Page 33 of Holiday Star
“It’s not hard to understand. It’s a pilot program that I started when I was a medical student and finally completed this year. I offered free screening for colon cancer to patients entering the ER, no matter what symptoms they were there for. Even if they came in because they broke an arm or something totally unrelated, they could get the screening test. Thousands agreed and because of that I found a couple hundred who had cancer, so small that they didn’t have symptoms yet. Being able to treat them that early has a big impact. We’re more likely to cure them.”
If only my father had been diagnosed sooner, maybe he’d still be here with me today.
“That’s cool. Why don’t they always do that? If it saves lives?” There’s a gleam of admiration in how he’s looking at me, warming my cheeks.
“I have to prove that it’s worth the money and time to offer it in the ER. Right now, anyone can get the test from their family doctor. It’s easy. It doesn’t include drawing your blood or anything. They just test your stool. But my argument is that many people don’t have a family doctor or they don’t see them regularly. If we have another place to test them, the ER, then we can find more cancer earlier.”
“That makes sense to me.”
I sigh. “I think so too. Now I just have to convince everyone else.”
“Wow.” Caleb leans back. “That’s cool. You’re going to be famous. A big-time academic physician. I bet your work gets lots of awards.”
“We don’t have fancy doctor red carpets like you do,” I tease him.
He’s serious when he answers, “You should, though. There should be a parade every time you save someone’s life. Not just for doctors, but for police officers, firefighters, teachers. Everyone whose job protects people from the things that harm them. You’re the ones who should get the golden trophies. Not me.”
I mostly agree with him but feel a need to say, “Your job is important, too. Everyone needs the arts, theater, movies, music, books. People have to express themselves and to escape the stress of their everyday worries. You provide them with that outlet. To be someone different for a couple of hours. To live a million lives without leaving their hometown.”
Caleb blows out a breath and runs a hand through his hair, uncomfortable with my praise. “I guess so.” He shifts, not meeting my eyes. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re excited about the journal article. I was worried that you might be upset with me.”
“Upset?” I repeat, confused. “Why would I be upset?”
“Upset might not be the right word.” He’s hesitant. “Maybe, uncomfortable? I worried I was making you uncomfortable. You know, after all the stuff I told you last night.” Caleb ducks his head, awkwardly staring at his feet.
It hits me then, how it must have looked to him. He exposed himself last night, allowed me to take a peek behind the curtain. And today I’ve been unavailable, distant even. Inwardly, I curse at myself.
He didn’t need me thinking about kissing him. He needed me to show him that being honest won’t lead to rejection. That someone sees beyond his face and reputation. I’m supposed to be that someone, and I let him down.
“Caleb,” I wait until he looks up at me. “I’m sorry. What you told me last night didn’t make me upset or uncomfortable or anything bad. It made me understand you better. And I liked that, knowing you.”
“You did?” Disbelief on his face, as if he can’t accept it. That someone could like those broken, imperfect bits of him.
But I do. I like all his shadows just as much as I like his light. “Yeah. I like who you are. I see it, all of you.”
The smile he gives me is so pure, so genuine, that it catches me off guard. When he says, “I like who you are, too,” something turns over deep inside me. A new feeling.
19
It’s after lunch, and we’re at the pool. Caleb swims, while Jenny and I spread our towels over lounge chairs along the side. Even with the towel, the sun-scorched metal of the chair seeps into my legs, warming them.
Caleb only wears a pair of swim trunks. The muscles in his powerful back and arms contract and then relax as he torpedoes through the water, doing laps. Water splashes, spilling over the edge of the pool.
“He’s a good swimmer. Don’t you think?” I ask, unable to tear my gaze away from the vision that is a wet Caleb Lawson.
“He should be.” Jenny slips on her sunglasses. “Did you ever see that movie he was in? The one where he had to escape from Alcatraz and swim across San Francisco Bay?”
I shake my head no.
“I once read that he did the swimming stunts for the movie himself. It wasn’t really in the Bay, of course. No one could survive that. He was in the Atlantic and had to swim for up to ten hours a day. Can you imagine?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “I can’t.” Before, I hadn’t thought much about what it takes to be an actor. If anything, I figured it was easy. Just a lot of sitting around and spewing out lines that someone else wrote for you. Now, a kernel of admiration for Caleb and how hard he works grows inside of me.
Jenny and I go back to staring at Caleb, mesmerized. We might have drooled a little.
Pip runs back and forth along the edge of the pool, yipping like she’s a lifeguard dog ready to jump in and save Caleb. She hasn’t left his side over the past few days. I’m almost jealous, thinking she likes him more than me.
Changing the subject, Jenny pulls her sunglasses down her nose so she can look over their top at me. “Are you coming tonight or what?”
