What Light

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I watch Cassandra and Jeremiah get into their car, which now has a discounted tree strapped to the roof. Jeremiah has the passenger window down, his arm hanging out, and offers me a weary wave as they pull out of the lot.

He looks like I feel, but a part of me holds on to hope that the conversation will continue. One day, maybe someone will listen.

“What was that about?” Mom asks.

“It’s complicated,” I say.

“What is? Is this about Caleb, too?”

“Can we not talk about this?” I ask.

“Sierra, you need to talk to your father,” Mom says. “I keep telling him to trust what you’re doing, but if you can’t be open with me, I won’t do that anymore. Andrew told him—”

“I don’t care what Andrew said,” I tell her. “And you shouldn’t, either.”

She crosses her arms. “That defensiveness worries me, Sierra. Do you really understand what you’re getting involved with here?”

I close my eyes and exhale. “Mom, what would you say is the difference between gossip and relevant information?”

She considers this. “I’d say if the people you tell aren’t directly involved in any way, that’s gossip.”

I bite at my lower lip. “The reason I do want to tell you is because I don’t want you judging Caleb based on what Andrew said, because I guarantee he didn’t say it for your benefit. He said it to hurt Caleb, or to get back at me for turning him down.”

Now I can tell I’m really freaking her out. “That sounds like another story I need you to tell me.” She instructs me to find Dad while she gets someone to cover the register.

In the parking area, Dad and Andrew load a tree into the trunk of a woman’s car. Half of the tree sticks out from the trunk, so they use twine to keep the lid from flying up. The lady offers Dad a tip but he motions for her to give it to Andrew. After Andrew accepts the tip, he follows Dad back into the lot.

“Hey, honey,” Dad says. He stops in front of me and Andrew stops with him.

I look at Andrew and point my thumb over my shoulder. “You can keep working.”

Andrew gives a smug smile as he walks away. He knows he’s causing trouble. I guess that’s what you do when you like someone who doesn’t like you back.

“Sierra, that wasn’t necessary,” Dad says.

I suppress a well-deserved eye roll. “That’s why we need to talk.”

Mom, Dad, and I walk along Oak Boulevard leading away from the lot. Cars drive by and occasionally a biker pedals past. I take a deep breath and swing my arms, mustering the courage to begin this conversation. Once I start, it comes flowing out, and they let me say it all without interjecting. I tell them everything I know about Caleb, and about his family, and Jeremiah, and what Caleb does with the trees. For some reason, it takes me longer to get the story out than when Caleb told me. Maybe that’s because I feel the need to add so much more about who Caleb is now.

When I’m done, Dad’s frown is even deeper. “When I heard that Caleb attacked his—”

“He didn’t attack her!” I say. “He went after her, but he never would’ve—”

“And you want me to be okay with that?” Dad says. “It was so hard to let you spend time with that boy after hearing what he did, but I wanted to trust you. I thought you had common sense, Sierra, but now I’m worried you’re being naïve, making light of something that—”

“I’m being honest with you,” I say. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“Honey,” Mom says, “you didn’t tell us. Andrew did.”

Dad looks at Mom. “Our daughter is dating a boy who attacked”—he holds up his hand to keep me from interrupting—“a boy who went after his sister with a knife.”

“So there’s no room for mercy?” I say. “Great lesson, Dad. You mess up once, you’re screwed for life.”

Dad points a finger at me. “That is not—”

Mom intervenes. “Sierra, we’re here for one more week. If this makes your father so uncomfortable, is it something you really need to continue?”

I stop walking. “That’s not the point! I didn’t know Caleb back when it happened, and you didn’t either. But I really like who he is now, and you should, too.”

They’ve both stopped walking but Dad looks out into the street, his arms crossed. “Pardon me for not wanting my only child going out with a boy who I know has a violent past.”

“If you didn’t know what happened years ago and you only knew him now,” I say, “you would be begging me to marry him.”

Mom’s mouth drops. I know I took that a little too far, but my frustration with the conversation is rising by the second.

“You met Mom while working at this very same lot,” I say. “Do you think any of your reaction is because you’re afraid of that happening to me?”

Mom holds her heart. “I can promise I never even thought of that.”

Dad remains looking at the street, but his eyes are wide. “And I can say my heart just stopped.”

“I hate this,” I say. “He’s been labeled this… thing… by so many people for so long. And they’d rather believe the worst of it than talk to him about it. Or just forgive him.”

“If he had used the knife,” Mom says, “there would be no way we’d even—”

“I know,” I say. “I wouldn’t, either.”

With every car that passes, I swing between thinking I won them over and lost them completely.

“But I’ve also been raised to believe that everyone can become better,” I say.

Still facing away, Dad says, “And it would be wrong to get in the way of that.”

“Yes.”

Mom takes Dad’s hand and they look at each other. Without words, together they figure out where they stand. Finally, they turn to me.

“Not knowing him like you do,” Dad says, “I’m sure you realize why hearing what happened with his sister makes us uncomfortable. And I would love to give him a chance, but it’s hard to understand why, when we won’t even be here in two weeks…”

He won’t say it, but he wants to know why I can’t just drop things. Why do I need to make them worry?

“There’s no reason to worry,” I say. “You said it yourself, I do know him. And you know you taught me to be cautious about these things. You don’t have to trust him, just don’t judge him. And trust me.”

Dad sighs. “Do you have to get this deeply involved?”

“It looks like she already has,” Mom says quietly.

Dad looks down at his hands, holding on to Mom’s. He looks at me, but his eyes can only hold mine for a moment. He lets go of Mom’s hands and starts heading back to the lot.

Mom and I watch him walk away.

“I think we’ve all expressed what we’re feeling,” she says. She gives my hand a squeeze and doesn’t let go while we walk back to the lot together.

Every time I give Caleb the benefit of the doubt, he proves himself. Every time I stand up for him, I know I’m right. There have been a million reasons why I could have given up, but every time I don’t, it makes me want to try that much harder to make us work.

That evening it takes me way too long to get ready for dinner with Caleb’s family. I change my outfit three times, ending up in jeans and a cream cashmere sweater, which of course is what I started with. When there’s a knock at the door, I blow my hair out of my face and give myself one last look. I open the door to find Caleb smiling up at me. He wears dark blue jeans and a black sweater with a gray bar across the chest.

He starts to say something, but then stops and looks me over. If his gaze lingers one more second I will need him to say anything, but he whispers, “You’re beautiful.”

I feel my cheeks warm. “You don’t need to say that.”

“I do,” he says. “Whether you can take a compliment or not, you’re beautiful.”

I meet his eyes and smile.

“You’re welcome,” he says. He offers his hand to help me down and then we walk toward his truck. I don’t see Dad, but Mom’s helping a customer in the trees. When she looks over, I point toward the parking area so she knows I’m leaving.

Andrew restocks the netting around the tree barrel and I feel his gaze track us across the lot.

“Hang on,” I tell Caleb.

He looks back at Andrew, who is now blatantly glaring at us. “Let’s just go,” Caleb says. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” I say.

Caleb lets go of my hand and continues to his truck. He gets in and shuts the door, and I wait to make sure he’s not leaving. He impatiently motions for me to do what I need to do, so I turn around and march up to Andrew.

He continues working on the netting and refuses to look at me. “Date night?”

“I talked to my parents about Caleb,” I say. “Of course, I didn’t get to tell them when I wanted to, but when I had to… because of you.”

“And yet they’re still letting you go,” he says. “That’s great parenting.”

“Because they trust me over you,” I say, “as they should.”

He looks me in the eyes. There’s so much hate inside. “They had a right to know their daughter’s dating a… whatever he is.”

My fury builds. “This is none of your business,” I say. “I’m none of your business.”

Caleb comes up behind me and takes my hand. “Sierra, come on.”

Andrew looks at both of us with disgust. “Wherever you go, I hope they don’t serve anything that needs cutting. For both of your sakes.”

Caleb lets go of my hands. “What, so there are no knives?” he asks. “That’s clever.”

I see Dad move out from between two trees, watching us. Mom walks toward him, worried, and he shakes his head.

Caleb’s jaw tightens and he looks away, like he could snap at any second and punch Andrew. The angry part of me wants that, but I need Caleb to stay cool. I want to know he can do that, and I want my parents to see it.

He flexes his fingers and then roughly rubs the back of his neck. He looks at Andrew, but no one says anything. Andrew looks afraid, one hand gripped to the netting like it’s the only thing that keeps him from backing away. Seeing Andrew’s fear, Caleb’s expression shifts from angry to apologetic. He takes my hand again, lacing our fingers together, and leads me to his truck.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, both of us calming down. I feel like I should say something, but I don’t know where or how to begin. Eventually, he starts the engine.

The lot recedes in the rearview mirror and Caleb breaks our silence, telling me he picked up Abby from the train station three hours ago. He looks at me and smiles. “She can’t wait to meet you.”

I realize Caleb hasn’t told me much about how things are between them. Is it better now that she’s with her dad? Are things tense when she returns?

“My mom can’t wait to meet you, either,” he says. “She’s been bugging me about it since I met you.”

“Really?” I can’t hide my smile. “Since we met?”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but the smirk gives him away. “I may have mentioned a certain girl at the lot after I brought home our tree.”

I wonder what he could have possibly said about me without the opportunity to gush about any dimples.

His house is a three-minute drive off the highway. When we enter a residential area, I sense him growing more nervous. I don’t know if it’s his sister or his mom or me, but he’s a wreck by the time we pull to the curb. The house is two stories, but narrow. A Christmas tree in the front window is lit with colored lights and topped with a golden star.

“The thing is,” he says, “I’ve never brought anyone home like this.”

“Not like what?” I ask.

He cuts the engine and looks at the house, then at me. “How would you classify what we’re doing? Are we dating, are we… ?”

His nervousness is adorable.

“This may be a shock coming from me,” I say, “but sometimes it’s okay not to define everything.”

He looks down at the space between us. I hope he doesn’t think I’m pulling back.

“Let’s not worry about finding a word for us,” I say. “We’re with each other.”

“With is good,” he says, but his smile is thin. “I’m most worried about the time we have left, though.”

I think about the text I sent last night, telling Rachel to break a leg at tonight’s performance. She still hasn’t responded. I called Elizabeth, but that hasn’t been returned either. He’s right to be worried. I’m worried. How long can anyone be in two places at once?

He pops open his door. “Might as well get started.”

We reach the front step and he takes my hand. His palms are sweating and his fingers are fidgety. This is not the cool, smooth guy I met that first day. He drops my hand to rub his palms along his jeans. Then he opens the door.

“They’re here!” squeals a voice from upstairs.

Abby skips down the steps, looking much more confident and beautiful than I did as a freshman. What is so annoyingly cute is that she and Caleb have matching dimples. I bite my cheek to keep from pointing this out because I’m sure they’ve noticed. When she reaches the landing, she extends her hand. For the briefest moment as our hands touch, my mind flashes through everything I imagined happening that day between her and Caleb.

“It is so nice to finally meet you,” she says. Her smile is as kind and genuine as her brother’s. “Caleb’s told me so much about you. I feel like I’m meeting a celebrity!”

“I…” I don’t know what to say. “Well, okay! It’s so nice to meet you, too.”

Caleb’s mom comes out of the kitchen with a similar smile, but no dimple. At first glance, by the way she holds herself, she seems more reserved than her children.

“Don’t let Caleb keep you by the door,” she says. “Come in. I hope you like lasagna.”

Abby swings around the banister on her way to the kitchen. “I also hope you can eat a lot of it,” she says.

Caleb’s mom watches Abby walk into the kitchen. She keeps staring in that direction even after her daughter is out of view. Eventually, she lowers her head a moment, and then turns toward us. More to herself, she says, “It’s nice when she’s home.”

With those words, I’m overwhelmed with the feeling that I shouldn’t be here. Their family deserves to share this first night together without a stranger taking attention away from them. I glance at Caleb, and he must sense that I need to talk.

“I’m going to give Sierra a little tour before dinner,” he says. “Is that okay?”

His mom waves us away. “We’ll set the table.”

She walks into the kitchen, where Abby is pulling a small table away from the wall. She touches Abby’s hair as she passes, and my heart breaks.

I follow Caleb into the living room. Deep maroon curtains are pulled back, framing the Christmas tree.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Your mom has so little time with the two of you together,” I say.

“You’re not interrupting anything,” he says. “I want you to meet them. That’s important, too.”

I can hear Caleb’s mom and Abby talking in the kitchen. Their voices sound cheery. They’re so happy to be together. When I look at Caleb, he’s staring at the tree, his eyes incredibly sad.

I step close to the tree and look at the ornaments. You can tell a lot from the ornaments on a family’s tree. This one is a mishmash of things he and Abby must’ve made when they were small, plus some fancy ornaments from locations all over the world.

I touch a twinkling Eiffel Tower. “Did your mom visit all these places?”

He nudges a Sphinx wearing a Santa hat. “You know how collections start. One of her friends brings back an ornament from Egypt, another friend sees it on our tree and brings back something from her trip.”

“She’s got some globe-trotting friends,” I say. “Does she ever go anywhere?”

“Not since the split,” he says. “At first, it was because we didn’t have enough money.”

“And then?”

He looks toward the kitchen. “When one child decides to leave, I guess it’s harder to leave the other for even a short time.”

I touch an ornament of what I assume is the Leaning Tower of Pisa, but it dangles straight up and down on the tree. “Couldn’t you go with her?”

He laughs. “And now we’re back to the money issue.”

Caleb leads me upstairs to see his room. He walks ahead of me down the narrow hall toward an open door at the other end, but my legs stop fast at a closed door painted solid white. I lean in close and my breath catches. A series of painted-over cut-marks are clustered at eye level. Instinctively, I feel them with my fingertips.

I hear the breath rush out of Caleb. I look over and see him watching me.

“The door used to be painted red,” he says. “My mom tried to sand it down and paint over them so they’re less obvious, but… there they are.”

What happened that night now feels so real. Now I know he ran from the kitchen and up a flight of stairs. His sister cried behind this door while Caleb stood right here, striking it over and over with the blade of a knife. Caleb—gentler than anyone I’ve met—went after Abby with a knife. And he did it while his best friend watched. I can’t merge that version of him with the one watching me right now. From the doorway of his room, his expression is locked somewhere between worry and shame. I want to tell him that I’m not freaked out, to hold on to him and reassure him. But I can’t.

His mom calls from below, “You two ready to eat?”

Our eyes don’t leave each other. The door of his room is open, but I won’t be stepping inside there. Not right now. Now, we need to get back to normal, or as close as we can, for his mom and Abby. He walks by me, letting his fingers graze my hand, but he doesn’t take it. I take one more look at his sister’s door and then follow him down the stairs.

Colorful ceramic plates hang on the kitchen walls. A small table in the center of the floor is set for the four of us. While our kitchen back home is bigger than theirs, this feels cozier.

“The table isn’t usually in the middle of the floor,” his mom says, standing beside her chair, “but there aren’t usually so many of us.”

“Your kitchen’s way more spacious than the trailer where I’m living.” I stretch out my arms. “I’d be in the bathroom and the microwave if I did this.”

His mom laughs and then walks to the stove. When she opens the oven door, the room fills with the delicious smell of melted cheese, tomato sauce, and garlic.

Caleb holds out a chair for me and I thank him while I sit. He slides into the chair to my right, but then jumps up and pulls out the chair for his sister, too. Abby laughs and swats him, and I can tell from the easy way she is around him that she really has let go of their past.

Caleb’s mom brings a pan of lasagna to the table and places it in the middle. When she sits, she sets a napkin on her lap. “We do family-style, Sierra. Go ahead and serve yourself first.”

Caleb reaches for the spatula. “I got this.” He dishes me out a massive chunk of lasagna, oozing cheese, and then he does the same for Abby and his mom.

“You forgot yourself,” I say.

Caleb looks at his empty plate and then cuts a piece for himself. Abby puts an elbow on the table, covering a smile while she watches her brother.

“So you’re a freshman?” I say. “How do you like high school so far?”

“She’s doing great,” Caleb says. “I mean, you are, right?”

I tilt my head and look at him. Maybe he feels a need to prove everything’s fine after our moment at the door upstairs.

Abby shakes her head at him. “Yes, dear brother, I’m doing fantastic. I’m happy and it’s a good school.”

I turn to her and smile. “Is Caleb a bit overprotective?”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s like the happiness police, always calling to make sure my life’s going well.”

“Abby,” Caleb’s mom says, “let’s have a nice dinner, okay?”

“That’s what I was trying to do,” Abby says.

Caleb’s mom looks at me, but her smile looks anxious. She turns to Abby. “I don’t think we need to bring up certain things when there are guests.”

Caleb puts his hand on mine. “Mom, she was just answering a question.”

I give Caleb’s hand a squeeze and then look over at Abby. Her eyes are lowered.

After a good minute of eating in silence, his mom starts asking questions about what it’s like to live on a Christmas tree farm. Abby is in awe of how much land we own when I try to describe what it looks like. I almost tell her she should come visit, but I’m sure either answer would lead to more awkward silence. The whole family looks shocked when I tell them about Uncle Bruce’s helicopter and how I hook trees to it while it’s flying.

Caleb’s mom looks between him and Abby. “I cannot imagine letting either of you do that.”

Caleb finally appears to be relaxing. We share stories about the trees we’ve delivered together, and he tells about some he did on his own. Whenever Caleb speaks, I notice his mom looks at Abby. Does she wonder, while Abby listens to the stories, what it would be like for them to still grow up together? When I tell them it was my idea to bring the families homemade cookies, I catch Caleb’s mom winking at him and my heart speeds up a little. When we’re done eating, no one makes a move to leave the table.

But then Abby talks about getting a tree with her dad. Their mom goes around collecting plates, and Abby starts talking directly to me. I hold her gaze, but I can see Caleb looking down at his hands on the table while his mom puts things in the dishwasher.

Their mom stays away from the table until Abby’s story is done. She then brings over a plate full of Rice Krispies treats with baked-in red and green sprinkles. Abby asks me if it’s hard to be away from home and all my friends for an entire month every year. We all grab a treat and I consider her question.

“I do miss my friends,” I say, “but it’s been like this since I was born. I guess when you’ve grown up one way, it’s hard to miss how things could be different, you know?”

“Unfortunately,” Caleb says, “in Abby’s case, we know how things could be different.”

I hold on to his arm. “That is not what I meant.”

Caleb sets down his dessert. “You know what, I’m exhausted.” He looks at me, a flash of pain in his eyes. “We shouldn’t make your parents worry.”

It’s like a bucket of ice water drops over me.

Caleb stands up, avoiding everyone’s eyes, and then pushes in his chair. I numbly stand up from mine. I thank his mom and Abby for the nice dinner, and his mom looks down at her plate. Abby shakes her head at Caleb, but no words need to be said. He walks toward the front door and I follow.

We walk out into the cool night. Halfway to his truck, I grab Caleb’s arm and stop him. “I was having a nice time in there.”

He won’t look me in the eyes. “I saw where things were going.”

I want him to look at me, but he can’t. He stands there, eyes closed, rubbing his hand through his hair. Then he walks to his truck and lets himself in. I get in on my side and shut the door. He has the key in the ignition but hasn’t turned it yet, his gaze locked on the steering wheel.

“It feels like everything’s okay with Abby,” I say. “Your mom misses her, obviously, but the person who seemed the most uncomfortable in there was you.”

He starts the truck. “Abby’s forgiven me, and that helps. But I cannot forgive myself for everything I took from my mom. That was lost because of me, which is hard to forget with Abby sitting right there and you talking about home.”

He puts his truck in drive, turns us in the opposite direction, and we both stay silent the entire way to the lot. The lot is still open as we pull into the parking area. I see several customers browsing and Dad carrying a newly flocked tree to the Bigtop. If this night had gone like I had hoped, we would be returning with this place closed for the night. We would sit in his truck, parked, and talk about what a beautiful evening this was, and maybe then we would finally kiss.

Instead, he pulls into a dimly lit spot of the parking area and I let myself out. Caleb stays in the driver’s seat, his hands not leaving the wheel. I stand outside my open door, staring at him.

He still can’t face me. “I’m sorry, Sierra. You don’t deserve this. When I see you here, we’ve got Andrew. And you saw what my house is like. We can’t even go to a grocery store without drama. That’s not going to change in the time we have left.”

I can’t believe what he’s saying. He couldn’t even look at me to say it. “And yet, I’m still here,” I say.

“It’s too much.” He looks me in the eyes now. “I hate having you see it all.”

My body feels weak, and I touch the door for balance. “You said I was worth it. I believed you.”

He doesn’t answer.

“What hurts me most,” I say, “is that you’re worth it, too. Until you realize that’s all that matters, it will always be too much.”

He stares at his steering wheel. “I can’t do it anymore,” he says softly.

I wait for him to take that back. He doesn’t know all I’ve done to stand up for him. With Heather. My parents. Jeremiah. I even angered my friends back home so I could be with him. If he knew any of that, though, it would only hurt him more.

I leave without shutting the door and walk to the trailer without looking back. I keep the lights off inside, drop onto my bed, and muffle my cries into the pillow. I want to talk to someone, but Heather is out with Devon. And for the first time, I can’t call Rachel or Elizabeth back home.

I pull aside the curtain above my bed and look out. His truck hasn’t left. The passenger door is still open. Enough light makes it into the cab to tell that his head is down, his shoulders shuddering hard.

I desperately want to run outside and close myself in the truck beside him. But for the first time since I met him, I don’t trust my instincts. When I hear his truck drive off, I replay everything that happened leading up to this moment.

Then I pull myself together and get up. I head out to the lot, forcing myself to be anywhere but stuck in my mind. I help several families, and I know my happiness comes across as an act, but I’m trying. Eventually, though, I can’t try any longer and I go back to the trailer.

On my phone are two voice mail messages. The first is from Heather.

“Devon gave me my perfect day!” she says, almost too cheerful to handle right now. “And it isn’t even Christmas! He took me to the top of Cardinals Peak for dinner, can you believe it? He was listening!”

I want to be excited for her. She deserves that. Instead, I feel jealous for how easy things can be for them.

“By the way,” she says, “your trees are doing great up there. We checked.”

I send her a text: I’m glad you’re keeping Devon a while longer.

She texts back: He earned his way to New Year’s. But he has to stop the fantasy football talk if he wants to make it to Super Bowl Sunday. How was dinner?

I don’t respond.

When I start playing a voice mail from Caleb, there’s a long pause before anything is spoken. “I’m sorry,” he says. There’s an even longer pause, and the silence is full of pain. He’s been hurting a long time. “Please forgive me. I screwed that up in a way I never expected. You are worth it, Sierra. Will you allow me to stop by on my way to church tomorrow?” I hold the phone tight to my ear, listening through another pause. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

There are so many reasons the next week won’t be easy for us. It’s likely to feel worse each day we get closer to Christmas—to me leaving.

I send him a text: No need to call. Just come by.