What Light

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Monday morning, I call Elizabeth to ask how Rachel’s show went.

“She did fine,” Elizabeth says. “You should really be asking her, though.”

“I tried!” I say. “I called; I texted. You guys are giving me the cold shoulder.”

“Because you chose a guy over her, Sierra. We get that you like him. Great. But honestly, you’re not going to be down there forever,” she says. “So yes, Rachel’s upset with you. But she also doesn’t want to see you get your heart broken.”

I close my eyes as I listen. Even when they’re mad at me, they still care. I groan, flopping onto my tiny bed. “It’s ridiculous. It is. It’s a relationship that can’t go anywhere. We haven’t even kissed yet!”

“Sierra, it’s Christmastime. Put a stupid mistletoe over his head and kiss him already!”

“Will you do me a favor?” I ask. “Can you stop by my house? On my dresser is the cutting from my first Christmas tree. Will you mail that to me?”

Elizabeth sighs.

“I just want to show it to him,” I say. “He’s such a traditionalist, I think he’d love to see it before I…”

I stop myself. If I say it, I’ll obsess over it for the rest of the day.

“Before you leave,” Elizabeth finishes. “It’s going to happen, Sierra.”

“I know. Feel free to tell me I’m being stupid.”

She doesn’t respond for a long time. “It’s your heart. No one else gets a say in that.”

Sometimes it feels like it’s not even up to the person holding the heart.

“You should probably kiss him, though, before you make any bigger decisions,” she says. “If he’s horrible, it’ll be so much easier to let him go.”

I laugh. “I miss you both so much.”

“We miss you, too, Sierra. We both do. I’ll try to smooth things over with Rachel. She’s just frustrated.”

I fall back onto my bed. “I’m a traitor to the girl code.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Elizabeth says. “It’s fine. We’re just being selfish about sharing you, is all.”

Before starting work, I sit at my laptop and video-record myself describing—in French—everything that’s happened since I left home, from planting my tree on Cardinals Peak to walking Caleb to church. I send the video to Monsieur Cappeau to make up for all the phone calls I’ve missed.

I grab an apple and head to the Bigtop to help Mom. It’s winter break for most of the schools now, and because the tree procrastinators are running out of time, the lot should be busy all day. In previous years I worked ten-hour days this week, but Mom tells me they hired a few extra students to help so I’d have more time for myself.

Working side by side with her, we restock supplies when not helping customers. Dad wheels in two more trees sprayed with fake snow. In a break between customers, all three of us huddle around the drink station. I mix myself a cheap peppermint mocha and tell them I’m making more cookies to go with Caleb’s next few trees.

“That’s great, honey,” Dad says, but instead of looking at me, he looks outside the Bigtop. “I need to go check on the workers.”

Mom and I watch him leave.

“I guess that’s better than putting his foot down,” I say. Dad has taken the wait-it-out approach to my relationship with Caleb. On the upside, after witnessing my confrontation with Andrew, Dad asked him to apologize to me. Rather than do that, he quit.

Mom clinks her mug against mine. “Maybe Caleb will save some of his tips and buy a Christmas gift for you, too.”

When Mom sips her coffee, I tell her, “I’m thinking about giving him the cutting from my first tree.”

Her silence is deafening, so I raise my Easter mug to my lips as I wait. Outside the Bigtop, I see Luis carry a tree out to the car lot. I take another sip, wondering why he’s here if he already has a tree.

When I look back, Mom says, “That’s a perfect gift for someone like Caleb.”

I put down my mug and hug her while she tries to keep from spilling her drink on us. “Thank you for not being weird about him, Mom.”

“I trust your judgment.” She puts down her mug and holds my shoulders, looking me in the eyes. “Your father does, too. I think he just decided to hold his breath until we leave again.”

Over her shoulder, I see Luis walk back into the lot with work gloves on. I point him out to Mom. “That’s Luis,” I say. “I know him.”

“He’s one of the students we hired. Your dad said he’s a good worker.”

At the next break between customers, I warm up the mocha with some regular coffee. A voice behind me says, “Want to make me one while you’re at it?”

“That depends.” I turn toward Caleb. “What are you going to do for me?”

He reaches into his jacket pocket and draws out a green knit Christmas tree hat with felt ornaments and a puffy yellow star. He pulls it tight onto his head. “I was going to save this for later, but if a mocha’s at stake, I’ll put it on now.”

“Why?” I ask, laughing.

“I bought it at a secondhand store this morning,” he says. “I’m in the full sartorial spirit of the season.”

My mouth drops open. “I don’t even know what that means.”

He dimple-grins and raises one eyebrow. “Sartorial? I’m shocked. Maybe you should put a vocab app on your phone like me. There’s a new word every day and you give yourself points each time you use it.”

“But did you use it correctly?” I ask.

“I think so,” he says. “It’s an adjective. Something about clothing.”

I shake my head, wanting to both laugh and snatch that horrible thing off him. “Mister, sartorial just earned you double candy canes.”

Caleb offers to help bake the cookies at his house, and Mom tells us to go have fun. Actually, she says I should go have fun without asking Dad, which is motherly advice I’ll take.

“Abby says she would love to join us,” Caleb says when we get in his truck. “You can invite Heather, too.”

“Heather, believe it or not, is frantically putting together a gift for Devon,” I say. “My guess is it’ll be a Christmas sweater.”

Caleb opens his mouth in mock-horror. “Would she do that?”

“She totally would,” I say. “She’ll also get him something good, but if I know Heather, she’ll give him the sweater first to see how he reacts.”

After we shop for ingredients, Caleb ushers me into his house, each of us carrying a bag of groceries. Abby is on the couch tapping rapidly on her phone.

Without looking up, she says, “I’ll join you in a minute. I have to make sure my friends don’t think I fell off the earth. And take off that ridiculous hat, Caleb.”

Caleb sets his knit hat on the kitchen table. He’s already set out cookie sheets, measuring spoons, cups, and a ceramic mixing bowl. “Will you send me messages like that from Oregon,” he says, “so I know you haven’t fallen off the earth?”

My laugh comes out sounding forced, which it is. In less than a week I need to figure out how to say goodbye.

I pull items from the grocery bags and set them on the counter.

The doorbell rings and Caleb shouts into the other room, “Are you expecting someone?”

Abby doesn’t answer, probably still texting. Caleb rolls his eyes and leaves to answer the door. I hear it open, and then a pause.

Finally, Caleb says, “Hey. What are you doing here?”

The next voice—familiar and deep—reaches me all the way from the front door to the kitchen. “That the way you talk to your onetime best friend?”

I nearly drop a dozen eggs. I have no idea what Jeremiah’s doing here, but I feel like running a victory lap around the kitchen, arms in the air.

Both guys walk in and I put on my calm face. “Hey, Jeremiah.”

“Tree lot girl,” he says.

“You know, I do other things, too.”

“Trust me, I know,” he says. “If it weren’t for you pushing and prying, I probably wouldn’t be here.”

Caleb smiles and glances between the two of us. I never told him about Jeremiah and Cassandra visiting the lot.

“Now, things still aren’t perfect,” Jeremiah says, “but I took a stand with Cassandra and my mom, and… I’m here.”

Caleb turns to me, his eyes full of questions and unspoken gratitude. He rubs his forehead and turns to look out the kitchen window.

I start putting the ingredients back in the bags. This moment is not about me, and it shouldn’t be. “You guys talk. I’m going to bring these to Heather’s.”

Still facing the window, Caleb starts to tell me I don’t have to leave, but I stop him.

“Talk to your friend,” I say, not even trying to hide my smile. “It’s been a while.”

When I turn around, grocery bags packed, Caleb’s looking at me with pure love.

“Let’s meet up later,” I say.

“Is seven o’clock good?” he asks. “There’s something I want you to see.”

I smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

When I reach the front door, I hear Jeremiah say, “I missed you, man.”

My heart swells and I take a breath before opening the door.

After we drop off our latest tree along with a tin of Christmas cookies, Caleb and I drive around while he updates me on his reunion with Jeremiah.

“It’s hard to say when we’ll hang out next,” Caleb says, “because he’s got his friends now, and I’ve got mine. But we will, which is sort of amazing. I assumed we never would again.”

“That is amazing,” I say.

We park in front of Caleb’s house and he turns to me. “It’s because of you,” he says. “You’re amazing.”

I want this moment to last, the two of us in his truck feeling grateful for each other. Instead, he opens his door, letting in the cool air.

“Come on,” he says, and then he steps out.

He walks around to the sidewalk and I shake the nerves from my fingers before opening my door. When I get out, I rub my hands to warm them, and then he takes my hand and we go for a walk.

He leads me past four of his neighbors’ houses and around the corner to an alleyway. The entrance to the alley is lit by a single lamppost. The ground is rough asphalt with a smooth concrete gulley running down the middle.

“We call this Garage Alley,” he says.

The further we move into the alley, the more the light from the lamppost fades. On either side, short driveways lead to garages. High wooden fences around the backyards keep out most light from the houses. I almost lose my balance in the gulley, but Caleb grabs my arm.

“It’s kind of spooky back here,” I say.

“I hope you’re ready,” he says, “because I am about to majorly disappoint you.” He tries to make his shadowy face look serious, but I can see a slight grin.

We stop where the alley meets his driveway, and he turns my shoulders toward the garage. The large metal door is mostly buried in the shadow of the roof’s overhang. He takes my hand and pulls me forward. A motion sensor above the door clicks on an attached light.

“My mom warned you that I’m terrible with surprises,” he says.

I push his shoulder. “You did not!”

He laughs. “Not on purpose! Not this time. I had to get bungee cords out of the garage, and my present was right there.”

“You ruined your mom’s surprise?”

“It was her fault!” he says. “It was right there! But I think you’ll be glad because now I can share it with you. So you won’t tell her, right?”

I can’t believe this. He is acting like such a little kid, which is far too cute to be annoying. “Just show me what it is,” I say.