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I allow Caleb, Heather, and Devon to put things on the conveyor belt while I glare at Jeremiah’s family. Mrs. Moore looks over and does a double-take, obviously uneasy that I’m watching her.

  “Come by tomorrow!” I shout. “We’re giving friends and family a discount.”

  Cassandra narrows her eyes at me but keeps her mouth shut. Caleb pretends to be occupied with the gum rack.

  Devon looks confused. “Can I get a discount?”

  In the morning, I’m surprised when Jeremiah actually shows up at the lot with Cassandra. He looks like he just rolled out of bed, threw on sweatpants, a hoodie, and a ball cap. She looks like she woke up to an alarm, had coffee, breakfast, did her hair and makeup, and then got him up.

  Jeremiah goes to investigate trees while Cassandra comes into the Bigtop.

  “I’m assuming you came for the discount,” I say.

  “My mom wouldn’t let us pass it up,” she grumbles, but I’m sure Cassandra tried.

  “You’re welcome,” I tell her.

  She lowers her head a bit, but still looks me in the eyes. “So why did you offer the discount?”

  “Honestly, I was hoping your parents would be standing here so I could talk to them.”

  She crosses her arms. “What could you say that hasn’t already been covered?”

  “That Caleb would never would hurt anyone,” I say. “I get the feeling that hasn’t been covered.”

  “You believe that?”

  “Completely.”

  Cassandra laughs. “You have got to be kidding me. Jeremiah watched him go after his sister with a knife!”

  “I know. I also know that he regrets it every day,” I say. “He lives with it every day. His family lives with it.”

  Cassandra looks down and shakes her head. “My parents will never be okay with—”

  “I get that, but maybe they’re overdoing this protective thing,” I say. “My dad makes any guy who works here clean outhouses if he even looks at me funny.”

  “This is a little different than flirting with someone. You know that, right?”

  Behind her, Jeremiah walks into the Bigtop. He holds a tree tag in his hand but stays back from the conversation.

  “I also don’t think it’s just your parents,” I say. “Jeremiah and Caleb used to be best friends, and they should still be best friends. They just never had a chance to figure things out before these lines were drawn.”

  I wait for a response that doesn’t come. She looks at her nails, but at least she’s still here.

  “You must see him at school,” I say. “Everything he does proves who he is now. Did you know he delivers Christmas trees to needy families? Do you know why? Because it makes them happy.”

  She finally looks at me. “Or is it because he ruined his own family?”

  I flinch.

  She looks down and closes her eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  I don’t know what to say. In a way, maybe she’s right. Caleb doesn’t give the trees hoping for gold stars. He’s hoping for peace, to balance his mistakes.

  Jeremiah approaches. He puts a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Everything all right here?”

  She turns to him. “What if it happened again, Jeremiah? What if someone pushes his buttons when you’re with him and he freaks out again? You think you’ll avoid getting dragged into that?”

  “He made a mistake, and he’s paid for it,” I say. “All this time later, it still devastates him. Do you like being a part of that?”

  She looks at Jeremiah. “Mom would never approve.”

  Jeremiah looks at me. Without accusation, he says, “You think you know him.”

  “I do,” I say. “I know who he is now.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cassandra says. She looks from her brother to me. “I know you want this to be different, but I will always put my brother first.”

  She turns and walks out of the Bigtop.

  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.”

&nb
sp; “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.”