When Maggie ran out of room in her lyric notebook, she stared at the last page and took a deep breath. She had filled up the whole thing in the few weeks she had lived at Cole’s place. There were silly lines, scribbled-out lines, lines she had running through her head for songs she couldn’t imagine not singing one day. There were parts of songs she couldn’t seem to finish, and whole songs complete with guitar chords. Her hand itched to write more, but she was out of room. If Nathan hadn’t told her not to practice too much, she would start singing. He had warned her about wearing out her vocal chords before a performance, and she needed to save it all up for her final practice that night when the band came over. They were going to do a dry run on stage at the hotel.
“Cole!” she called out, hoping he could hear her from down the hall. He was in the living room watching a sitcom. He was trying to relax before they had to leave in a few hours.
“Yeah?” he yelled. “What’s up?”
“Do you have any empty notebooks I can keep?”
There was a long pause. She didn’t expect him to bring her one, but a minute later he was standing in the doorway holding out a leather-bound diary.
Maggie slid off her bed and walked across the pink shag rug. “Wow, thanks.”
When she had the book, she ran her hands over the smooth, dark leather. There was a name embossed in the right-hand corner. Coleson Stanley Thomas. She had never called him Coleson. She hadn’t even known that was his full name. She looked up. “I can’t take this. It’s yours.”
He shrugged. His stubble wasn’t stubble anymore, and she wondered if he was trying to grow a beard like Todd’s. That would be weird, but she had to admit that it would suit him as long he kept it short. “My dad gave it to me. I’ve never used it. I don’t write.”
“But your dad is . . .”
“Dead. So?”
There was coldness in his eyes she had never seen before. He really didn’t care about his dad. Something about that fact shook her inside as she rubbed her thumb over the embossed name. She knew enough about his dad to know his name was Stanley. She wasn’t sure how he had died. It had something to do with his heart, but she didn’t know any details.
“When did he give this to you?” she asked as a lump formed in her throat.
“A few months before he died. He told me he wanted me to record the important things in my life, but every time I pick up the damn thing, I just get pissed off.” His jaw tightened. “I can’t write in it.”
Maggie didn’t know what to say. Could she write in it? It was heavy in her hands, like it was carrying the weight of death and anger and grief.
Cole touched her arm, his eyes filled with tenderness. “You’ll get a lot more use out of it than I will. You write incredible things.”
She laughed, dislodging the lump in her throat. “No I don’t. Not . . . not incredible.”
He lowered his hand. “Knock it off, Mags. Let me give you a compliment once in a while, okay?”
“Fine.”
They were standing right where he had kissed her. What kind of game were they playing? She could see he wanted her. It was deep in his eyes. It had been there for so long she had taken it for granted. She wondered if he could see the same want in her eyes.
Clearing her throat, she held out the diary. “I can’t take this. I’ll use printer paper or something. Do you have any?”
“No, I don’t.” He folded is arms, refusing to take the diary back. “If you use it, you’ll fill it with words that mean something. If I keep it, it’ll sit in the back of some drawer until the day I die.”
She lowered the diary. “If you put it that way.”
He nodded and stepped forward, like he had before. Her heart pounded. He wouldn’t kiss her again, not after his speech about not being right for her.
“You’ll want to dress up for tonight,” he said, stopping in his tracks. “Do you have something to wear?”
She glanced at her closet. “Yeah, I brought my black sparkly dress and my teal boots. Will that work?”
He followed her gaze to the closet where the dress hung. There was a small spark in his eyes when he said, “Oh, yeah, you look great in that. It’s perfect.”
* * *
When the band was setting up on the stage, Maggie’s heart felt like a freight train about to derail. Nobody was on the floor, so she shouldn’t be nervous. This was a dry run, nothing more. Dry run. Practice. No audience. Deep breath. Calm down, Maggie.
But every time Cole came through the doors carrying an amp or a piece of his drum set, he gave her a curious look, as if he was trying to decide how she was going to handle this. Did he have too much faith in her or not enough? She had been perfect during their practice yesterday in the basement. She’d listened to a recording, and she had sounded great. At times, she almost sounded like her mom.
Another deep breath.
“How are you doing?” Iza asked as she positioned her keyboard over an X marked on the floor with masking tape.
Maggie was holding her guitar so close to her body she felt like it was going to dissolve into her. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, shifting her feet. Her teal boots were still new enough to creak when she moved in them. She wanted to help with the set-up, but she felt too jittery to think straight.
“You know what fine means,” Iza said with a quizzical look. Maggie watched her position a chair near the keyboard where she would sit down with her steel guitar for the fourth song in the lineup. She was amazing in that song.
“Um, fine means fine, doesn’t it? I’m a little anxious, but I’m not freaking out or anything.”
Iza stood up straight and put her hands on her hips. Her hair was twisted into a huge bun on the top of her head, some tendrils falling around her heart-shaped face. “Fine means . . .” she said, leaning forward “. . . feeling inadequate, needing encouragement.” She raised her eyebrows, daring Maggie to challenge her assessment.
Maggie was trying to decide how to react when Cole came up the steps, grinning. “Ain’t that the truth! Are we all fine, you guys? How are we all feeling?” He kept his eyes on Maggie as he carried a ride cymbal and a stand over to his drum set.
“Pretty damn good,” Justin said, winking at Maggie as he passed by. “We’ve got Maggie here with us. What more could we want?”
She rolled her eyes and turned to Cole. “I’m doing well,” she said with a laugh in her voice. “I’ve never sung on a stage before, that’s all. Even with no audience.”
Cole positioned the cymbal and walked over to her. “You’ve done great in our practices,” he said, brushing a strand of hair off her face. “A stage is better than that. You’ve watched your parents do this your whole life.”
“I know.”
He put an arm around her and squeezed. “Help me get this drum set hauled in here, and we’ll take it from there, okay?”
Unlooping her guitar strap from her neck, she nodded. Thirty minutes later, she was back in her spot, playing intro chords with Justin right beside her. Cole’s steady beat on the drum relaxed her. She could feel his eyes on her as she played, but she didn’t turn around. He would never know what this meant to her. She had wanted and dreaded this moment forever. She could only imagine what tomorrow would be like, with an audience full of strangers.
She closed her eyes as the music flowed into her. Iza came in on her fiddle, her notes weaving in and out like bright threads in a tapestry. Justin started singing the first lines and she tapped her foot, counting like Nathan had taught her. “Every beat is a physical thing,” he had said. “See the music, feel it, just like you’ve done your whole life. Pearls on a string—let each one slide through your fingers. Measured.”
Mandolin line. Then the bass started. Maggie’s turn.
When she came in, her voice was louder and stronger than it had ever been. Justin’s voice filled her up like honey. She swam through it, adding her own to his. Maybe he was a womanizer and constantly looking at her like he wanted to get her in bed, but he was an amazing singer. They smiled at each other as they melted into the song.
She had never been inside music like this before. The stage lights sparkled in her eyes and she understood for the first time in her life why musicians put up with all that traveling and recording, and the stressful nights like when her mom was puking her guts out with the flu—the real flu—but had to go on stage in five minutes. Maggie remembered her smiling as she wiped her mouth and shrugged. “It’s part of the singin’ life, hon. We don’t always get breaks when we need them.” She had patted Maggie on her twelve-year-old head and squared her shoulders as her makeup artist dusted some powder over her pale cheeks. Then she’d left for the stage in a flutter of sequins and curls.
The song ended and Maggie backed away from the microphone. Looking down, she saw how hard she was gripping the fret board of her guitar. She turned to look at Cole, who was grinning. Nobody said anything.
“H-how was it?” she asked. “I know Justin was great, but did I—”
“It was perfect, Maggie,” Cole said in a tender, awe-filled voice. “Let’s run through it a few more times, then you can take a break and let us know how we’re doing on the rest of the songs.” He twirled a drumstick in the air and swept his gaze across the band. When he got to Maggie, he paused for a moment, sadness filling his expression before he looked down. “Then I say we go get something to eat.”
Maggie nodded and turned back to her microphone. Practice. Practice. Practice. Tomorrow would be the best day of her life.
* * *
When Maggie stumbled out of bed the next morning, the first thing she saw was Cole’s diary. She hadn’t dared open it yet, but after the awesome dry run yesterday, she was feeling happy and inspired and she wanted to write. Sitting at the desk, she opened the diary and pushed the divorce out of her thoughts, along with the sight of her mom’s blood and the emptiness in her eyes. She didn’t want negativity today.
Scribbling a few lines, she tried to forget she was writing in Cole’s diary. His dad had bought him this, and she was going to fill it up with things she couldn’t keep inside. It should be filled with Cole’s thoughts, not hers. It should be filled with all those secrets he was keeping from her.
She filled up one page and turned to the next, but it was already covered with words. Her hand froze over the paper as she read a note written in loose, shaky handwriting.
Cole,
I know I’ll probably be dead by the time you read this. You’ll probably throw this diary away without ever seeing what I have to say to you. It doesn’t matter. What matters is I’m going to put in writing something I’ve never had the courage to say out loud, even to myself. I’ve failed you and your mother in so many ways. I’m going to leave this world with shame, and I have to open my arms and take it like a man.
I’ll bet your mother never told you how much we used to love each other. I never yelled at her back in those days. You were so little then. You used to drive your toy tractors across the living room, squealing at the top of your lungs. That was your whole world. You didn’t notice how much we cared about each other. You felt it, I hope. Back then I treated your mother like something rare, because to me, she was. She still is. And so are you, Cole.
Even though things haven’t worked out for the best, the point is your mother and I loved each other enough at one point to bring you into this world so we could love you. You are more than the pain I’ve caused you. You will make a difference in your own family’s life one day. I pray you do a better job than I did, but even if you don’t, remember your life isn’t about where you end up. It’s about who you love and what you can give them, even if you think it won’t be enough or what they need. And God knows I love you, Cole. That’s what I’ve never said out loud. I still can’t say it out loud, but here on this quiet page, I can say it. Don’t be a coward like me. Say it every chance you get.
~ Dad
Her hand froze over the shaky writing. Her eyes glazed over with tears. Cole wouldn’t have given her this diary if he’d known about these words. They felt like a culmination, like his dad knew nothing else he could ever write would ring more true. What if Cole had thrown this away without ever reading it? Maggie was torn up inside just thinking about it.
Rushing out of her room, she hurried down the hall to Cole’s door. The house was completely silent, so she knew he was still sleeping. She knocked lightly.
“Cole, you up yet?”
A muffled grunt.
“Cole?”
“Maggie? What’s wrong? You okay?”
“I’m sorry I woke you up. I-I found something I think you should see.”
She leaned close to the door, her nose brushing against the wood as she imagined him rolling out of bed. He finally opened the door, dressed in a pair of navy blue boxers. Shirtless. His eyes were puffy and half-closed.
“What’s the matter?” He struggled to focus on her, and she realized how stupid she was to bring this to him first thing in the morning.
“You’re still asleep, I’m sorry. I’ll show you at breakfast.” Turning on her heel, she headed back to her room.
“Maggie!”
She stopped and turned around, trying to hide the diary behind her back. Cole followed her movements. “It’s gotta be important if you came knocking on my door this early. It’s all right, really. What’s up?”
She held out the diary as she tried to figure out what to say. “Your dad, he wrote you something in here. I think you should read it.”
Cole stared at the diary, his expression changing from curiosity to anger. “He wrote in there? What could he possibly have to say?”
She wanted to tell him, but she thought it would be better if he read it himself. She held the diary out farther. “Just read it. Ignore the first page. It’s just my lyrics.”
Cole shook his head and lifted his eyes to hers. “You don’t understand. Do you know what that bastard said to me before he died?”
She blinked, shocked he’d call his dad such a thing. He had never spoken about his dad with any love, but that seemed a little harsh. “Um, no.”
He folded his arms and leaned against the doorway. “He told me not to wreck his damn truck. His truck. Not ‘I love you, son’ or ‘I’m so sorry I made your life hell the past ten years.’ No, it was, ‘Don’t wreck my truck, Cole.’” He leaned forward. “The man never trusted me, even on his deathbed.”
She watched his biceps tighten as he squeezed his arms closer together across his chest. Lowering the diary, she wasn’t sure what to say.
“I’m sorry,” he said, unfolding his arms as he walked down the hall and pulled her against him. She rested her cheek against his warm skin as he ran a hand down her hair. “I didn’t mean to yell at you,” he sighed, letting her go.
She backed away. “You didn’t yell. But I still think you should read it.” She held the diary out again.
He rolled his eyes and grabbed it. “There’s nothing he can say in here to make me feel better about him. He’s the reason I don’t talk to my mom anymore. He was so abusive to her she can’t even look at me without being reminded of him, so we just stay away from each other now. He’s the reason I’ve felt alone for so long. He’s the reason . . . he was . . . he was a coward and I hate him for it, Maggie. You’ve had good parents your whole life. I know now why that’s so important.”
He stared down at the book in his hands, and Maggie finally reached out and opened it for him. “Just read what he has to say,” she whispered as she realized the importance of what he’d said about her parents. She’d always had more than she deserved.
He looked down at the first page covered in her lyrics. A smile played on his lips, and she reached out to turn the page for him. “I told you, not those. It’s on the second page.”
He swatted her hand away. “Just a minute. These are good.”
“Cole, come on!”
“Fine.” He sighed and turned the page, standing there in his boxers as he studied the words. His hair fell across his forehead.
“I’ll go start breakfast,” she said softly, moving past him. “Do you want me to fry up bacon?”
She paused a moment, waiting for his answer, but it was clear he hadn’t heard her.