Forever Checking (Checked Series Book 3)

  Forever Checking

  Jennifer Jamelli

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any likeness to actual people (living or dead) or events is entirely coincidental.

  Forever Checking. Copyright © 2015 by Jennifer Jamelli.

  Cover design by Ravven.

  Printed by CreateSpace.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any capacity without written permission.

  ISBN-13: 978-1514280751

  ISBN-10: 1514280752

  Dedication…one last time (now it will officially count…)

  Without these people, I never would have been able to

  write this book…

  1.) Max and Derek

  2.) My family

  3.) The creators of Zoloft

  Chapter 1

  nine hours later

  {IN MY HEAD RADIO, ELVIS Presley sings “It’s Now or Never.”}

  It’s been nine hours. Three plus three plus three hours.

  I still haven’t responded to his text.

  I still don’t know what to say.

  I’ve read his words over and over and over again. I’ve read them so many times that I have his text memorized. Completely memorized.

  Day One starts tomorrow.

  I need you to make me three promises before we start.

  1.) Promise to stop calling me “Dr. Blake.”

  2.) Promise not to go on any medication without talking to me first.

  3.) Promise to tell me right away if you ever get the sensation that music is somehow trapped in your mind.

  I haven’t stopped thinking about his words…about his three promises…about him…for the last nine hours. Not for a second. Not while I was at church. Not while I was finishing my Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance paper. Not while—

  My phone is ringing. Vibrating on my dresser.

  Great. Now he’s going to want to talk about his three promises over the phone. And I’m going to have to tell him about the music. About my head radio. And then he’s—

  CALLIE!

  I jump off of my bed and grab the phone.

  And it’s not him. It’s Mandy.

  But she’s at study hours right now. She never calls during study hours. So something must be wrong. Something must be really—

  I answer.

  “Mandy, is everything all—”

  “Callie. Don’t freak out.” She cuts me off.

  And I freak out. “What do you mean ‘Don’t freak out’? What is—”

  “CALLIE. Listen to me.”

  I close my mouth. I stop my words. Mandy pauses, not saying anything right away.

  My head starts to pound. Please let Mandy be okay. Please don’t let her be trapped in a burning car. Or kidnapped. Or—

  “Callie, it’s Melanie.” Mandy pauses again.

  Head pounding. Please let Melanie be okay. Please don’t let her be drowning. Or suffering from a gunshot wound. Or—

  “She’s bleeding, Callie.”

  She’s bleeding? She’s—

  I throw some words out of my mouth. “Did she cut herself? Or fall? Or—”

  “Callie.” Mandy cuts me off again. Quietly, though, this time. “It’s the baby.”

  Oh my God. Heart beating faster. Head pounding more. “The baby? How much is she bleeding? Is she losing the—”

  “Callie, Callie. Stop. Breathe. I don’t know. Melanie doesn’t know. She’s heading to the emergency room right now.”

  “Okay. I’ll get ready to go, and we can—”

  “Melanie doesn’t want us to come right now.”

  “What? Why not? We would be able to help if Abby—”

  “She doesn’t want Abby to know what’s going on. The babysitter is at the house with Abby now. Abby thinks that Mel and Doug are at an early dinner. If we show up unexpectedly, she will know something is up.”

  But that’s not helping anything. We aren’t helping. We have to help. We have to—

  Mouth back open. “But we could just go right to the hospital. Abby wouldn’t even—”

  “Melanie doesn’t want us to do that until she knows what is going on. She figures they won’t even keep her at the hospital very long, that either everything is okay or…or…”

  Or it’s all terribly not okay. Or Melanie is losing that tiny little innocent person inside of her for no reason, for no—

  But there has to be a reason. Or a cause.

  Like two unnecessary plane rides in the last, what, seventy-two hours? Like being needlessly nervous and worried about a sibling who is a complete mental case? Like—

  “Callie? You still there?”

  “Yeah. I’m here.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything. And if Melanie wants us to come, we’ll leave right away.”

  If Melanie wants us to come, we’ll make the trip. If she wants us to. But I didn’t want them to travel for me. I didn’t want my sisters to come to Florida. They came anyway. So—

  But it’s still my fault. They only came because they were THAT worried about me. Because I gave them reason to—

  “Callie? Did you hear me?”

  I push out an “mmmhmmm” sound. Please let everything be okay. Please let—

  “Okay, then I’ll call as soon as I hear anything else.”

  “Okay, Mandy.” Okay. Okay. Okay.

  We both say goodbye.

  And now…now I have to wait. And wait. And wait.

  And pray. And pray. And—

  {Hozier floats in with “Take Me to Church.”}

  Quick decision.

  I blast through my thirty-three leaving-the-house checks. Three times.

  Then I grab my purse and run out of the front door.

  Handle twist. Handle twist. Handle twist.

  And I leave.

  HOURS LATER.

  Thirty recitations of The Lord’s Prayer later.

  Thirty recitations of the Hail Mary later.

  Thirty recitations of the Act of Contrition later.

  Each set repeated three times…later.

  I’ve been praying for hours. It’s not enough, though. Because I still haven’t heard anything. I’ve checked my phone two hundred and seventy times. Once after each prayer.

  And I know that I shouldn’t have my phone out at all here in church, but I’m sure that God understands extreme circumstances. I hope he understands. I pray he understands.

  I start The Lord’s Prayer again. {Hozier sings as I pray.}

  End of prayer.

  Phone check.

  Nothing.

  Please let Melanie be okay. Please let the baby be okay. I’m sorry that Melanie made the unnecessary trip to Florida for me. And I’m sorry that I lied to Dr. Gabriel yesterday to get out of riding home on the plane with him. I’m sorry that I said I had a family emergency…and I’m sorry that I’ve now jinxed us into a real family emergency.

  I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

  The Lord’s Prayer. Number two.

  Phone check. Nothing.

  The Lord’s Prayer. Number three.

  Phone check. Nothing.

  {George Michael strums in with “Father Figure.”}

  The Lord’s Prayer. Number Fo—

  “Callie.” Low. Quiet voice.

  Him.

  Dr. Blake.

  Right behind me.

  Chapter 2

  church

  MY BODY GOES RIGID. KNEES pushing down hard into the kneeler. Arms glued to the top of the pew in front of me.

  The text…his text…flie
s back into my head.

  Oh my God. He’s going to want to talk about the mus—

  Wait.

  How did he even know that I’d be here? How did he know that I was upset or—

  Still kneeling, I turn my neck around so I face him.

  Worried, crinkled blue eyes and a—

  CALLIE! No time for that right now.

  Words start dropping out of my mouth in an almost church-acceptable whisper. “How did you know I was here? Did Mandy call you? What are you doing here? Is—”

  “I guessed. Yes. And to give you some news.”

  What? What is he—

  Wait. Wait. WAIT. He’s answering my questions. And he has news. Melanie news.

  “How is she?” As I speak, my eyes close in one last attempt to pray her, them, better. I pray, the top half of my body still turned awkwardly in the pew. My knees still digging into the kneeler.

  Please let it be good news. Please. Good news. Let it be good—

  Wait. He’s breathing in. He’s going to tell—

  “She’s okay, Callie. Melanie’s okay.”

  Thank you, God. She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s—

  WAIT. Eyes open. “What about the baby?” Please let the baby be—

  “The baby is okay too. The heartbeat is strong and—”

  “But what about the bleeding?”

  He starts to nod. “The bleeding has slowed. Melanie was sent home. She just needs rest. Lots of rest.”

  Eyes closed again. They’re okay. They’re okay. They’re okay.

  My body turns back around to face the front of the church. My arms rest on the pew in front of me, my hands folded tightly.

  Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Th—

  “Callie?”

  —ank you, God.

  ThankyouGodThankyouGodThankyouGod.

  “Callie? Are you okay?”

  My head starts to nod. Eyes still closed.

  Did I say thank you enough times? If I don’t say it more, will she lose the ba—

  Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank—

  “Callie? What’s going on? What are you doing?”

  Head down in prayer.

  —you God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Th—

  He’s—

  He’s touching me.

  His hand is pressing into my back. Warm fingers on my shoulder. Just the thin material of my grey sweater keeping his skin from mine.

  Heat.

  Him.

  My legs start to shake. I try to crush my knees against the kneeler beneath me so I don’t fall.

  I can’t feel the kneeler, though. Can’t feel my knees either.

  Just him. I can just feel him. {Well, and also the oh so familiar beat of Damien Rice’s “The Blower’s Daughter” as it pounds in—}

  “Callie?”

  Eyes still closed. Head still down.

  His hand still on my back.

  Everything still warm.

  “Callie?”

  {Damien still singing.}

  His hand disappears from my back. I can breathe again. Think again. But all I can think about is him putting his hand back—

  “Callie, you can’t stay at church all—”

  Church. I’m at freaking church thinking about—

  About—

  Well, about stuff that I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about at church.

  He’s still talking.

  Listen, Callie!

  “—and so you should let me drive you home.”

  What?

  My eyes open. I don’t turn around, though. My head stays down. As though I’m still praying.

  I should be praying now.

  But I can’t.

  Because…because, he can’t drive me home. He’ll want to talk. About his text. His three promises.

  And. I’m. Not. Ready.

  So. Not. Ready.

  Because him plus me plus a head radio conversation will most definitely equal his face minus any sort of happiness, which will then equal him running away again.

  It’s like a complex math problem. And I hate math. Almost as much—

  “Callie?”

  He’s touching me again. My eyes close. And my body—

  “Excuse me.” A new voice. Coming from the front of the church. Father Patrick’s voice.

  Eyes open. I look up and say hello to him—just as the hand…the warmth…disappears again from my back.

  “Hello, Calista.” Father Patrick smiles at me and nods his head to greet the non-parishioner behind me. He probably wonders why—

  “I’m so sorry, Calista.” Father Patrick again. “I have to lock up the church in about five minutes.” He makes an apologetic face. “I wish we could leave it open all night like we could twenty years ago, but, you know…”

  I guess even priests have to worry about the murderers. I’ve never—

  “I can keep it open a little longer if you need more time or if you want someone to talk to—”

  “No, no. That’s not necessary.” I shake my head and slowly push myself up onto the edge of the seat behind me. Just on the edge. If I lean back, who knows how close he’ll be…if I’ll be able to feel his breath on my—

  On second thought, I probably should have Father Patrick stick around so I can talk to him. So I can confess all of the non-holy thoughts I’ve been having here in God’s all-sacred house. I probably—

  Father Patrick is staring at me. Eyes wrinkled up in worry. “Calista, you look rather shaken. Perhaps we should talk for a bit before you drive home.”

  “Don’t worry, Father. I will see that she gets home safely.” That hushed, soothing voice behind me.

  Some questions flicker through Father Patrick’s eyes. But he says nothing.

  And it’s so freaking AWKWARD.

  I hurry to try to make it less weird. “Oh, Father, this is Dr. Blake, my, um, psychologist.”

  That’s a lie. A lie told to a priest. In church.

  But what was I supposed to say? Honestly, Father, he’s only kind of my psychologist. But he’s not really my psychologist, because he can’t be. Because we, uh, want to hook up. But not here in church, Father. Don’t wor—

  Father Patrick comes closer and leans past me to shake hands with Dr.—

  His arm grazes against my shoulder as he leans forward to shake Father’s hand.

  And the warmth starts again. And then some tingling.

  IN CHURCH.

  {An invisible choir begins the first verse of “O Holy Night.”}

  We’ve got to get out of here.

  I force my legs, my body, to stand up as soon as their handshake breaks apart. I quickly meet Father Patrick’s eyes. “Good night, Father.”

  He smiles. Still worried. Still confused. Still full of questions.

  I smile back, trying to reveal no answers. Then I turn and walk out of the pew, out toward the back of the church, without glancing behind me.

  Behind me. I hear him. I hear him say goodbye to Father Patrick. Then I hear—no, I feel—him follow me up the aisle of the church.

  I don’t turn around. My legs keep moving, my heels clicking against the marble squares on the floor below me.

  When I reach the back entrance of the church, I push my left heel against the bottom of the door, opening it and stepping out into the chilly—

  “Look at you—opening a door for me for once.”

  As he steps outside behind me, I turn around, the wind blowing my hair around my face. I push my hair out of my eyes and—

  And he’s smiling. His mouth is smiling. His eyes are teasing.

  I can’t help it. My mouth starts smiling back. And—

  And this could work. It could really work.

  This.

  Him. And me.

  Together. Being. Living. Smil—

  Lying. And lying, Callie. Until you—

  “What’s wrong?” His eyes darken with concern. “Melanie’s going t
o be okay. The baby will be too.”

  I nod and turn back around to walk toward the parking lot. “I hope so.”

  I walk right to my car. Right to my door.

  He follows.

  “Are you sure you can, um, should drive, Callie?”

  I push the unlock button on my keys and open my door. Then I plaster a reassuring smile on my face and look back at him. “I’ll be fine.”

  He raises his eyebrows, unconvinced.

  I widen my smile and bend down to sit in the driver’s seat. Then I say more words. “Now that I know that Melanie and the baby should be okay, I’ll be okay.” I put my key in the ignition and start the car. My radio starts up, playing a soft, slow song about—

  It doesn’t matter what it’s about, Callie. It’s music. And he’s here. So distract him. Keep talking. Not about music, though.

  More words start coming out of me at a sort of loud, almost music-covering volume. “I really shouldn’t leave my car here. I’ll need it in the morning.”

  And I don’t want to get into your crazy silent car so we can undoubtedly talk about the music in my head, your mother, and, I’m sure, your inevitable decision to leave me again.

  He still doesn’t say anything. I hope that isn’t because he’s been listening to my thoughts.

  One. Two. Three.

  I start to look up. His hands hold on to the top frame of my car door. I look up further, and—

  And. And concerned blue eyes look down at me. {Damien. He’s back. And he’s—}

  “Will you at least text me when you get home so I know that you’re okay?”

  Does that mean that I don’t have to respond to his earlier text? Because if I write about something unrelated to the earlier text, it’s just like we’ve skipped over, canceled out the previous message, right? Seriously—

  CALLIE! Answer him.

  I conjure up a smile. “Of course.”

  His face softens a bit in relief. Then—

  Then his face…his eyes…his mouth…they all come closer as he leans down over the door frame and—

  And brushes his lips slowly over my lower cheek. Right beside my lips.

  As his warm, stubbly cheek rubs against mine, I breathe him in. The smell of him. The feel of him. So—

  A new, loud—REALLY loud—song begins on the radio. I don’t even know the song. But it’s ridiculously loud.