire time, and now you want to pin the blame on me?”

“Fran,” Tiff moans, her head rolling backward. I have officially just outed myself as the sheriff. With my confession, the rest of the room goes quiet.

And then, Kristina chuckles. “I guess that means I’m done for. Because it looks as if our sheriff and our murderer have been working together.” She peers at Callum, a funny grin on her face.

“Sorry, Mom,” Callum says through a smothered laugh. “I win again !”

“Don’t you mean your team wins?” Kristina nods from Cal to me.

“That’s right.” Callum wraps one arm around me, and my face floods with warmth. “You probably shouldn’t mess with us.”

Tiffany rolls her eyes—man, she has that gesture down. “You weren’t supposed to give yourself away, Fran. And saving Callum every time just made sure the murderer won.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Sorry.”

“Simmer down, Tiff,” Callum says. “It was her first time playing.”

“Callum’s right,” Kristina says. “It’s just a game.”

Tiff huffs. “Sorry, Fran. We can play again tomorrow night, and you’ll know better. ”

Asher falls to the side, onto this father. “Nooo. I’m not playing this again.”

Kristina just smiles and shakes her head. “I’m ready for bed, family. Love you.”

There’s a chorus of “Love you, Mom” that makes my throat clench.

“Okay, then,” Brady says, jumping to his feet.

“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” Kristina tells me.

I nod and watch as Brady wheels his wife to the end of the long stairway that leads to the hall with Callum’s bedroom. He lifts his wife from her chair, and she wraps one arm around his neck.

“’Night, Mom!” Tiff calls.

“’Night, babies,” Kristina says before resting her head against Brady. I can’t look away. I watch as Brady carries his wife up the stairway. I watch until they disappear from sight.

“It’s late. I’m headed up too,” Kailey says.

“Are you tired?” Callum asks me.

I nod, feeling for the first time a little out of place in this family home.

“Gah! Don’t leave me here with just Asher,” Tiffany says to her older siblings.

Callum ruffles her head on his way past her. “It’s late, Tiff. We have to help Mom in the morning.”

She groans while dragging herself over to the stairs.

Callum’s room has a bathroom attached, which makes changing and getting ready for bed a little less uneasy. It’s possible I did not think this through. Maybe I should have let Callum bunk with one of his siblings.

There’s a blanket and pillow on the floor when I exit the bathroom in my sweat shorts and T-shirt.

“It’s a big bed.” I swallow. “You can take one side, and I’ll take the other.”

“Not a chance,” he says, breathing out a curt laugh.

My brow wrinkles.

“I just mean, the floor will be fine.”

“Okay.” I slip beneath the sheets of Callum Whitaker’s bed. I am sleeping in a Reno-Tesoro Red Tails bed tonight. That’s something I never thought I’d say.

“Goodnight, Fran,” he says as he disappears onto the floor and out of my sight.

“Goodnight, Cal.” I stare up at the dim ceiling, thinking about Callum’s family, about his parents. They have a love story, a beautiful one—one that I’d really like to know. “Cal,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“How old is your dad?”

“Fifty-two.” He waits one minute in the quiet, dim room before asking, “Why?”

“And he carries your mom to bed every night?”

“Every night,” Callum says. “Even when I lived at home, he never let me take her up.”

“Has she always— How long has?—”

“She was in an accident a year after I was born.”

“That long?”

“Yeah.”

My brain won’t stop. “Have they thought about getting a home with fewer stairs?”

“I’ve asked them that a dozen times,” he says with a sigh. “But Mom loves this house. They bought it after Kailey was born, and just before she had me. It’s sentimental to her for reasons I don’t understand. Dad says he’s fine, and when he isn’t, he’ ll let us know.”

“That’s love,” I say, my heart pumping too fast for my restful position.

“It absolutely is.”

“They’re very sweet,” I say.

“They are the best.”

“I’m glad.” My eyes blur with unshed tears—happy tears. “You deserve the best, Callum.”

The quiet feels small, and just when I’ve decided we’re done talking, Cal says, “You deserve the best too, Fran. Never settle. Ever. Okay?”