The Bully (Calamity Montana #4)(40)

“I’m glad you like them.” I smiled. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. I wish you were here to celebrate it with me.”

“Next time.”

I’d considered flying to Colorado for a quick visit, and had I known that Darius and Kylie Rivera would be in town, I probably would have gone south. Except I was content in Calamity and wasn’t quite ready to leave yet. Probably because leaving, even for just a weekend, felt a lot like losing to Nellie.

“How’s your special day going?” I asked Mom.

“Good.” There was a smile in her voice. “I just arrived at the spa. It was your father’s gift.”

My jaw ticked. “Isn’t that what he got you last year too?”

“Yes, but—oh, shoot. They’re waving me in already. Can I call you later, Cal? We’re going out to a fancy dinner later, but I should have some time to catch up on the drive home. I’d like to hear how Montana is treating you.”

“Of course. Call me whenever.”

“Okay.”

“Happy birthday, Mom,” I said again. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

I hung up and stared at my phone, guilt creeping in. She was spending the day at the spa. Damn. I should have gone to see her. At least then she wouldn’t be around strangers on her special day. Though the amount of time she spent at the spa, I supposed those people were hardly strangers.

Dad sent Mom to the spa at least one day a week. Always a gift, so she’d feel indebted. It was his way of keeping her pacified. Because according to him, a spoiled wife didn’t ask questions. She was more willing to overlook his discretions.

Like the fact that he was probably spending her birthday with his latest mistress.

Was the reason Mom avoided him so willingly because she knew about the girlfriends?

I knew of five myself. Dad hadn’t been shy about parading them around whenever Mom was occupied elsewhere. The first I’d met my freshman year in high school, back when he still introduced them as his assistants. One had been his travel agent.

Maybe he’d thought I was too young to realize the truth. But he’d spoken too closely into their ears. He’d touched the smalls of their backs. He’d smiled at them like their secret affair was safe with me.

The son of a bitch.

In one of my first games with the Titans, Dad had decided to fly out and watch. He’d asked for two tickets, saying he was bringing a friend.

That friend had turned out to be a twenty-something brunette with fake tits, a short skirt and a tight ass. When I’d asked him after the game who the fuck she was, he’d brushed it off. Told me it was just sex. He’d said that I’d understand when I was his age.

The fuck I would.

Our relationship had been strained before that day. After that, it had been over.

Any time Dad had asked me to get him tickets, I’d call Mom and invite her first. No surprise, his attendance had dwindled over the years. They’d missed my last two seasons entirely.

This time of year, I’d be in the thick of spring training. I was going to need more to do with my life than sit in this camper.

Christ, I missed football. I missed the focus it stole from my personal life.

My architect had finished the initial draft of the house plans. He was making some tweaks based on my feedback. Hopefully we’d have them finalized this week so they could be submitted to the county for a building permit approval. But even if I had to pick out flooring and tiles and cabinets and paint colors, I was going to need more activity.

For today, it was laundry. A pile of stripped sheets was on the RV’s floor. I had Nellie and her impromptu visit last night to thank for a task to do today. As much as I liked her scent on my sheets, it had to go.

Nothing good would come from holding her too close.

I scooped up the pile and walked outside, about to head for the motel’s laundry room.

“Cal,” Harry called, opening her front door.

“Morning.”

“It’s too early for me.”

It was almost nine, and I’d been up since dawn.

“Laundry?” She nodded to the bundle in my arms.

“Yeah.”

She waved me over. “Use my machine. Marcy’s swamped today.”

And if I went to the laundry room, I would be in the way.

I changed directions, walking through Harry’s sage-green door. I hadn’t given her home much thought. Based on the exterior, I guess I expected it to be clean and tidy. It was clean. It was tidy. But holy shit, Harry had a lot of clutter.

The walls were so busy I wasn’t sure what to look at first. Hung over the pink floral-print wallpaper in the entryway were at least fifty framed photos. Most were landscapes with a few faces mixed in between. Before I could lean in for a closer inspection, Harry waved me to follow her down the narrow hallway.

“Laundry room is this way,” she said.

We weaved through a living room. The space would have been a comfortable size but with four couches, each upholstered in a different shade of mustard, I felt like I’d just stepped into a dollhouse. The furniture clashed beautifully with the green striped wallpaper, not that you could see much past the bookshelves, TV cabinet and piano.

Knickknacks. Pictures. Trinkets. Harry was a collector.

“This is not what I expected,” I said as we passed through the kitchen. Again, it would have been spacious if not for the six-chair dining room table in the center.