Between the Stars and Sky Page 7

  My story ends in silence, and for longer than a heartbeat I think someone will end the beauty of this moment. But no one speaks. No one so much as breathes beyond the pitch of waves and crickets and sparks. And in the distant echo of night falling, the coming sounds of the Firelight Festival grow and grow. A maddening anthem of danger and secrets, life and death. Coming, longing, waiting.

  The Firelight Fall is a love story.

  It is almost here.

  It is almost time.

  I can taste the fire in the distance.

  Still, we have now. Miles is holding Sean’s hand, and Sean’s eyes are holding the fire. I am holding my words in the air, and Sarah is-

  Sarah is holding my heart.

  * * *

  This I know: I will not want to look back or look forward, but I will always have to do both. My mother is a memory, one I will always have, always cherish. And in small pieces of the forever created by me and by others for me, I will always have her. But Sarah is my present. My future. Soon, my always. I am between- so many things. But that doesn’t mean I’m not where I should be.

  * * *

  “Dad?” My voice is a whisper laced with the quiet surrender of things unsaid. I didn’t want to call but I had to. I had to do something. I’ve thought about this for days. I can feel it; the world is nearly eating me alive like this.

  I need someone who understands.

  “Jackson.” His voice is rough, like he just woke up. Like he’s been waiting to say my name since the day I left. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay. You?”

  “Okay.”

  Silence.

  He asks, “Good summer?”

  I nod even though he can’t see. “It’s been good. Miles is doing great. He and Sean are living together now.”

  “Good,” he says. “Always liked that kid.”

  “Yeah.”

  And then-

  “She would be proud of you,” he says.

  I can’t speak.

  Words stick.

  My throat is filled with them.

  And he knows, Dad knows because he sniffs into the phone and says, “Until next time, kid.”

  He’s gone.

  But he’s not.

  It’s not perfect, but neither are we. We never will be, but that’s okay. In so many ways, it will always be okay with him. He tried. I tried. And in the end, as I fall asleep thinking of what was said and what was not, I know we’ll be together again. Not like we were, not like what once was.

  Different. Not better or worse.

  Still, together.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE SWEET EVIL OF morning is that it is no longer night; and there is something so wonderfully horrible about knowing hours have come and gone and left you with nothing but a new day.

  I am awake.

  I am dreaming.

  I am everything and nothing at once in this early mist of morning filled with faded darkness and too-bright sunshine. The world is awake, or beginning to be. And I am in between it all, on the edge of the world. Waiting.

  Rolling out of bed, I run my hands through my hair, pushing the long, shaggy parts of it back and away. As I make my way to the kitchen to put the coffee on, I think about my conversation with Dad. It haunts me as the smell of coffee fills the house, and I relive it as I open the door to the deck and step outside.

  I miss Mom.

  So much.

  But I will go on. I have to. And in this morning filled with memories of Mom and Dad and me, I am filled with the sense that my life is just beginning again. Truly.

  I think I will miss Mom forever.

  So, so much every single day.

  But in my memories, she lives. In my new life, she will always have a place. Even now I still remember Mom on the beach during my sixth summer, waving at me from the sand as I kicked and played in the water near my Lost City. She smiled and yelled, “Don’t go far, Jackson! I’m waiting for you right here.”

  I remember because today I feel exactly like I did back then in that moment. Alive and nervous and happy and scared. I feel like I could lose this moment in an instant like I lost Mom if I blink too fast or kick too hard or get pulled under by the unforgiving tide.

  By Sarah.

  Everything - the world and Sarah in it - is so unbelievably beautiful that I don’t believe it for a moment. I can’t lose it, I can’t. I won’t.

  Suddenly-

  I am made of fear.

  Of panic.

  Of what if-

  I

  am

  a

  stain

  on her life dripping

  down

  down

  down

  like her paintings

  like her thoughts

  like her wants and needs and secrets she puts in every piece of art she creates?

  What if I am nothing-

  more than a stain of ink

  in a dark piece of art

  she

  is

  about

  to

  destroy?

  Once, and one thousand times in my mind, I have lived this moment: A time between what is right and what is wrong, real and not. And I can’t bring myself to understand that between this, between Sarah and everything I want, is something I can never have.

  A life free of memories.

  I want to live without having lost Mom or lied to my Dad. Love without having dated Natalie, breathe without having run from Miles, from Huntington.

  But I am my memories-

  we all are-

  memories.

  * * *

  Her smile rips me open, heals me. It’s as though she’s waiting for something, someone to come save her even though she doesn’t need to be saved. Like she’s waiting for direction, a way to run.

  Run to me, I think.

  I want.

  To her and the darkness she sits in, I ask, “Do you ever think about what life would be like if we could control the outcome?”

  Sarah doesn’t even hesitate. “It wouldn’t be life.”

  “It would be safe.”

  “It would be, but that’s not what life is about, Jackson. At least not the kind of life I want.”

  “What kind of life do you want?” I ask her. We’ve discussed it, but I still don’t know what kind of life I want. Sometimes I wonder if my life would be better if I was dealt safer cards, if people didn’t just leave. If there was some kind of warning.

  Less hearts would be broken.

  This time, for three seconds, her lips pause over words, waiting. “I’ll show you.”

  And then we are walking, running, flying down the beach against the sand. Against the dark twilight of the day long gone. Against the wind.

  I can hardly breathe.

  My face is freezing, but my hand is warm.

  Up the path to my house, toward the car.

  In.

  Gone.

  Windows down.

  Faster and faster and faster.

  And faster.

  I open my mouth-

  She says, “Don’t, Jackson. Just listen to the night. Look at the stars. Make a wish on a passing car.”

  It takes me a moment, but I relax. My hand in hers, tonight feels like the first of many. Of times gone by, times that always will be.

  Times that moved so fast they never were.

  And still she whispers, “I’ll show you.”

  * * *

  Cold air swims around me as though I am in the lake, naked. But we are far away from Huntington now. Minutes slipped to hours, until it was long after midnight and my breathing slowed to something like sleep.

  Sarah brushes a finger down my arm, and I can feel her push down on the gas slightly. “I’ll show you, Jackson. I’ll show you what kind of life I want.”

  I am so tired, so drained. But she is alive. And behind the wheel she seems fearless, pushing harder and harder on the gas so we begin to fly down the highway like devils seeking the damned.


  “In a rush?” I ask, my voice higher than I want.

  She smiles, but her eyes look vacant as they stay on the road in front of us. “Just trying to feel the wind.”

  It strikes me how odd this is, how dangerous. How a girl like Sarah would drive fast just to feel the wind, as though she has never felt it before. Her eyes wide, so wide they want everything and see nothing. So desperately she feels the wind rushing through her hair and against her skin, so willingly, like she has never felt anything like this before.

  Has she?

  Has she never felt alive? Truly alive, even though she seems like she lives and breathes life daily?

  “Sarah-”

  “We’re here,” she tells me, pulling over to the side of the road near the place where the train runs through the mountains. “Out.”

  I take her hand, and she pulls me toward-

  something.

  She is warm. So warm, she is burning. Or maybe I am cold like the night, and she is simply holding on to what day is left in the sky beyond the mountains.

  She says, “Close your eyes. Don’t argue.”

  I don’t.

  We stop.

  Wait.

  Minutes.

  Hours.

  Until-

  I hear screaming in the distance. A noise too soft it is almost like the mountains are breathing around us. I want to open my eyes, but I don’t.

  “Sarah?”

  Louder.

  Louder.

  She says, “Open!”

  The train is screaming, speeding toward us like a bullet. A gun, and maybe they are the same thing now. Two things that could destroy me, us. A single beam of light blinds me, and I cannot see anything beyond it. This white light will end me, us. And I cannot move I cannot move I cannot feel anything but my heart in my throat beating beating faster louder beating choking the air from me beating beating-

  stopping.

  “Sarah?” I gasp.

  I can’t-

  “Jackson?”

  I nod. That’s it. That’s all I have now.

  She is next to me, entwined. I’m not sure where she ends and I begin, or - maybe I have ended. Maybe I’m dead. Because I still can’t breathe without my heart filling my lungs with dread and my throat with horror.

  She turns to me, her smile as wide as the sky. “Do you feel alive? Did you feel that? That’s what kind of life I want. That’s how I want to live. Like every single moment could kill you, could make you or break you, and at the very last second you decide if you stay or if you go.”

  She’s crazy.

  Clearly.

  But as my heart slows and I can breathe again, I begin to feel how tightly she is holding my hand. Maybe she wants that kind of life, the kind that almost kills you, but I don’t think she can do it alone.

  I think she needs someone to stay for.

  And I want that person to be me.

  Because I lied before, to myself. I didn’t know Sarah then, when we were kids and summer was nothing more than a break between seasons. I didn’t. People change, and I am just beginning to understand why. They grow and bend and break and grow again, until they’re nothing like they were years ago. Until they’re more than that. More than you ever thought they could be.

  Before and after, stay or go.

  Sometimes people are in the wrong place-

  at the wrong time-

  until they’re not.

  * * *

  Sarah blinks. “The journal won’t hurt you.”

  “I know.” I am shaking.

  “Then why aren’t you picking it up.”

  “I can’t,” I say.

  I won’t.

  She doesn’t ask why.

  She knows.

  I know.

  This tiny journal is everything my mother was, every little secret she never wanted me to know, and maybe some she did. And suddenly, I realize this: I can’t face my mother now. I don’t want her to see me like this. Like I can’t face her, like I don’t want to.

  And I don’t know why.

  Instead, I cling to Sarah like she is my heart, my lungs, my soul. I push my body against hers, pulling her closer and closer until there is nothing between us but clothes.

  And then-

  I stop.

  “No,” I tell her.

  “Not like this. Not yet.”

  She nods. Smiles. Says, “Okay.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  IT BEGINS LIKE THIS: Dreams fade to a slowly building darkness that holds the melody of the day. White noise, a chaotic symphony of crickets and birds, and then waves crashing against rocks in the distance before pulling back out to the lake. But before the waves wake me, I hold on to my dreams a bit longer.

  There is silence before I am aware of us breathing together, one. Then not together at all, but rushed and separate and hurried. And back again.

  With her, I don’t feel between.

  In this moment, I am outside of everything.

  I am here.

  I am nowhere.

  “Sarah,” I whisper.

  She says my name like a prayer, like it is a fragile thing giving her life. And it shatters my heart and puts it back together in one breath.

  I want to give her a reason to love.

  I want to give her everything.

  All of me; I want to be the reason, all of it.

  I want to, and so I do.

  My eyes blink open and the world is gold; Sarah’s hair is bright and shining from the morning sun, her skin tan and shimmering. Her lips, though, are red, and looking at them makes me bite my own in memory.

  But I do not move.

  This is not a dream.

  This is real.

  And even though we are both covered in blankets, nothing but innocence between us, I don’t want to wake her. Not yet. Not when dreams and reality are still mixing together.

  Instead, I smile and sink into the warmth of this brave new day, feeling more naked than I am. My heart is shattered, in pieces everywhere I look, all wrapped around her body keeping her safe.

  My soul is alive.

  And this is so, so real.

  Her eyes open, slowly. And a shy smile spreads across her face like dawn rising from the lake.

  “You stayed the night,” I say, grinning.

  “I guess I did.”

  A blush touches her cheeks, and she presses her head harder against the pillow so it rises around her like a cloud. Her hair is wild, and it makes me think of the sun against sky. She grins, half a smile, and asks, “What are you thinking?”

  “Thinking about you,” I say.

  Her smile consumes me. “What about me?”

  “You talk in your sleep.”

  She pokes my chest. “I do not!”

  “Do too,” I laugh and reach to put my hand against her face. “And you drool.”

  “No, I don’t!” Her hand hits me again, but stays against my chest this time. Warmth shudders over me in rapid beats, as though her hand controls the thumping of my heart.

  “Yup.” I’m nervous now. I don’t know why. I feel like I’m jumping from the Point and Sarah is the water I will land in. My thumb brushes the edge of her smile, pulling it wider and wider until I’m smiling almost as wide as she is. “I woke up this morning and my left side was covered in drool. I had to shower and do laundry.”

  “Is that why you’re naked?”

  I whisper, “No. I’m wearing boxers.”

  Softly, she laughs. “The smiley ones?”

  I force my lips serious. “They have hot dogs on them, thank you very much.”

  And then she is laughing, her entire body shaking in my bed and I can’t help but join her. My lips hurt, my chest does too. And yet I am the happiest I’ve been in forever. My heart is flying. I cannot catch it, and I wonder if this is the moment it will stop. “I love you, Sarah Blake.”

  She stops, her face in the pillow.

  She says, “I can’t say it yet, Jackson.”

  “
But do you?”

  She breathes, deep. “Yes.”

  “Then why can’t you say it?”

  Her head lifts up and faces mine, and in her eyes I see everything I’m afraid of. “Because I know what comes after.”

  “What?”

  “You leave.”

  “I won’t leave.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “I know. But I want to stay. For you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Sometimes I feel lost,” I tell her. “But with you, I feel like I’m finally found. With you I am me.”

  “It’s a big world,” she says, her eyes are bright and sad and happy. “Easy to get lost in. But it’s better to lose yourself in someone instead, let your heart go.”

  “With someone, you mean.”

  She smiles. “Let’s get lost. And one day soon, one day when we least expect it, we’ll find the place where love is infinite.”

  * * *

  We fall in love like rain. Hearts beating like thunder in the distance. Closer and closer and closer. Louder and louder and louder. Lightning sparking as our lips touch three times. The air growing colder, and warmer. Drops of water, tears falling. Faster and faster and faster. Until the sky opens and rain falls and the world knows nothing but the rain storm darkening the summer colors. And after, nothing but drops left falling. Nothing but the smell of rain. Bright colors. Love.

  She doesn’t say it.

  But I do.

  Every day, I do.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I WANT TO SKETCH you,” Sarah tells me.

  “Okay,” I say as we walk down the beach between our houses. The white sand runs across my feet as I push beneath it, and the whole world is warm from the noon sun beating down. Already, the smell of fire burns in the air like a warning: The Firelight Festival is tomorrow. It is coming. It is almost time to jump. “You want to sketch me here?”

  She shakes her head. “No.” And then she smiles, grins with a secret so cunning, so mysterious I can’t help but smile back in wonderment.

  She says, “I want to sketch you naked.”

  “Naked?” I didn’t hear her right.

  I didn’t.

  “Naked.”