Once inside, I wash my hands and help set the table. Mr. Scott is already sitting in his chair, watching me with narrowed eyes as I put the dishes in their place. I'm still worried that he is going to snap again.

I had only been maybe ten minutes late last Friday, and he had yelled and carried on like I was the most disgraceful person he had ever dealt with. Mrs. Scott had just stared at her dinner plate the entire time. I had taken a cue from her and stared at my lap.

The rest of that dinner had passed quietly, until the very end. In the back of my mind, I can still hear the squeal of the chair legs against the scuffed-up tile floor as Cal abruptly got to his feet and walked out of the kitchen, the second the last bite of food had disappeared from his plate.

My attention is brought back to the here and now as Mrs. Scott puts a casserole dish on the table.

Mr. Scott groans, then mumbles, "Not this crap again."

Mrs. Scott doesn't react.

I've noticed Mrs. Scott doesn't react to most things. I wonder if she has always been this way, or if perhaps it is possible for one to just learn the ability to tune out yelling and complaining. If there is a way, I hope I can learn one day. Better yet, one day soon.

Once the food is passed out, Mr. Scott gives the large clock on the kitchen wall a pointed look.

I tense, waiting for the explosion. Nothing happens, so I pick up my fork and begin to eat like everybody else already has.

I glance in Cal's direction, and he is looking right at me. He rolls his eyes and smirks, then quirks an eyebrow as if to communicate, "Can you believe this guy?"

I stifle a laugh, then try to cover it up with a cough. Of all things, Mrs. Scott decides to pick up on that.

"Are you sick?" she pipes up. I'm already shaking my head to tell her that I'm fine, but the woman continues. "I can go to the drugstore tonight and pick up some cough medicine for you. I wanted to grab a few other things anyway, and it will save me from having to go before my Book Club meeting on Friday."

I shake my head again. "Thank you, but I'm okay. Really."

"Just take some damn medicine. The last thing I need is to get sick from one of you brats," Mr. Scott demands gruffly.

I don't dare to look at Cal this time. There's no telling what his facial expression will be or how I will react to it. I don't want to annoy Mr. Scott any more than I already have.

The meal is finished without much else said, save for the occasional complaint from Mr. Scott and the random comments about the weather and the end of summer approaching from Mrs.

As soon as her plate is empty, she stands up and walks outside. I watch from my chair as she gets into her car and backs out of the driveway. I'm sure she's all too happy to have an excuse to get out of the house and away from the constant scrutiny of her husband.

Mr. Scott grumbles something about nicotine and makes a beeline for the garage.

Cal looks at me from across the table where we remain sitting. "Nice cover, but now I guess I can't go to Ricky's tonight."

I don't understand what he's getting at, and I give him a puzzled look. "Because of my cough? But I'm not actually contagious, and I don't think we have to make it a huge cover story or anything."

This time it's Cal's turn to have a puzzled expression. He stares at me for a moment, then slowly shakes his head with bewilderment. "No, you dork." His smile makes the word sound like an endearment. "Because I'm not leaving you alone with that creep."

It dawns on me that I have never been alone in the house with Mr. Scott.

Cal is over at a friend's house, or sneaking out doing who knows what, nearly every night that Mrs. Scott is home, but whenever she has Book Club or goes out on errands, Cal is around. Those are the nights he sits down and watches TV with me. How have I never noticed this before?

I stare over at him, at a loss for words. I want to thank him. I also want to ask him why, but I think I know the answer.

I guess I'm not the only one who is uncomfortable with the way that Mr. Scott watches me. I was hoping it was just my anxious mind playing tricks on me, but having Cal confirm my suspicions makes me all the more grateful that he's made a point of never leaving me alone with the heinous man.

I stand up and start stacking the dishes while I think about what to say. The best I can come up with is a simple, "Sorry." Then I take the stack of plates toward the sink and start running the hot water.

Cal's footsteps cross the kitchen floor and there's a soft clank from the casserole dish as he places it on top of the stove burner. Then he is standing behind me, his strong chest brushing against the back of my head when he reaches around me and leans down to place his glass in the sink filling with water.

"Don't be." His deep voice is low and soft, and the warmth of his breath on the back of my neck sends a shiver running up my spine. "I don't mind."

I gulp and keep my hands busy with adding dish soap to the hot water, but I'm almost certain I hear a soft chuckle as Cal steps away from me and returns to the table to clear the rest of the glasses.

----------

My head is still spinning from my conversation with Cal. Or, maybe, I've become a little intoxicated by his touch. I'm sitting on the couch in the living room, flipping through channels, though whatever is on the screen isn't really making it to my brain.

I feel more protected and safe knowing that Cal has my back, but I also feel smaller and more unsettled knowing that it isn't just me that has a bad feeling about Mr. Scott.

After helping me finish the dishes, Cal told me to find something to watch while he headed outside for a cigarette. It probably would have been a better idea for him to choose the channel, because there is no way I can focus on TV right now.

To make matters worse, Mr. Scott has just come back inside from the garage. Though I am sure he has already drank multiple beers outside, he cracks another one as he sits down on the other end of the couch from where I’m sitting.

I settle on the next channel that isn't a commercial and try my best not to look as uncomfortable as I feel. Mr. Scott doesn't instantly complain about my choice, so I set the remote down. Slowly, I inch closer to the armrest, wanting as much space between us as possible.

Cal walks in a minute later. He usually sits in the recliner chair to my right, but his eyes fall on the spot between Mr. Scott and myself, and he moves toward the couch. The tension in my body begins to subside as he takes a seat beside me, but the relief is short-lived.

He's so close that the heat coming off of his body warms my side, and the scent of his deodorant, mingled with the more potent smell of the cigarette smoke that clings to his t-shirt, fills my nostrils. The weight of his body on the springy cushions causes me to slope toward him, and I shift closer to the armrest again.

I was already having a hard time with the aftermath of our closeness in the kitchen, and now this? It's too much for my awkward brain to process.

Cal glances at me and seems to take note of my nerves. He moves over a couple of inches, giving me some more space. I'm not sure whether I should be thankful for this or if I should mourn the loss of his warm body so close to my own.

Mr. Scott grunts. "Really, Calvin? What's wrong with the damn chair?"

Apparently, I'm not the only one feeling uncomfortable with how crowded the couch has become. 

"It's Cal," is his only reply.

A small smile tugs at my lips. Of course that is all he has to say. When I think about it, those are basically the only words Cal ever says to Mr. Scott.

I think his full name is Calvin, but no one seems to be allowed to call him that. No exceptions. Not even for large, creepy foster fathers. There might be a lesson to be learned here.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Scott still refer to me as Amelia, and I haven't corrected them once. Maybe if I want people to call me by my real name I need to be more assertive about it. I need to be more like Cal.

Another grunt comes from Mr. Scott as he pushes himself to his feet. "You ungrateful pieces of trash, thinking you can say and do whatever..." His words drift off as he makes his way back to the garage, more than likely to get another beer.

I turn to face Cal, a timid smile on my face. "Thanks, Cal."

He shrugs and his arm comes up to rest on the back of the couch behind my head. "Any time."

I turn back to the TV, but Cal leans forward a bit to get my attention again, so I bring my eyes back to him.

"I'm serious, Amy. That creep ever makes you uncomfortable, you just scream, and I'll come running, you hear me?" His expression is serious and demanding, causing me to forget my new ambition to correct people when they use the wrong name. Besides, I still kind of like the fact that he has given me a nickname.

"Okay," I answer. Cal's look of determination doesn't go away, so I try again. "I will, Cal."

He smiles then and sits back again, slouching low in the cushions and fixing his gaze back on the TV. "That's what I want to hear."

I'm not sure why Cal has appointed himself as my bodyguard, but I'm not complaining. I'm starting to feel better about my current living conditions. Mr. and Mrs. Scott may not be anything to be excited about, but for the first time since the Parsons, I feel like someone might genuinely care about my well-being. And Cal Jones won't be replacing me with a baby any time soon.

I follow his example and slouch down into the couch cushions. If I don't focus on creepy Mr. Scott, life in this new place isn't so bad after all.

Cal's arm drifts down from the couch back and lazily rests along my shoulders. Though the initial contact causes me to tense and sit up slightly, I quickly recover and relax into his touch. 

I've changed my mind. With Cal's arm around me, life here is much better than not so bad.

His comforting touch doesn't last long, however. After giving my shoulder a squeeze, he moves to his feet. I'm about to ask him where he’s going, but then he settles into his usual spot in the old recliner.

Right. I had almost forgotten that he had only sat down beside me to put some space between Mr. Scott and myself. With Mr. Scott now out of the room, it doesn't make sense for him to stay close to me. I’ll have to pull my head out of the clouds and remember this for next time.

Cal Jones may be my knight in shining armour, but he isn't looking for the kiss and happily ever after that all the movies promise.

I had let Marissa's comments from earlier make me believe otherwise. I wouldn't be making that mistake again.