The Stars Will Shine (29 page)

“He came to my bed, and he—he kissed me. He told me he’d been wanting to do that for a long, long time. And you know what? It sent my damned heart fluttering like it was made of butterflies. I couldn’t believe that he felt the same way about me. I couldn’t believe he wanted me too. And he kissed me again and again and held my hand, and then he left. And when he left, all I wanted was for him to come back in there and take me into his arms again.

“He avoided me over the next week, like he was really embarrassed by what he’d done. My brother kept asking if the two of us had gotten into a fight or something, and all I could say was ‘I don’t know,’ because I thought things were finally right between us, but then he was treating me like I didn’t exist. It hurt really bad.
I
hurt really bad.”

I swallow hard and touch my hands to the edge of the seat.

“But then, he came again. This time, the door creaking open woke me up. He stood there for a long moment, staring at me from the doorway, and I at him from beneath the covers of my bed. And then, after that silence stretched so thin, he came forward and took my hand softly in his, and he kissed me again. And the next thing I knew, he was taking off my clothes, and I didn’t stop him. Even though suddenly I was scared; even though in the back of my mind somewhere my body wasn’t sure I wanted to do that; even though I wasn’t even sure what we were doing exactly, I never said no. I let him take off all my clothes; I let him touch me all over; and then I let him take…more from me. I was too naive to really understand. But never once did I stop him. And the thing is, when it was over, when he was lying next to me, breathing really hard, the heat from his body consuming mine, I felt closer to him. I felt like I’d done something good and something right.”

Dylan doesn’t say anything, just stares at his knees, looking miserable.

“This went on for, like, three months. That whole first semester of school, pretty much. Like nearly every time he stayed the night. And he’d always find excuses to stay on the weekends.” I take a deep breath and let it out, long and slow, steadying my heartbeat. “And then one day, he dropped me for someone else, and that’s when I realized I was the dumbest girl alive.”

Dylan looks at me finally, and I wonder if it’s because he knows that same feeling, after what Jessica did to him.

“I was left really broken,” I say, “and really confused, and really disgusted with myself. Because I knew the only reason he wasn’t coming to me anymore was because I wasn’t good enough.”

Dylan shakes his head in disagreement.

“And the worst part is”—my voice is tinny with stifled emotion—“now I have to see him again when I go home. Apparently he’s tagging along with my brother.”

“I don’t even know what to say, Delilah. You shouldn’t have to go through that. You never should have had to go through that.”

“It was partially my fault. For being so dumb.”

Dylan’s voice suddenly rises as he looks at me, and it’s easy to see the anger in his eyes—“You were thirteen!” he says. “He was four years older, Delilah. Four years! Legally, that was statutory rape. The douchebag fucking took advantage of you. He led you to believe he really cared about you. And in doing so, pressured you to do something you weren’t ready for, mentally or emotionally.”

I know he’s right in a way. So many times, I look back on that night Tommy first removed my clothes. How nervous I was. How much I wanted to tell him I wasn’t ready to go that far, but how fearful I was that he would then stop wanting to see me. I convinced myself I had to be older—and I thought that meant I had to be confident, free, and ready.

“I would punch him,” Dylan says, his jaw clenched. “I would kick his ass for you.”

I let out a humorless laugh, remembering how he almost beat up that guy who touched me inappropriately at the party. “I know you would, Dylan. And I appreciate it.”

Dylan stops the swing and lifts one leg up so he can turn to face me.

“I think you should tell someone. Your brother at least. So he doesn’t keep bringing the bastard around.”

I sigh and squint my eyes at the grass. “I can’t. I just—I know how much it would kill him. Tommy is his best friend. They’ve been like brothers since they were ten years old. It would just…gut him…brutally.”

Dylan watches me for a long while and then shakes his head, and I don’t know if he’s disappointed in my decision or if he agrees.

“If I ever see him again,” he insists, “I swear to God I will hurt him.” And I know he’s not lying. “For what it’s worth,” he goes on quietly, “I’m really sorry for…judging you…before I got to know you better.”

I focus on the way the skin over my knuckles crinkle when I extend my fingers. “I’m sorry, too. For judging you. And, Dylan?” He affixes his gaze on me. “I—I want to thank you. You know, for last night. Thanks for looking out for me. I really laid it on Trevyn, though.”

“He can handle it.”

“Still, I feel terrible about the things I said to him.”

“He knows you’re dealing with stuff.”

I bite my lip, nervous. “Can I ask you not to tell him what we just talked about? Don’t tell anyone, please.”

Not Aiden, especially.

Dylan shakes his head. “It’s not my story to tell.”

***

Aunt Miranda drives me to the airport that afternoon. I’ve got a carry-on duffel bag messily stuffed with articles of clothing for outfits I put no effort into planning. I pass through security, board the plane, and fly home, the entire time oblivious to my surroundings, my body just going through the motions. I catch no eyes, acknowledge no one, hardly notice anything around me. The closer I get to Arizona, the worse I feel. And when I step off that plane and make my way through the crowds at Sky Harbor Airport out to where my father texted he would pick me up, my chest is so hollow that my heartbeats sound like forlorn echoes.

Dad drives up and starts to open his door, maybe to come around and give me a hug, but I quickly open the passenger’s side, toss my bag onto the backseat, and climb in without a word. He starts to drive, pulling out slowly at first, his body hesitant as he tries to think of something to say, then speeds off, thinking better of it. The silence between us stretches so thin, I almost can’t bear it.

“It’s good to see you,” he finally says a few minutes later. It’s the first words he’s spoken to me since he left me in California, mostly because I never answered his calls.

I don’t respond, just turn my head away and stare out the window up at the cloudless sky to lose myself for a second in the pristine blue. I don’t know why I care so much, but a large part of me wants to make this reunion extremely difficult for him. He sighs a little but seems determined to keep the conversation going, even if it is completely one-sided.

“Dave said he’ll be getting in around eight o’clock tonight. He and Tommy are driving here. I don’t know if you knew that.”

Pain strikes my chest, hard and harsh, and rises to squeeze my throat from the inside so that it’s hard to get air.

“They left Illinois a day ago,” he goes on. “I talked to them a bit ago and they were just passing through Albuquerque.”

I shut my eyes against the pain of keeping them open, and say nothing, but I feel his eyes land on me for an instant before returning to the road.

“I hope Aunt Miranda’s been treating you fine. She says you’ve been eating well”—I can’t help but let out a near silent huff at that because I’ve still yet to eat a meal with her—“and she says you have a job you’ve been working hard at.” I guess Aunt Miranda didn’t get the memo that I no longer work there. “I’m really proud of you, you know.”

I roll my eyes. Why is it that Aunt Miranda feels the need to act like I’ve been a model child this summer when she and I both know I haven’t been?

Though I grew up here, my return to the desert feels like a new experience, like I am an outsider or a stranger in a land that has long forgotten me. It all looks brighter than I remember, and busier. And the streets are smoother than the rural roads around Sonoma, so much so that I almost feel like we’re just gliding along to a destination I’m not yet ready to reach.

When we pull into the garage of our house of white stucco walls and a red-tiled roof, so similar to every other house in this suburban neighborhood, I grab my duffel bag and follow my father inside. He glances back at me once, but I make sure I’m looking at the wall when he does. I head to my room without a word and fall onto the bed, which is clean and made up nicely, not at all how I left it. I stare at the tan walls around me and realize, with a pang in my chest, that I almost miss the orange. I can hear the grapefruit tree outside my window rustling in the small breeze that passes through, but other than that, everything is quiet. And lonely.

I take out my phone and plug in my earbuds. Scrolling through my music, I settle on Angus & Julia Stone because sometimes it seems they’re the only ones who understand how I feel. I fall asleep at some point, and when I wake, I’m not sure how much time has passed. There’s a knock on my door though, which must have been what woke me. I rub my tired eyes and pull out my earbuds, the music having stopped playing probably long ago when it reached the end of the playlist.

“What?” My voice is a croak.

“Hey, sister!” It’s Dave, I realize, and in an instant my heart picks up speed, which sends a dizzying mix of weightlessness and weightiness through me that can only come from a sense of hope I know I shouldn’t feel. Because after my brother, I know who comes next. I make my way to the door and try my best to put a smile on my face. As soon as I open it, Dave bounds through and tackles me to the floor in a tight hug. With a yelp, I start to laugh, especially when he rubs his knuckles in my hair.

“Stop!” I say as I swat at his hands and twist to push him off me. We’re fighting around on the floor, like we did when we were little kids, each trying to gain the upper hand, when I hear a deep chuckle intrude on our moment. My head snaps up, and my entire body goes rigid. Dave pokes me in the ribs one last time, but I’m not laughing anymore. Weakly, I pull myself away from him, and he lets me go.

“What, I don’t get a smile, too?” Tommy asks as he leans casually against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest, his lips pulled up in an irritatingly handsome smile. His dirty blond hair, which used to hang over his eyes, is now buzzed, which makes it easier to see the masculine shape of his face.

I’m disgusted when my traitorous heart leaps in my chest.

I have to tear my gaze away from his storm cloud eyes because they bring back too many memories. Memories of him looking at me with, what I thought at the time was, extraordinary fondness. How wrong I was.
Those weeks after he stopped coming to me, I hurt so badly. It was like Dylan said…hating somebody and loving them at the same time. My heart kept pumping out intense conflicting feelings of hatred and affection in the same beats, and the emotions would wage war in my vessels, racing to spread their identities to every part of me.

Well, here’s the thing that really gets me now: when I see Tommy push off that doorjamb and come into the room toward me, four years after everything with him happened and three years after he went off to college, never to be seen by me again until now, I realize neither one of those emotions ever really won out.

He smiles at me like I’m a long lost friend as he swoops me up into his arms and spins me around.

“Wow, girl, you’ve really grown up.” He lets me slide back down to my feet slowly in such a way that my body presses against his the whole time, but I don’t know if he does it on purpose. I just know that as much as I hate that he does it, it makes my heart break into a sprint toward some pathetic hope that maybe things can be fixed between us.

I duck my head, but I know he’s watching me with those gray eyes of his, the ones I used to go to bed dreaming about and wake up with fresh on my mind. The ones I still sometimes do.

“Stop checking out my sister,” Dave says from behind us. He plays it off as teasing, but there’s an undertone of warning. I guess now that I’m all “grown up,” Dave feels the need to step up his role as protective older brother. If only he knew how much I could have used his protection as a child.

At Dave’s words, my eyes dart to Tommy’s, just for a second, to see if they’ve had any sort of effect on him. But he doesn’t look guilty or bothered in the least; he keeps an easy smile, like he has no care in the world, like his life as just been smooth sailing—no regrets, no pain. He holds his hands up all innocently, like he would never do such a thing, and it makes me so sick to my stomach that I push past him and dart from the room.

***

On the pool deck, Dave and Tommy are stretched out on lawn chairs, drinking bottled beer and laughing. I watch them for a while through the kitchen window, which looks out into the backyard, until my dad comes in and clears his throat to get my attention. I leave the kitchen, still not ready to talk to him.

“Delilah,” he calls after me. “How long are you going to punish me?”

For as long as it takes, Dad, for you to realize you lost me the second you gave up on me.

As I’m sitting on the sofa a while later, flipping through television channels, Tommy bursts through the backdoor and goes to the fridge for another beer. In his path for the backdoor again, he stops when he notices me on the couch. With a small smile, he comes over to sit by my side, and throws an arm around my shoulders. I tense, but he doesn’t seem to notice.