@caleb-ashmore Caleb & Grace's home, Dicken
When Grace happened to catch her phone ringing during sixth period, she had assumed, not entirely foolishly, that it was her mother. She’d left her ringer on for this very reason, and often had her phone perched on a music stand or in a pocket of a sweater, ever vigilant for the call that her father was declining or something had happened So when the screen flashed with the name of a woman she hadn’t spoken to in some time, Grace almost didn’t answer, assuming it could wait. But the oddness of it all — the timing, the fact that it wasn’t just a text — piqued Grace’s interest, and she excused herself from a rather casual class by her standards to step into the hall.
The words rushed out of Gabby’s mouth with such ordinary quickness that Grace struggled to make sense of them, and she almost told her to repeat herself. Gabby’s voice was low and pained, but the refrain almost sounded rehearsed. Grace turned it over in her head.
Sam is gone, Grace. The funeral is Friday.
Sam is gone.
Sam.
Caleb’s best friend. The man he marched back into hell for.
Grace assured Gabby’s they’d make the trip and get there. She didn’t remember hanging up. She didn’t really remember the rest of the day, really— it all seemed consumed by her suffocating fear: she would have to tell Caleb. She would have to tell Caleb, and whatever happened after that would have to happen.
…
Grace was relieved not to be met with the sight of Caleb in the garage when she pulled into the driveway; this afforded her an extra moment to attempt to gain some composure. She took a few steadying breaths, feebly, uselessly, and then turned the key in the ignition.
Whatever happened after this would have to happen.
This was an inevitable and unavoidable truth, Grace knew. The worse truth for her was that she wasn’t aware how they were going to navigate it. Caleb had shouldered so much grief, whether consciously or not. He was shaped so wholly by loss, by absence, by longing and sadness. To lose the person he loved so deeply that he re-enlisted for a fourth tour and nearly lost his life to keep him safe was not something Grace knew if he could readily handle. Any one thing could be the thing. Any one sadness could be too much to handle. And Grace, selfishly, was afraid to lose him again.
She pushed open the front door, letting Peanut get her excitement out first, giving her a thorough pat down before heading toward the kitchen to deposit her bags. “Baby?” She called through the house, her voice lacking its usual excitement, instead colored by reticence. “I’m home.”