Page 39 of Stolen Voices

My mom tenses beside me, and I know I made the right call. Even though I want to confess everything to Eli, this little voice in my head keeps saying,Not yet. Part of the reason I hold back is our history. We didn’t start out on the best foot, even though—from the moment Eli caught me—he has turned me inside out. My feelings are more than just a crush and honestly always have been.

The more I learn about Eli, the more I fall. He’s not just the cool, collected Hollywood agent he projects himself to be. He’s thoughtful, kind, and protective. He adores his family. I think he cares about me too. The night I slept in the guest room, Eli came in and placed his hand on my chest to make sure I was breathing. His touch was feather-light and tender.

That means something, right?

I could really use some motherly advice right about now, but I refuse to ruin the moment by putting pressure on Mom, so I keep rambling, and she listens.

I spill every little detail I have about Eli to her. How he makes my heart skip a beat every time he watches me during rehearsal or lays his hand on the small of my back. How, this past week, so much has changed between us. How he hasn’t let me out of his sight—watching my every move, driving me to rehearsals, and checking my food before I eat.

I go on about every sweet and thoughtful thing Eli has done for me since the night I had my allergic reaction, as well as the rude things he did before.

“To be honest, Momma, I think … I think I more than like him. But I’m afraid he’s going to push me away and keep using our working relationship as a reason to keep me at arm’s length. This is all so scary, and I don’t know what to do except play it cool, but it’s hard. Sometimes, I think he feels the same way about me, like he can feel the pull between us, but then he shuts down and goes silent on me. Like during our fight, I swear there was a moment where I thought he was going to kiss me, but then … he didn’t. The man is making me mad with his hot-and-cold ways.”

A throat clears behind me, and I turn to find Lakshmi, my mom’s care nurse, standing behind us. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Callie, but it’s time for Miss Diana to have breakfast.”

“No problem. Mind if I walk her back?”

She smiles kindly at me. “Not at all, sweetheart. Take your time.”

“Thank you.”

Nurse Lakshmi makes her way back up the stairs to the deck that overlooks the ocean.

I spend a few more minutes alone with Mom before walking her to her room and making sure she has what she needs. While I still worry about Mom, the facility’s administration has been kind enough to let me see her before visiting hours once a week.

After thanking Lakshmi and the other front desk nurses again for letting me visit early, I wave goodbye and head out. Without fail, a tear slips down my cheek, and my chest constricts as the automatic lock buzzes behind me. Like it does every time I leave Mom, my heart fractures and leaves a piece of me behind.

Today was a good day, I remind myself.

Flipping the hood of my black trench coat over my bleach-blonde locks, I grip the oversized sunglasses in my purse and slide them over my face, just in case someone followed me. I’ve been lucky so far, but with my career gaining traction, everyone wants a glimpse of me these days.

Rushing towards the idling black SUV waiting for me at the curb, I climb into the back seat and slam the door closed. I buckle myself in and huddle against the door, twisting my ring, as Mike puts the car in drive and steers us back to Los Angeles.

Leaning against the window, I close my eyes to let the words swirl in my head and form sentences that beg to be put on paper.

Whole. Alive

On display for the world

My eyes preserve your fire, protecting it like treasure

I give in and reach for my journal. Flipping to a clean page, I scribble down the lines that keep floating around in my head so that I don’t forget them. Not that it matters. I’ll never get to sing the songs I write.

My heart expands with each beat, growing unbearably too large for my chest cavity, as the usual panic takes over when I think about never singing my songs. Inhaling through my nose, I rub the cool metal around my thumb and squeeze my eyes shut. I count to four before exhaling through my mouth and shifting my perspective, allowing my raging heart rate to slow.

Be positive,I remind myself.I write songs for myself. For someday, when I’m over the rainbow.

I repeat the mantra, and after a few minutes of repeating my affirmation, the vise wrapped around my ribs loosens. I scribble more words.

I will bring you back to life and make it alright

The flame restored

The diamond pendant around my neck catches light, sending little rainbows dancing across my page, reminding me again that today was a good day.

eleven

Eli