Exile (19 page)

“Okay, finally.” Maya arrives beside me. “Oh . . .”

“It’s okay,” I say, brushing at my eyes. “This wall is just a bummer.” I take one last look at the photo, my eye dropping to the tiny card beneath it that reads:

Eli White 1976–1998

And I’ve almost turned away when the text below stops me in my tracks:

With Daisy at Ear Socket Records, San Francisco

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

MoonflowerAM
@catherinefornevr 32m
This traffic knows we have planets to visit. Oh, it knows, and it grins its chrome grin and we go nowhere. #LAsubway

I miss the ideal bus by mere seconds, watching it pull away as I wait to cross the street, and the second one is late, and then the 405 is a mess, and by the time an hour has gone by I’m reconsidering everything. Catherine, sitting in her own car, could exit and try another route. Hell, she wouldn’t even be in Malibu at all this afternoon. She wouldn’t miss the Pluto expedition.

But then she’d never know Caleb in the first place.

Traffic fail, I text him.

He doesn’t reply, and hasn’t to my earlier text yet either. When he finally does we’re moving, but it’s almost six and so what he says doesn’t surprise me:
It’s all good. Pluto another
day. Things came up anyway. Rain check on tonight?

Absolutely not! Will be late but not missing our date. We’ve had this plan all week, first Pluto, and then Sacred Cow, and then the Prism, a second-run theater in the little downtown of Mount Hope that operates on an arts grant. This month they’re showing the early works of the Coen brothers and tonight it’s
Barton Fink
. I add: Just go ahead and order when you get there.

The texts make me smile but cause a squirm of guilt. I’m still on edge after the cloak-and-dagger routine with Jason. I’m not sure what from the meeting I’m going to tell Caleb. I can’t really tell him that Jason is onto us without also telling him about the gig offer. But I know Caleb wouldn’t want to do the show if it was advertised with his connection to Eli. So why not just tell him everything? Maybe I will. I’m sure I could convince him that Jason is not to be trusted. That we’re better off on our own. Though the band as a whole might not agree. And Caleb would wonder why I didn’t tell him until now. Since Jason seemed far more concerned about finding out what we were up to regarding Eli, maybe the gig offer was bait and will just fade away anyway. I’ll see how the night goes. Luckily, I have the info on Daisy, which is all we really need.

I spend part of the bus ride looking up Ear Socket Records, but find that it closed five years ago. There is contact info for the owner, Carter, who says that he and Daisy will be looking to open a new store. A few searches indicate that they haven’t done so yet. I send a quick email, claiming to be a fan of the old store and asking if there’s any news on a new location.

My second bus connection is delayed, and by the time I arrive home, freshen up, get Mom’s car, and race downtown, I’m half an hour late to dinner. Parking takes even longer. I’ll have fifteen minutes to eat, tops.

When I rush into the dimly lit, crowded restaurant, I look for Caleb at one of the tiny tables for two by the windows. Not that I told him to sit there, it’s just where I’ve pictured us being. But instead, he’s in a semicircular booth near the back.

And then I see why.

Val is with him.

She’s sitting at girlfriend distance again, both hands cupping a mug of chai, leaning in his direction and talking. Caleb is listening, nodding as he gazes into the table and once again, there is something so intimate and exclusive feeling about their interaction. I may be in detective mode, but I can’t just be making this up, inventing the chemistry. It’s so obvious even from twenty feet away.

He catches sight of me first, and straightens, even flinches slightly away from her. Val makes no such move.
She just scowls, her dark-shaded eyes narrowing. I more than kinda want to let her have it. Except I put on as much of a smile as I can for Caleb. She’s in the band. This could just be band business. But I know well enough that those lines get real blurry, real fast.

“Hey,” says Caleb, in that I-know-but-please-be-cool tone. A replacement basket of naan arrives just as I do, and I sit to his right, and hate this positioning, Caleb in the middle, me just one of the girls.

“What’s up?” I ask, and by
what’s up
, I assume Caleb will know that I mean
What the hell is she doing here on our date?

Val and I don’t even pretend to say hi to each other. It’s her job to say hi to me, isn’t it? She’s the one who’s added herself to our equation. But she just looks down into her mug like I’m irrelevant.

“Val needed a place to hang for a bit,” says Caleb, “so I invited her along.”

He gives me another look that seems to say “Can this be cool?” I’m not sure. Val, meanwhile, is tearing off some naan.

But I don’t really feel like being cool. I lean around him and ask, “What happened?”

“Stuff,” she says without looking at me.

“Same stuff that made you miss the video shoot? And half of every practice this week?”

“Summer . . . ,” says Caleb.

“What?” I snap at him. “Oh, did you ask that already?”

“Well, not like that . . .”

“Okay then.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Val mutters.

“Why?” I feel myself winding up. “Because you’re
connected
—”

“Because he gets it.”

Oh man, I want to unload right now. The feeling is so strong though, that it’s overwhelming me and all I can manage to say is, “Right.”

“Okay,” says Caleb. “Listen, Val’s having trouble with her stepdad. He’s a real . . .” He glances to Val.

“Asshole,” she offers, shoving in another bite.

“It’s bad,” Caleb says to me, and I suddenly feel embarrassed because, okay, that is serious, and probably has to do with so much of how she’s been acting.

“I just can’t be there tonight,” says Val.

She sounds wounded. I try to push the whole snuggling-up-to-my-boyfriend thing out of my mind, at least for a minute. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

Caleb shifts in his seat. “She’s gonna stay at my house.”

“Oh.” I go for some naan too, thinking,
You’ve got to be kidding me
. On the other hand, maybe what I should think is, Caleb is amazing, and generous, taking care of his band mate, of course of course of course.

And yet instead I’m thinking: pajamas, Val sneaking in while Caleb’s asleep, more bonding for the burdened lead singers, their connection inevitable. I hate that I’m thinking
that, what a ridiculous scenario! I know Caleb . . .

“Is that a problem?”

I look up and see Val finally gazing at me.

Dammit. What am I supposed to say? Obviously I should say no but . . . does it have to be Caleb’s house? Don’t I trust him? Pretty sure I do, but her? And then there’s how she acts toward me . . . and so instead I say what I shouldn’t: “What’s your last name?”

That makes her look away. “Why do you want to know?”

Gotcha
. “It’s just a last name.”

“Exactly,” she says, tearing more naan.

“What if someone wanted to friend you online?”

“Who, you?” Val shrugs. “I don’t do that stuff, anyway.”

I look imploringly at Caleb, trying to say,
See? What about this?
I don’t trust her. I just don’t. How can he?

He makes an almost queasy face. “Summer, come on. I just want to help.”

“I know.” And then I don’t know what else to say.

Food arrives. Caleb ordered just what I like: chicken korma and channa masala, and this should be cause for a kiss in acknowledgement of such chivalry, and yet, also arriving at the table is saag paneer for Val, which is gross, and she’s probably judging my enjoyment of meat from an animal, and honestly whatever. I hate feeling this way. I hate all of this right now.

We eat in silence, and after a few minutes I’m so mad that Caleb hasn’t thought to ask me about my meeting with Jason that I want to leave. Of course I could always tell him. It’s not fair of me to make it a test. But who’s on his mind more, his girlfriend, or his needy band mate? Maybe I’m a bitch to expect it to be me. Fine, I’m a bitch.

But then he asks.

I fill him in, almost mention the gig but skip it, and explain that Jason wouldn’t go for the interview with Jerrod unless I agreed to be his intern. “But we don’t really need the interview anymore, because I found Daisy.” I explain the photo and location.

“Wow, okay,” says Caleb. “Do you think Jason suspected anything?”

“He was a little suspicious for sure,” I say.

“I suppose Candy Shell technically has the rights to any songs by Eli,” says Caleb.

“I think so.”

Caleb’s face darkens. “So what did my dad think I was going to do with them?”

“Maybe we should ask Randy,” I say, thinking of Jason’s comment about how they were tight.

“It’s not fair,” says Val.

“What?” asks Caleb.

“Your dad putting this burden on you,” she says. “He could have left you the songs when he died, like in a will or something. Or given them to your mom. Why put you
through this ghost hunt? And make you do something illegal?”

“It’s not illegal to find the songs,” I say, though I agree with her point about Eli.

“But it will be illegal to play them without Candy Shell’s permission.” Val’s right about that.

“Which we might not even do,” Caleb reminds us. “But it’s probably also technically illegal to keep them a secret.”

“So, what do we do?” I ask Val. “Do you think we should tell Candy Shell?”

Suddenly Val smiles. “Hell no.”

“No way,” Caleb agrees. “I really want to hear the rest of that song. I have to.”

“Definitely,” says Val, and then she . . .

literally . . .

reaches out and rubs his arm.

And I lose it. “Do you not see me right here?”

“What?” she nearly snarls. “Why are you like the most overprotective grizzly bitch ever? We’re friends. What’s the problem with that?”

I look to Caleb. Oh, boyfriend, this is one of those moments where you have to step up and not let the band girl hit on you with your girlfriend right there . . .

He looks back at me with an expression that is honestly pathetic, as if he wishes the situation would go away or fix itself.
I’m still trying to figure out what to do about it
, is what he said at the beach. I get that it’s complicated, kinda,
but . . . if he’s not going to do anything, then what choice does that give me?

“The problem, right now, is you,” I say to Val, and as the words leave my face I’m pretty certain that I’ll wish for a hundred years that I had a do-over to say something smarter. But honestly, whatever. I start to scoot out.

“Where are you going?” Caleb asks.

“Can we go to the movie?” I ask.

Caleb flashes a glance at Val.

“Just the two of us,” I add. “Val can handle herself for two hours.” I know I’m probably being unfair, and I sort of hate myself for feeling like I need to do this. To ask Caleb to choose between us. To choose me.

“But,” he says queasily. And he glances again between Val and me and doesn’t get up. It’s an impossible position for him. That’s how he feels. Fine. But that leaves me feeling like I only have one option. “I’m gonna go.”

“Summer . . .”

My name just infuriates me. “Stop.” I look to Val. “I’m sorry about what you’re going through. I am. You guys just go to the movie. Have a sleepover. I’m going home.”

It’s my turn to storm off even though I’m already regretting it as I do it. But once you set your exit into motion, you’ve got to stick the landing. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice.” I keep walking. I hate it. I feel tears coiling, ready to spring free. Not doing that. Walking out. Holding my breath.

I’m outside, halfway up the block, when I exhale and the tears pour out. My phone buzzes. Caleb:
Come on. I’m sorry. Come to the movie
.

I keep going, and as I drive home, I hate everything. Hate hate hate. To myself: “Real mature, leaving like that. Playing right into her hands.” To Val, via the window: “Where do you get off thinking you can just get that close to him?” To myself, via the dashboard: “You don’t own him. You didn’t need to put him in that position. Can’t you just be confident?” But I remind myself of the lessons that feel all-too-recently learned: “Fine line between being confident and being oblivious.”

When I get home, I go straight online. I do searches for Val, or Valerie, in every location. Nothing. No photos of her or mentions with Mission Viejo, and nothing before the six-month stretch from last winter to spring when she appears in photos and gig listings in Ithaca with Kitty Klaws. It’s like she’s only ever existed in New York and our practice space.

Around midnight, Caleb texts:
Movie was amazing. Wish you’d stayed. Val is just a band mate. That’s all. I felt like she needed help. Maybe I messed up
.

I reply: Thank you. Sorry I missed the movie. And before he can add any more: Good night. I just want today to be on the other side of sleep.

But first, back to the search. In all the listings and bios for Kitty Klaws, she’s only Val, even when the other two
members have last names. They have prior projects listed, too. Val doesn’t. There’s no information about why they broke up, or contact info either.

Nothing, nothing, and nothing . . .

Until finally, around two a.m., I am looking at the comments beneath one of the band’s YouTube videos, and I find an old post:

The other members of Kitty Klaws are named Sarah and Cooper.

I click on Darren Peters’s profile. He’s from Princeton, New Jersey. . . .

And ten minutes later, I find her.

Cassie Fowler.