Where the Stars Still Shine(65)

The calluses that come with years of playing are gone now, so the strings bite into the soft skin of my fingertips as I form the notes, and my nails—the pale-pink polish chipped after my day in the ocean—feel too long to play comfortably. But the steadfast consistency of the sound is reassuring. I play the intro to “All Apologies” until my hands remember and I sing along, even though my voice was not made for singing. The screen door tells me when Greg comes into the trailer, and my fingers miss the next chord.

“I was never much of a Nirvana fan,” he says. “Except that song. I loved that one.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“So, I came out here with a speech all prepared and now … this threw me off.” He gestures at the guitar as I put it away. “I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of you seeing some mystery guy, but I’m even less comfortable knowing that it’s Alex.”

“Why?”

“He’s not what you need right now.” Greg’s not saying anything different from what Phoebe said in the kitchen, but his words are gasoline and a match.

“How do you know what I need?” I ask. “You don’t even know me.”

“Whose fault is that?” Frustration drives his hands to his hips, his posture defensive. “You haven’t shared anything about your life. You ignore the rules. You keep secrets. And we both know who was responsible for the mess at the house the other night. You lied to protect her, and I suspect you’re the one who told her about the house in the first place. I’ve given you a home, Callie. Stability. A future. How could you do that?”

“Do you expect me to forget she exists?” I’m shouting and it occurs to me that the neighbors might hear, but I don’t care. “Like I’m just supposed to swap her out for another parent. Right or wrong, she was my everything, Greg. Not you. And now you act as if you’re some kind of savior, but you know what? I’ve been saving myself my whole goddamn life.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” I lie. “It doesn’t mean anything at all.”

He looks at me for a long moment and I know he doesn’t believe me.

“So maybe I’m not the savior, but I’m sure as hell not the villain. Obviously I’m not keeping you and your mother apart. When I brought you home, we made a deal that if you wanted to leave, I’d let you go.” He gestures at the trailer door, his voice low. Controlled. More awful than yelling. “If life is so much better out there with her, don’t let me stop you.”

Through the screen I can hear the incessant cricket song that’s become a lullaby over the past couple of months. I don’t know why I tell the lies I tell, especially when I don’t mean them. What I mean to say is Greg, I love you. Please don’t let me go. But I’m afraid to say it, so I just watch as he walks out of the trailer.

“Dinner is at seven.” There’s acid in his tone, and I wonder if it burns his mouth as much as it does my heart. “If you feel like joining us.”

“I don’t.”

Greg and Phoebe are setting up folding tables end-to-end in the backyard to accommodate what quickly becomes a celebration. Cheers erupt like fireworks each time someone new arrives. People laugh. Glasses clink. And somehow the food—including the mashed potatoes I never finished learning to make—seems to multiply in an almost biblical way. When Kat comes around the corner with her parents and little sister, I want to go out and see her, but shame binds me in place.

These people love me. I know this. They loved me when there wasn’t even a me around to love, but I wonder if I’ll ever really belong to them. Or if they’ll ever feel as if they belong to me.

Maybe it’s time to go.

I take my guitar from its case and unstring the low E so I can remove the rubber-banded bundle of money that is my life’s savings. It’s not much—a couple hundred dollars—but it’s more than I’ve ever had.

Greg’s laugh drifts across the yard and I feel empty inside, as if my heart has been scooped out. I read somewhere that heartache triggers the same part of the brain that responds to physical pain, creating the same sensations. It hurts to think about leaving my dad. Alex. All of them. And I’m so confused.

“Callie?”

Kat’s on her tiptoes at my window with her nose, lips, and palms flattened against the screen. I can’t hold back a smile and my heart shifts back into place. “Permission to come aboard?” she asks.

“Yeah, sure.”

I hide the money in my pillowcase and set aside the guitar as she enters the Airstream. Kat flops down on the bed beside me, threading her fingers between mine, and the scent of her flowery perfume wraps around me like a comfortable blanket. When her head rests against my shoulder, her personal space invasion is complete. It doesn’t bother me so much anymore. Not at all, really.

“I bet you’re going to miss this old trailer.” Her words rattle me, making me feel as if she can see straight through to my intentions.

“What?”

“Well, knowing Greg, your room at the new house is probably amazing,” she says. “But you have to admit that living in an Airstream has been pretty damn cool.”

I blow out a silent breath of relief. “Definitely.”

“So, um, how was your date?”