Ripple Effect Read online

  Ripple Effect

  Tracey Jerald

  Copyright © 2020 by Tracey Jerald

  ISBN: 978-1-7330861-4-1 (eBook)

  ISBN: 978-1-7330861-5-8 (Paperback)

  Editor: One Love Editing (http://oneloveediting.com)

  Proof Edits: Holly Malgeri (https://www.facebook.com/HollysRedHotReviews/)

  Cover Design by Tugboat Design (https://www.tugboatdesign.net/)

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Turtle,

  For accepting the girl who smashed LT’s class curve.

  Whiskey tango…

  All the love, brother.

  Contents

  1. Present Day

  2. Elizabeth

  3. Calhoun

  4. Elizabeth

  5. Elizabeth

  6. Elizabeth

  7. Elizabeth

  8. Elizabeth

  9. Present Day

  10. Calhoun

  11. Present Day

  12. Elizabeth

  13. Calhoun

  14. Elizabeth

  15. Present Day

  16. Calhoun

  17. Calhoun

  18. Present Day

  19. Elizabeth

  20. Elizabeth

  21. Calhoun

  22. Elizabeth

  23. Present Day

  24. Elizabeth

  25. Calhoun

  26. Present Day

  27. Calhoun

  28. Present Day

  29. Elizabeth

  30. Calhoun

  31. Elizabeth

  32. Present Day

  33. Elizabeth

  34. Calhoun

  35. Elizabeth

  36. Calhoun

  37. Present Day

  38. Elizabeth

  39. Calhoun

  40. Calhoun

  41. Present Day

  42. Elizabeth

  43. Calhoun

  44. Elizabeth

  45. Calhoun

  46. Elizabeth

  47. Calhoun

  48. Present Day

  49. Calhoun

  50. Elizabeth

  51. Present Day

  52. Elizabeth

  53. Calhoun

  54. Elizabeth

  55. Elizabeth

  56. Calhoun

  57. Calhoun

  58. Elizabeth

  59. Present Day

  60. Elizabeth

  61. Elizabeth

  62. Elizabeth

  63. Present Day

  64. Calhoun

  65. Elizabeth

  66. Present Day

  67. Calhoun

  68. Calhoun

  69. Elizabeth

  70. Calhoun

  71. Elizabeth

  72. Calhoun

  73. Present Day

  74. Calhoun

  75. Calhoun

  76. Elizabeth

  77. Present Day

  78. Calhoun

  79. Calhoun

  80. Present Day

  Epilogue

  The End

  Also by Tracey Jerald

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  Present Day

  Elizabeth

  I’ve tried to leave this part of my life behind so many times. Over and over, I’m dragged back to rehash the memories of the worst days I’ve ever endured. How many times can I do it before I say no more? I think wearily. I’m proud to say I’ve moved on. It took years for me to get to where I am right now.

  My husband, recognizing the tension whipping through my body, offers with complete seriousness, “We can leave.”

  I snicker. “’Cause that will go over well.” I rub my hands up and down my arms, trying to warm myself.

  He turns me to face him, and my slight baby bump brushes against his muscular abs. “Like I give a damn about that. Especially now.” His hand drops to caress my stomach tenderly.

  I reach up and cup his cheek. Smoothing my hand back and forth over the bristles that tickle the inside of my palm, I murmur, “You need to shave.”

  “I ran out of time. This gorgeous pregnant woman had her way with me this morning. I was a wreck when she was done.” His smile, the very first thing I noticed about him, makes my stomach flutter. Then again, maybe that’s our baby kicking. Either way, I’m flooded with gratitude.

  Now.

  “I didn’t notice you complaining,” I tease.

  He gives me a look rife with disbelief. “I may be called many things, but I hope I’ve grown out of my idiot stage.”

  Brushing my lips against his, I whisper, “I occasionally have to check. It took you a little longer than the average male.”

  Just as my husband’s about to retaliate with some smart-ass comment, a door opens behind us. “Mrs. Sullivan? Dr. Powell is ready for you.”

  Cal doesn’t let me go right away. “I’m right here, Libby. I’ve got you.”

  “I know.” And I do; he’s more than shown me that.

  Concern flashes over his face. He opens his mouth but closes it just as quickly.

  “What is it?” I ask. I don’t have a lot of time before I need to be on the other side of that door.

  Crushing me to him, he whispers directly in my ear, “You had a nightmare last night.”

  Surprised, I lean back in his strong arms. “I did?”

  He nods solemnly. “And I know today’s going to make things worse.” The tick in his jaw betrays his calm demeanor.

  Knowing I’m putting the schedule at risk, I wrap my arms around him and hold him as hard as I can. Cal buries his head in my neck. “Even if they try to get to me in dreams, there’s nothing for you to be afraid of.”

  “Why’s that?” His voice is raw with remembered pain.

  I search his tired eyes, which I can now see reflect his lack of sleep. Probably because he was standing guard over his family. Kissing him briefly, I pull out of his warm embrace and make my way to the door. I pause there and look back. “Because just like the first time I woke from my nightmare, you were there for me.”

  “I always will be. No matter what.”

  Without another word, I follow the young intern down the hall. Another person greets us before saying, “I’ll take Mrs. Sullivan from here. How are you today?”

  I smile and nod, but inside I’m screeching in maniacal laughter. Is anyone ever ready to have their emotions dissected like they’re a frog in science class?

  It takes another few minutes before I’m settled facing Dr. Powell. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Sullivan.”

  “Libby, please,” I correct him. I can’t do this if we’re going to stand on formality.

  “Libby,” he returns. “We left off yesterday talking about your background; you’re an interior designer in the Washington, DC, area, correct?”

  Smoothing a hand over my stomach, I nod. “Yes. A little less than four years ago now, my husband’s company was bought out. We decided to relocate with the new owners.”

  “How does it feel to be back in Charleston?”

  My ey
es drift out the window overlooking the harbor. Sunlight glistens off the water. I shudder.

  “Is strange an acceptable answer?”

  “It is.”

  “Then let’s go with that.” The laugh I receive is appreciated, so I begin to relax.

  Maybe it’s too soon to do that.

  “Libby, I can’t help but notice you’re expecting. “

  “It’s getting harder and harder for me to miss too,” I joke, earning another chuckle.

  “Is your family excited?”

  “Beyond belief.” I smooth a hand over my stomach, pulling my dress tighter.

  “After everything you’ve been through, it must feel like a miracle,” Dr. Powell says gently.

  “Yes.” I don’t elaborate more because I suspect he will.

  And I’m right.

  “We’re here for a reason, today, Libby. And this miracle is a perfect conclusion to it. I hate to take you back…”

  “You don’t have to,” I tease. “We can just talk about how I plan on decorating the nursery.”

  He smiles. There’s an edge of determination covered by a layer of sympathy to it that I abhor—not that I’d let him see. I don’t need the sympathy; the families of the people who didn’t survive do.

  What I need is peace.

  “I’d like to go back, Libby.”

  I shake my head, still wearing a smile. “What’s the good in that?” For me, for Cal, for any of us?

  “Context.” Dr. Powell’s words come back at me so succinctly, I want to roll my eyes, but I can hear Cal’s voice in my head telling me to calm my sass.

  Reaching for the unopened bottle of juice on the table next to me, I twist the cap off and take a small sip. Just a small one. I still can’t consume liquids any faster than a tiny drink at a time. “How far back would you like to go?”

  Flipping through the notes on his lap, he lifts off his glasses before asking, “What made you decide to take a trip on your own on the luxury cruise liner, Sea Force?”

  Even knowing the question was coming, my heart sinks because I know of all the subsequent questions that are going to follow.

  Cal was wrong. I was wrong. To keep raking this over the coals punishes more than just us.

  Taking a deep breath, I admit, “Because I was certain my marriage was over.”

  After all, when a communication breakdown occurs in most marriages, there’s always a ripple effect. But when it occurs on the international stage, and it involves a coordinated military rescue, well, the ripples are the size of a tsunami.

  Plucking at my dress, a dress I chose to wear because it has sunflowers scattered on it, I remember the days leading up to when Cal gave them to me for the first time. It was right at the end of college, and every day seemed as beautiful outside as this one.

  2

  Elizabeth

  Fifteen Years Ago from Present Day

  Calhoun Sullivan. Just thinking his name sends tingles through my body the likes of which I’ve never understood.

  It all started a few months ago when after months of being in his class, my cousin Sam brought Cal out to dinner when he met up with me at the local diner on campus. “Libs, Cal,” he introduced us before dropping into the seat next to me.

  When our hands touched for the first time, a frisson ran up my spine. My body locked as I met his brown eyes beneath furrowed brows. It was in complete contrast to the abrupt “Libby” he gave me before sitting.

  Sam and Cal began talking—no, debating—about politics in earnest that night. Tuning their words out, I instead listened to the lazy cadence of both of their voices, wondering exactly how quickly I could manage to escape without being rude. Finally, I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “Don’t take this the wrong way—” I offered them both a smile. “—but I have an exam to prepare for tomorrow.”

  “Crap, Libs. I was going to…” Sam was utterly contrite as he was going to help me study.

  Pushing at his shoulder gently, I grabbed my bag and slid out of the seat. “Nothing to apologize for. You’re not always going to be there for me to lean on.”

  A flash of something crossed Sam’s face. “No, but I’m here now.”

  Leaning upward, I brushed my lips across his cheek. “And after I pass this test, you can take me out to make it up to me.” Looking over my shoulder, I tossed a “Nice to meet you” to Cal with a smile.

  He didn’t say anything. His dark head just tipped in my direction with a murmured “Libby.”

  That was the first time I saw Cal, but it wasn’t the last. Over the next few weeks, Cal would accompany Sam to our weekly dinners. Then, as I was not so subtly trying to play matchmaker between my cousin and my roommate, Cal would be at dinners, on hikes, around concerts. It became obvious to me that my cousin, who didn’t have many close friends growing up, had found someone he trusted and liked in Cal.

  And if I fell in love just a little more every moment I had to spend in his presence, well, that became my problem.

  We’ve laughed, joked, teased each other for months. As friends, we’ve argued current events, talked about sports, and made plans with no indication he’s ever seen me as anything more than what I am—Sam’s cousin. So, it’s my fault if I lie in my bed late at night dreaming of what it would be like to have his dark caress on my skin. It’s not like he’s helping himself to a smorgasbord of undergraduates. As much as I might want him to with this undergrad, I think glumly.

  It doesn’t matter—it’s never going to happen. At least, there’s nothing giving me any sort of hope it will.

  Shifting, I lift a glass of less-than-stellar wine to my lips. At least now that I’m old enough to drink, I can drown the agony of the rumors of how he fucks like the end of the world is coming before he rolls out of whatever bed he’s in.

  I smile into my glass before an elbow to my ribs almost causes me to upend the entire thing. “You rang?” I ask my best friend, Iris Cunningham, drolly.

  “Is it just me, or is Sam taking on more and more of Cal’s behavior traits?” Iris has had a crush on my cousin since the day she met him, not that it’s stopped her from dating half of the male population on campus.

  I, on the other hand, took one look at Cal and felt like time stood still. When we’re all together—which is more and more of late—I feel like it’s my mission to make the somber-faced man crack a smile. I’ve yet to succeed, but hey, at least Iris appreciates my efforts as she normally collapses on Sam howling. I still have time, I think determinedly, as there’s still a few weeks before I graduate and head home to Charleston.

  Turning to answer Iris, I ask, “Do you mean the man-whoring?”

  Iris grins. “Your cousin has a way to go for that,” she teases, inadvertently sending a swift pain in the region of my stomach. Pushing my wine aside, knowing I’ll be ill if I drink any more of it, I ask, “Elaborate, please.”

  “Look at them.” She tips her head to the side. Glancing over her shoulder, she continues. “They’re a pair of matched emo bookends holding up the collective honeypot of campus.”

  I burst into gales of laughter. “Lord, deliver me,” I wheeze out. My drawl is more pronounced than it normally is.

  The devil that dances in Iris’s eyes is more wicked than normal. “You know you’re going to miss every second we’re not doing just this.”

  “Too true, darling.” I lift my glass to toast the best part of my college experience when I feel a mysterious pull from the far side of the room. Allowing my eyes to flicker in that direction, they clash with Cal’s. This time there’s something different about them.

  They’re crinkled around the corners, and one side is hitched up. He’s not looking down at the woman he’ll likely take home later, I think with my heart pounding. He’s watching me. And whether it’s wishful thinking or not, he lifts his beer in my direction to toast me.

  Without thinking, I send a beaming smile in his direction. Taking a deep breath, I lift the glass to my lips and manage to swallow a little more of the
lighter fluid they pass off as wine.

  “What was that all about?” Iris demands. She starts to turn around, but I stop her by pinching her. Hard.

  “I…I’m not really sure,” I admit.

  “What do you mean?”

  “One minute, I’m laughing with you and the next, Cal’s…” I don’t get to finish my sentence because Iris has whipped around.

  Cal’s gone and so’s the cute blonde. I’m not shocked neither by their departure nor by my feelings of disappointment. Iris prompts, “Cal was?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing.” I wave my hand to indicate the subject’s closed, but I didn’t take into account the subject sliding into the booth next to me. Iris’s eyes bug out.

  What the hell’s happening here? Am I asleep and this is a beautiful dream? Surreptitiously, I pinch my arm. Nope. I’m awake.

  “Hey, Libby. Iris. You both seem to be having quite the evening over here.” Cal’s dark voice sends every nerve ending on red alert.