“No thanks to you,” Randy mutters, and I’m startled by the venom in his voice.
Kellen winces, and flashes an almost annoyed glance at Randy, but he doesn’t bite on whatever Randy is referring to. Instead he looks back to Caleb. “Look, the world should hear your dad’s songs. He was a genius. Legally, though, they’re Candy Shell’s. I know that may not sound right to you, but that’s the deal he made.”
“He wouldn’t want you to have them,” Randy adds.
“Maybe not, but that’s not his call to make. Caleb, you probably feel torn about this, but I’ll make you a deal. Show me the songs, and I’ll let you play on the record when we release them. Everybody would love that.”
“Can it be my band?” Caleb asks. I’m proud of him for thinking of that.
Kellen shrugs. “I don’t think so. They’re Allegiance songs. I think the rest of the band would want to get together and play them.”
“You don’t deserve it, Kellen,” Randy says through clenched teeth.
“Randy, come on,” says Kellen. “These kids are in over their heads with this. You knew Eli, isn’t this all classic him? I don’t want there to have to be legal awkwardness, talks with all your parents . . .”
This point spears me, as it was probably meant to.
Caleb stands there, hands in his pockets. I wish I could talk to him telepathically. I don’t want him to agree, and yet I don’t know what else he can do.
“Think about your mom, too, Caleb,” says Kellen, “having to hire lawyers . . .”
“Okay,” Caleb snaps. “I get it.” He starts to reach into his pocket.
“What are you doing?” Jon asks.
“Caleb . . . ,” I say, but I don’t add don’t.
“He never bothered to send me a letter, or even call, while he was alive.” Caleb produces the tape. I didn’t realize he’d been carrying it with him. Kellen leans forward when he sees it.
Caleb turns the tape over in his fingers. “I was happier without him. All this has done is remind me what’s missing. What I can’t ever have.” He turns to me. “Even playing the songs was never going to bring him back. Never going to give me a dad.”
He’s still holding the tape close to him. His eyes lock with mine. He looks like he might pass out. I don’t want him to hand it over, but I don’t see what choice he has. I nod slightly.
And Caleb holds out the tape. His hand is shaking as Kellen plucks it from his fingers.
“Thanks, Caleb. This was the right choice. And I’m guessing you’re here because there’s another one?”
Caleb nods. “Hidden in a Beatles record.”
Kellen turns the tape over in his fingers. “Go ahead. I won’t steal your chance to find it.”
“Come on,” Caleb says to me. We cross the room, reading the labels. Caleb is silent, his face stone.
We stop at the “B” section.
“I don’t think you had a choice,” I say to him. He doesn’t respond.
Then his hand shoots out, and his fist slams into the back of an empty chair beside us. It makes a loud smack—Caleb was probably aiming for the padding but it sounds like he hit the frame—and the chair wobbles. Caleb shakes his hand, wincing, and lets out a slow, crushed sigh.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. I move to hug him whether he likes it or not, but he lets me.
Caleb sniffs, maybe fighting tears. He’s so still, I can’t tell. As we hold each other, I hear urgent voices from behind us. We turn and see Randy talking angrily to Kellen. Jon and Matt have stepped away awkwardly. A librarian-waitress swoops over and shushes him.
Caleb takes a deep breath. He makes his best attempt at a smile for me. “Look at the bright side: we can wake up tomorrow, and just focus on having an awesome band. On having fun and being great. Doesn’t that honestly sound like a relief?”
“Yeah, kinda.” I wonder if he will still feel that way tomorrow. I point to a nearby shelf. “There.”
Caleb climbs a ladder. The Beatles records take up nearly an entire floor-to-ceiling section. There are imports, mono editions, all kinds of things. They’re alphabetized, and Caleb runs his finger over the spines. “I don’t see it.”
I catch the eye of a librarian and wave her over. I explain what we’re looking for. “Oh, yeah,” she says, “a classic. Of course we have one. It’s so rare that we keep it on the side here—” She’s points to a vertical line of records displayed face out between this section and the next. Each record is on a stand in its own little alcove. A sign between them says, “These rare covers are for viewing only.” One of them is empty. “Oh my. It should be right there. . . I’ll be right back.” She hurries off.
Caleb climbs down. “It’s gone?”
I gaze at the blank spot and all I can picture is Val. “Gone.”
Both our heads turn as Randy’s voice swells again. Now a pair of nearby listeners joins in shushing him. The anger on Randy’s face is obvious from here.
“Here it is.” The librarian returns, the record held like a plate of hot food between her hands. “Phew! Someone slipped it out of there, and left it over at a listening station. All the records are tagged; it would have set off an alarm if it left.”
“Can I look at it for a sec, and show my friend over there?” says Caleb.
“It’s not a handling copy,” says the librarian.
“That’s Kellen McHugh from Allegiance to North,” I say. “He’d really been hoping just to see it.”
“Well . . .” But the librarian gets a little starry look in her eyes. I want to tell her he’s not worth it. “Okay,” she says, and we bring it over.
“Success?” Kellen asks, leaning forward.
Caleb feels around the outside, pressing the cover flat in every spot. After a moment, he hands the record to Kellen. “It’s not there.”
Kellen does the same, “Are you sure there was a tape?” he asks Caleb as he hands the record back to the librarian.
“Not completely,” says Caleb. “I mean, he made it sound like there would be.”
Kellen shakes his head. “Caleb, I don’t mean to speak badly of your dad, but he was in a pretty bad way on that tour. I’m surprised to hear he could get it together to make even one tape, never mind a second one.” He stands up, flipping the first tape in his fingers. “Thanks for this. And I’m sorry. You probably got your hopes up. I think he’d be proud if he knew you. But . . . this is kind of what it was like working with Eli.”
“That’s enough, Kellen.” Randy is still fuming.
Caleb just stares into space. “No, it’s cool.” Then, more bravely than I can imagine being, he meets Kellen’s eyes. “Thanks for the offer to play on the song. I’ll let you know if anything else ever turns up.”
Kellen smiles. It’s impersonal, like business, but still a smile. “I hear you know Jason over at Candy Shell?”
“Yeah,” says Caleb.
“Good. I’ll make sure he hooks you guys up with some great shows.”
Kellen and the detective get up and head for the door.
I watch them go. “What are the chances they’re going to meet up with Val somewhere? That she got the tape out of here before?”
Caleb shrugs. “I don’t even know if I care. Maybe it’s better there’s no second tape. I never wanted this. That gig tonight? It was fun. It should just be about that. The music.” He turns to Randy. “Can we go home? You up for driving back?”
Randy is distant. “Oh yeah, I’d be awake all night anyway.”
“I’ll text Weezil again,” says Caleb. “Just in case.”
I wish I could share his optimism. Caleb thumbs his phone as we make our way out of the Vault and back down through the seething club.