I shift, guilty to be a part of this conversation. It’s obviously personal. Not wanting to intrude, I half rise to leave, but Marjorie’s hand shoots out and tugs me back down. “It’s okay, Jenny. Stay.”
I sit and lean in, secretly relieved because I want to hear more. I’ve always been drawn to a good story like it’s my own gravity. My newspaper would gobble up these intimate details about Caleb’s family, but I vow not to write about them. For this assignment, my loyalty lies with Gwen and Caleb. I won’t sacrifice my relationship with them for the sake of my career.
“He was always disapproving of the things I did, my father,” Marjorie continues, a mix of bitterness and sadness thickens her words. “He said nothing good would come of our union.” Tears have filled her eyes, but she doesn’t cry.
“Then we had you, Caleb, and I knew he was wrong. You’re the best thing to come out of our marriage. When you started to be successful, I guess I saw that as further proof my decisions were right. Every role you booked, a little voice in the back of my head said, ‘See, Dad. Told you so.’”
Caleb shifts impatiently. He’s heard this part of the story before.
Marjorie continues, “It was a huge leap of faith, one I could never have made without your father’s support, to come to California, but I never doubted what you would become. It was your destiny.”
Caleb rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure that’s how destiny works, Mom.”
“It was,” she insists. “I could feel it. It wasn’t until you were an adult that I questioned my decisions. Once you started drinking, and especially after the car crash, I wondered if I’d been selfish. I was unhappy in my hometown, but maybe you wouldn’t have been if we’d stayed.”
She lets out a watery sigh and rests her hand on top of his. “It’s a hard thing, being a parent. When you’re in the middle of raising your child, there’s no clear answer if you’re doing it right and then, when time has passed and you see the outcome of your choices, it’s too late. Whatever damage you’ve caused is already there. You can’t take it back.” Her eyes have filled again, making the blue in them, the same aqua as Caleb’s eyes, seem like it’s underwater. “I worry I haven’t done the right things for you, darling, and I’m sorry for that.”
Caleb’s misty-eyed too. “You had good intentions and in so many ways you gave me an incredible, although not always easy, life. Now, I look at Gwen and know no matter how crooked the road was that led me here, I’m where I’m supposed to be.” Caleb and his mother hug, their arms wrapping tightly around each other, then continue their conversation in hushed tones.
I scoot my chair back to give them privacy. My fingers itch to grab my phone and call Gwen. It’s one thing not to share this moment with the newspaper, but another thing entirely to not share it with my best friend. I clasp my hands in my lap, resisting the urge.You’re not a gossip anymore,I tell myself. As much as I would love to hear Gwen’s reaction to Marjorie’s confessions, it’s not my story to tell.
It’s Caleb’s.
I look over at Dean, the only person unmoved by this touching display. “How can you sit there so stoic?” I hiss at him.
He sends back a tight-lipped glare. “It’s not my job to eavesdrop,Jennifer. I’m here to protect Caleb.”
“We’re in a private room. Who could possibly threaten him right now?”I’m frustrated by his single-mindedness. “What? Do you think someone’s hiding behind the curtains or under the table?” I make a big show of leaning over and searching under the white tablecloth.
“Stop acting crazy.” He scowls. “This isn’t all fun and games. There are threats, real threats.”
“Yeah? Like what?” I challenge.
He scrubs his hand over his face, more agitated than I’ve ever seen. “Like that present Caleb got today at the theater.” He scrutinizes me. “You want to know what was in it?”
I nod, my curiosity piqued.
A long pause, like he’s waging an internal battle, before he says, “You can’t write about this. Do you understand?”
More nodding from me. “I promise. I won’t tell a soul.”
Another moment of silence while he stares at me, calculating, deciding his next move. Then a tiny nod, more to himself than to me. Dean’s lips tighten, his expression troubled.
“Caleb’s had his fair share of stalkers. Did you hear about Chrissy Sanfield? The woman who broke into his place in Malibu?”
I remember the story. It had been all over the Internet and on television. “She was barefoot, right? When the police arrested her?”
Dean gives a grim laugh. “She told us she didn’t want to be a bad house guest and get Caleb’s carpet dirty. Never mind that she smashed a window to enter the place.”
“She’s out of prison? Isn’t she on probation?”
“No. She was, but now she’s back in jail. She violated her parole, showed up here in New York, stood outside Caleb’s building. Said she’d wait for Caleb out there forever. Police had to come and take her away. She’s not his only stalker, though. He’s got tons of them following him. There’s another that scares me the most, though. The person who sent that gift today.”
I lean forward, desperate to hear more. “What was it? What was in the box?”
“It was a bunch of Caleb’s clothing stolen from his dry cleaner.”
“Is that all?” I relax, relieved, since that doesn’t sound too awful.
