“For you,” I explain, giving him a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’m gonna go shower.”
∞∞∞
I hear the music through the door when I exit the bathroom to my room. It doesn’t surprise me, at least, not as much as the voices. Luke must be up, too. I dress quickly and comb through my hair, eager to join them and solve the mystery. I’ve felt queasy since leaving my heart with Casey, knowing he could hate my work as much as love it. Would he even get it? Be offended? My mental journey last night had taken a lot of turns and made plenty of assumptions he couldn’t possibly understand.
They stop when they see me, and I feel the heat rise to my cheeks. Casey has the guitar in hand like I’d suspected, but it’s Luke who gives me the first smile.
“Wow, Callie, I’m a little jealous that he gets a poem and I don’t,” Luke teases. At least, I think he’s teasing. I can’t tell, and don’t respond at first. I cover the distance between us and grab my laptop from the coffee table.
“Hey! I wasn’t done with that!” Casey whines, and I give him a look.
“I’ll give it back in a second.”
I turn to Luke. “I did one for you as well, but you weren’t awake.”
Luke looks surprised, as does Casey.
“Really? You wrote two last night?”
I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.” I pull up Luke’s verses and go to hand him the computer, but he shakes his head.
“No, you read it.”
“What?” I ask, my heart racing.
“I want you to read it. I want to hear it how you intend it to be heard.”
I swallow and suck in my breath. That’s different somehow. I don’t know why, but it is. Maybe because there’s not enough distance then.
“I…”
“Read it. I want to hear it, too,” Casey jumps in, and now I know I’m stuck.
I glance back and forth between the two of them and sigh.
“Ok.” My voice comes out like a squeak. I can’t believe how nervous I am. Casey has already seen the one I’d done for him, but this one is different. This is for Luke. It’s more personal in a way, more intimate. I’m not sure he’d want Casey to hear it, but then realize if anyone has a right it’s his best friend, brother-in-law, and my…I don’t know what.
As I start reading the first line, my voice is weak. I can hear it and nearly cringe. This is not how I intended the words to be heard. Not at all. I shake my head, feeling the tears coming, both from the memories and my current failure of the memories.
“No. That’s not it. I’m starting over.”
I dare a quick glance at them and see Casey’s compassion all over his face. Luke looks more contemplative than anything, and then I recognize his expression. It’s the classic “Luke Craven braced resolve.” He’s not testing me, he’s testing himself. Can he hear what I have to say? Can he open up to someone else’s heart?
I have to do this. For Luke. For myself.
“I could have told you everything would be alright.
I could have told you it gets easier the harder you try.
But I couldn’t lie to you, even though I’d die for you.
And I could have told you instead of just holding you.
But what could I say that my eyes haven’t already said?
And what words could heal the wounds that bleed like this?
How many tears will it take to drown away the pain?
I don’t know, but I can hold you.
And I could have taken you far way from here.
But where would that leave you? It’d be the same even there.
I won’t hide you, even though I’d like to.
And I could have spoken instead of just loving you.
But what could I say that my eyes haven’t already said?
And what words can heal the wounds that break us?
How many tears will it take to drown away the pain?
I don’t know, but I can hold you. I can love you.
I can hold you.”
No one speaks as my voice fades. I swallow hard again, my throat dry, scratchy. I can’t look at them. I’m afraid. Afraid I exposed too much too fast. Afraid it wasn’t enough.
“Can I see that?” Luke says quietly after a long, painful pause. I glance at him in surprise before handing him the laptop.
He scans the screen again, and I feel Casey’s eyes on me. I’m afraid maybe he’s jealous, but when I dare to meet his gaze, it’s so warm and understanding that there’s no doubt in my mind he’s everything I’ve come to think he is.
“That was beautiful, Callie,” he offers, and I notice Luke’s absent nod in agreement as he studies my words. No, his words.
“Thanks, Callie,” Luke mumbles softly, handing me my computer again. It’s a strange comment, considering he follows it by rising to his feet and disappearing down the hall. I hear a door close and know it’s too early to be his room. He’s escaped to the office.
“He loved it, but it was a lot for him,” Casey explains gently as I study the dark hallway.
“I know,” I reply, dropping beside him. “He’s with The Chair.”
“The chair?”
I nod. “He stole it from the café. I think it has something to do with Elena.”
Casey blinks, clearly confused. “I’m sorry, what?”
I shrug. “The Chair is how we met. I was sitting at my table one day at Jemma’s, and he came in and asked me to move. Apparently, I was in his chair, that chair. He’d go into the café every day and stare at the same one for several minutes. Freaked out the servers and café regulars, but no one asked questions or stopped him. Finally, the day of the party this past weekend he just lost it and basically marched down to the café and stole the chair in broad daylight, right in front of the patrons and staff. I’m surprised there hasn’t been more about it in the news.”
Casey is staring at me like I’d just recited the Declaration of Independence in a made up language.
“Luke…stole a chair. A cheap café chair?” He clears his throat and leans forward on the couch, eyes fixed on the coffee table.
“Yep. Just a chair. He was obsessed with it before he stole it.”
Casey shakes his head. “And now what? What does he do with it? I don’t remember seeing it.”
“He keeps it in his office and sits in it.”
“And does what?” Casey cries in exasperation.
I shrug. “Nothing. He just sits there. That’s where I found him yesterday when he finally broke down.”
I can see the look in his eyes and know I’m about to be tasked with damage control.
He jumps to his feet, and I follow.
“What are you doing?” I ask in alarm as he moves around the couch.
“Going to find out what the hell is going on.”
I vehemently shake my head and grab his arm. “No, you can’t.”
“I can’t? You’re telling me my unstable friend has some kind of obsessive relationship with a piece of furniture, and I shouldn’t go try to find out why?”
I nod. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you. It’s not just a chair. It’s something else, and he’s not ready. If you barge in there now and attack him, you’re going to undo everything we’ve done!”
Casey throws his hands up in frustration before locking his fingers above his head. He begins pacing in front of the couch, muttering to himself, and I know I have to intervene for his own sake. He deserves better as well. I take his arm and pull him back to the couch.
“Please, Casey. I’m asking you to let it go. Not forever, just for now, ok? Let him have this. I’m telling you, he needs this. Can you just trust me?”
He meets my gaze, he has to, I’ve centered it inches away, and finally lets out an aggravated breath. “This is crazy. I mean, he’s always been odd, but a chair?”
“I don’t know what the chair means, but I know it’s significant. He’ll let us in when he’s ready.”
“And until then?”
“Until then, we keep fighting for the small stuff.”
I sense his concern finally dissolving into amusement.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
He smiles and shakes his head. “Nothing. Just you.”
“Me? What about me?”
“You’re like a cross between a motivational poster and a shrink... And my mom.”
Now, I have to laugh. “Your mom? Really? You made out with me…twice…and I remind you of your mom?”
He ducks from my playful swing with a sheepish grin. “I don’t know! You’re always yelling at me!”
“Ha! I do not!”
“I don’t eat enough vegetables. You don’t like my clothes. I’m too mean to Luke…”
I roll my eyes, but can’t come close to being annoyed at him with the look on his face. Instead, I lean against him and take his hand. He quiets as I trace his fingers and concentrate on the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“You’re thinking about my mom now, aren’t you?” he asks with a knowing grin, and I shrug.
“Maybe. What’s she like?”
He laughs. “She had ten kids. Some say that makes her a saint, others say she’s insane.”
“What do you say?”
“Probably somewhere in between.”
“Do you get to see your family a lot?”
I sense his mood shift and wonder why.
“Some of my siblings. There are two in particular I’m close to.”
I glance up at him and note his distant expression.
“What about your parents?”
He shakes his head. “No. Not really. She won’t see me unless I see him and that’s not happening.”
It’s then that I remember “Argyle” and almost cringe.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “My parents are no picnic either.”
“Yeah? What are they like?”
I grunt and stare at the ceiling, settling into him. “Well, I haven’t seen my mom since I was twelve. She met some guy at the bowling alley…yeah, I know.”
“I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny,” Casey snickers. “But come on…”
“Total small town cliché, I know. But yeah, she took off, and we never heard from her. Dad…well…I don’t know. We functioned, I guess.”
“Functioned?”
I shrug. “We kind of just stayed out of each other’s way until I was old enough to make my own decisions for my life.”
“Which were what?”
“What do you mean? My decisions?”
“Yeah. What are you now that you can choose?”
I swallow and realize I’m clenching my other fist. I think he might notice when he takes that hand, too, and kisses my fingers. It’s so sweet it almost hurts, and I want to answer his question. I just don’t know how. What am I? I have no idea.
“I don’t know, really. I couldn’t wait to get out of Shelteron, and then when the opportunity came, I had no idea where to go or what to do. I’ve kind of just been floating, sometimes treading. Not really sure where to go or what I want. Just avoiding the things I don’t want.”
“Ok, but you must be doing something to survive here on your own.”
I shake my head, not sure he’s ready for this part. No, I’m not sure I’m ready for this part. I take a deep breath.
“I’m living off money from a lawsuit settlement.”
I have his attention and I’m not sure what to do with it. I think I might care about him too much to finish the story.
“Really? What happened?” he asks, as I knew he would. Only Luke doesn’t ask the obvious questions.
I look away, and he must notice me tense, but he doesn’t let me off the hook. He’s not nosy, he cares, and I draw in a deep breath.
“When I was seventeen I got a job at a large, independent grocery store. The owner took an interest in me and a couple of the other girls.”
I quiet, not sure I can actually tell this story. I never really tried. It didn’t seem relevant or necessary until this moment, until this person. Casey squeezes my hand as if sensing my hesitation.
“It started off with just some comments, stupid stuff. Completely inappropriate, but whatever. It’s not like there were tons of employment options for high school kids in my town. I kick myself to this day because I feel like I should have known. I know it’s common for victims to blame themselves, but…” I shake my head. “Well, anyway, one day…” I stop again. I can’t tell if this is going well or not. I feel the tears burning low, and I’m annoyed that they’re still there after all this time. I thought for sure they would have dissolved by now.
“Anyway, I couldn’t prove it, he didn’t rape me or do anything that left evidence, just…” No, that part isn’t necessary. “But once the other girls came forward as well, and we realized there was a pattern and we had a case, one of their parents said we all needed to press charges. Nothing really stuck from a criminal standpoint since it was only our word against his, but there was enough to make a civil lawsuit a painful experience for both sides. His lawyer urged him just to settle, and so he did. We each accepted a big lump of cash. And that was that. My dignity got a price tag.”
“And you came here?”
I meet Casey’s gaze, thoughtful, compassionate, gentle.
“I had to. I had to go somewhere. I wasn’t me anymore. I was either the slut from the grocery store or a potential payday. To my dad and his girlfriend, I was basically both.”
I watch the anger flash across his face and find comfort and security in that for some reason.
“If you were my daughter, I wouldn’t have slept until that bastard was in prison or the ground,” he spits.
I trace his jaw, warmed on so many levels. “I’m glad I’m not your daughter,” I joke, and he returns my smile, but the sadness is still in his eyes. It’s so beautiful, and my heart nearly bursts when he gives me a quick kiss.
I try to clear my head so I can return to my story. “So that’s pretty much it. I came here, not to make a name for myself in lights, but to disappear. I wasn’t running to anything, just running from, and have basically been trying to figure things out ever since.” I quiet and meet his gaze, serious this time.
“When I say ‘I’m no one’ it’s not even about self-esteem. I just don’t know who I am, what I am. I don’t know where I’m going or what I want from life. I just knew I didn’t want to be the slut from the grocery store or Kyle and Nora’s daughter. I wanted to be no one so I could start fresh and hopefully be someone else one day.”
Casey is quiet as I draw my speech to a close. I don’t really know what else to say, so now it’s just a matter of holding my breath and dealing with the fallout. I can see his mind working as we sit in silence, his ever-present smile tabled for the moment as he considers his response. I love that he considers his response.
“What happened to you isn’t right and I’m glad you got some retribution, even though I wish that bastard would have gotten jail time instead,” Casey says finally.
He hesitates, and I can’t stop my smile. “But…” I continue for him.
He returns it, almost shy. “How do you know there’s a but?”
“It’s all over your face.”
He grins and shrugs. “No, not so much a ‘but’ as a caution about the ending of your story.” He has my attention.
“Oh, you don’t like the ending.”
He shakes his head. “No. I don’t. You make it sound like your value is in your identity, and your identity is something that doesn’t exist unless it’s concrete.”
“Concrete?”
“Definable. I don’t like you defining yourself by what you’re not, and therefore concluding you’re no one. What about what you are?”
“What I am?”
He nods. “Your identity shouldn’t be an occupation or a status. Hell, it’s not even dreams and aspirations. Those things will flow out of who you are once you embrace it. You have to stop looking at what’s missing and focus on w
hat’s here.”
“Now, who’s a walking motivational poster,” I tease. I can’t help myself, and he tosses back his own sheepish grin.
“Well, you need to hear it, that’s all. You know why I’m here?” he asks suddenly. “Because when I was sixteen, Elena Barrett told me that our dad was a liar. That I wasn’t a worthless piece-of-shit just because I didn’t meet his expectations. That I was smart, and caring, and a talented musician, and even though I was just a kid fooling around with drums in a stupid band with my friend Luke, it was important because I loved it.” He quiets, and I can see the emotion rising in him. “That’s why I’m here, Callie. Because she told me what I was when everyone else in my life was telling me what I wasn’t. Once I started focusing on what I was instead, that’s where my identity came from, my dreams, the drive.”
“It all starts with believing in yourself,” I echo dryly.
His eyes narrow. “No, that’s a lie. It starts with accepting yourself. You can’t believe in what you don’t understand. And if you’re still telling people you’re no one, then you don’t understand yet.”
I don’t respond. Not because I don’t have anything to say, but because I have too much to say. And yet, I realize he’s given me even more to think about, and that’s what I need to do with his words right now. Tuck them away and consider them with the same care and insight with which they were offered.
“Can we work on our song again?” I ask after a long pause.
He glances at me, clearly pleased. “Which one?”
It’s my turn to be surprised. “What do you mean?”
His grin turns mischievous as he picks up the guitar.
“Fire up that laptop.”
∞∞∞
We work into the afternoon, taking a break for some food at one point when we realize we never even ate breakfast. I choose the meal this time and force him to eat a salad.
“What?” Casey asks, his fork stalling in mid-air as he observes my satisfied smirk.
“Nothing. Just enjoying the moment.”
He looks skeptical and shakes his head.
“And what moment is that? Enjoying a meal with a super hot rock star, or watching me eat vegetables?”
Night Shifts Black Page 17