Page 52 of Holiday Star
At first, it looks like what Caleb told me. Notes about appointments and flight times in his unruly cursive script flows over the pages. I have to squint to read it.
And they say doctors have bad handwriting.
After a while, the writing changes. Snippets of sentences that make no sense when taken together. Some of them rhyme, and I wonder if Caleb’s trying to be a poet.
Toward the middle of the book, everything transforms. Those fragmented words align. They develop a rhythm, a cadence. Musical notes appear under some verses. That’s when I finally understand.
Caleb is writing music.
This must be song lyrics and some musical notes that go along with them. I read fast, quickly scanning each line, scared of getting caught. But when I see my name at the top of a page, I slow down and take in each word like it’s essential to my survival. Somewhere in these sentences that he’s written about me is the key to Caleb’s soul. The window to see myself through his eyes.
The song is beautiful, sweet with a hint of melancholy. It’s the chorus that hooks me, though.
I read it over and over, tears gathering in my eyes.
My lips against yours
I’ve fallen under your spell
Never known anyone quite like you
No one’s ever known me quite so well
I’m so engrossed in the song, trying to piece it together with the tune he’s written under the lyrics, that I completely miss the creak of footsteps on the stairs.
It’s not until he clears his throat that I look up to see Caleb standing on the bottom step, staring at the notebook in my hand.
The first of my tears fall.
29
What are you doing?” he asks, emotionless.
His face is blank, which scares me. I think I’d have a better chance of surviving this if he was yelling at me, ranting and raving.
I sniffle, quickly wiping the rest of my tears away with the back of my hand. There’s a tremor in my voice when I answer, “I—I. It was sticking out, your book, so I looked at it.” I know how lame that sounds, like I’m trying to blame the notebook for my treachery. I hold it out to him, but he doesn’t take it.
In a low tone, he says. “I wasn’t ready to show you that yet.”
His words spark a tiny flame of anger in me. “When were you going to be ready, Caleb? Never?” I raise my chin, staring at him in defiance.
“Not never, but not now,” he argues back, a whip of anger to match mine. “I can’t believe you looked at it. You knew it was important to me. You knew I was keeping it private. I thought you would respect that.”
I carry on, secretly thinking that if I can keep him fighting with me, then at least we’re talking. My greatest fear at this moment is that he’s going to leave. Turn tail and walk out on me. Shut down like he’s done before. I’d take an angry Caleb over no Caleb any day.
“Private! Exactly! You keep yourself private from me. I’m tired of your secrets, okay?” I toss the notebook down on the couch, unable to look at it anymore. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have read it. It was wrong to betray you like that, and I take full responsibility. But I did it out of desperation. In an effort to understand you better.”
My words make him even more irate. “What do you mean, get to know me better? In just a couple of weeks, you’ve gotten to know me, therealme, more than anyone else in my life.”
I place my hands on my hips. “There’s a lot I don’t know, though, isn’t there? Like those girls from caroling and the money your parents gave them. Is that common for you? Having to throw money around to fix your problems? Because it’s not something I’ve dealt with before.”
I’m on a roll now, my insecurities providing me with an endless supply of complaints. “What about the future, huh? What happens to us after Christmas? Are you ever going to sing, because you should? This music is amazing. How about your girlfriend? What’s her name, Lola Mon—, Mon—?” I sputter out everything all at once, ending with her.
It’s bothering me now that I’ve seen her picture. I want to know more about this woman who held Caleb’s heart before I ever got to feel it beat beneath my palm.
He’s confused for a second, overwhelmed by all the things I just threw at him. His eyes narrow as he addresses the last item on my list. “You mean Lola? Lola Monroe?” His voice drips venom as he says, “Gee, Gwen. It’s funny. For someone who claims to have never checked into my background, you seem to know a lot about me.”
I throw my hands into the air. “You caught me. Okay? The only reason I know about Lola is because Jenny told me. You never mentioned her, so I had to look it up. I finally broke down and Googled you. I’m not proud of it, but how else was I supposed to learn about her?”
