Unlit Star (28 page)

She closes a book and gets to her feet, smiling as she meets me at the door. "All set?"

"Yeah. Nancy is closing up now. Rivers is here. Monica went somewhere and will be back shortly."

She nervously tugs at her dirt-smudged shirt. "I wish I could have changed first. I felt so dingy compared to her the other day when she stopped."

"That's because you were
working
and she was not. She doesn't work. She can do whatever she wants to do and she never gets dirty."

"She seemed sad," she comments.

I bite my lip so I don't tell her it might be because Thomas decided to go back to stay in California indefinitely. Rivers told me in a text last night. It sounds like they are separating. I don't know the full details of their marriage, but I saw a version of what I wouldn't think a happy marriage should be, even though my time with them was short. Rivers sounded confused, like he didn't know if he should be happy or sad about it. I told him it was okay to be both and he told me to quit shoving my intellect in his face. Then he said he ate all the ice cream so I needed to bring more over. I said I was on to him and he replied that he wished I was on him. I smile as I remember.

"It's because her son keeps eating all of her ice cream."

My mom rolls her eyes. "Come on. Let's not keep them waiting. She seems nice," she adds.

"She is. You'll like her."

Monica kept her promise, coming to talk to me almost as soon as she got back into town. At first she just looked at me, and then she pulled me into her arms, thanking me, begging me to come back for Rivers, and finally getting herself under enough control to apologize. And then she asked again if I'd come back. I said no. She offered extra money for my time at her house while she was out of town. I
vehemently
said no. And then she hugged me again, telling me she was so glad we started a conversation that day at the store, and then told me she wanted the four of us to have dinner. I agreed, inviting them to our house for lasagna.

So here we are.

My fondness for Monica grows as I take in her casual outfit of jean shorts and a plain white top. She made sure to dress down so my mom didn't feel out of place in her presence. Or maybe she is just sick of wearing pristinely pressed outfits. I know I would be.

She smiles as our eyes meet, immediately turning to my mom. "Hello. We didn't get a chance to talk the other day. I'm Monica, Rivers' mom, and Delilah's former employer."

The smile my mom bestows upon her is genuine. "Hi. I'm Janet, Delilah's mom, and current employer." They both laugh and Rivers and I share a look.

"We walked to work today so we don't have a vehicle here. Do you guys want to walk over or take your car?" I ask when the silence draws out.

"Oh, um..." Monica looks at Rivers.

"Rivers has walked farther," I tell her, wanting to make sure any feelings of pity are wiped out before they can begin. Rivers is not the same young man he was when she left for California.

She frowns, but it quickly clears as she searches my stoic features. She nods. "Good. Okay."

My mom takes the lead, Monica quickly falling into step with her, their conversation at first stilting, but becoming steadier the longer they talk. Rivers hangs back, snatching my hand up and bringing it to his mouth to place a kiss upon it. He threads his fingers through mine, holding our clasped hands close to him.

"Thank you," he says quietly.

"There's nothing to thank me for."

"There is. There's so much." He inhales deeply, opening his mouth and closing it. After a moment, he shakes his head and begins to move.

My feet fall into step with his as I place a hand on his forearm. When he looks at me, I ask, "What is it?"

He looks torn, unsure of whether or not he should tell me his thoughts. His eyes meet mine and he seems to draw strength from that. With a deep sigh, he tells me in a low voice, "I lost something that day on the river. It isn't something I can get back, it isn't something I
want
to get back. At first I thought I did, but then I realized losing it was a good thing. Do you know what I thought all throughout high school? I thought I was better than everyone. I really did. The conceit of always winning took its dark toll on me. I thought, everyone wants to be like me. I am king of this school and I deserve to be, because I'm good at sports and people like me. People acted like I was something special, and after a while, I believed I was."

He swallows, looking straight ahead. "And then the life I knew was gone. Just like that. I looked in the mirror and saw a scarred person who could barely walk. It was all taken away—everything I had ever had or thought I wanted. Gone. I hated myself, but what I hated more was that I used to think I wasn't anything unless I was something—just like Thomas always told me. Then I was nothing. And when I was nothing, I finally
was
better—not better than anyone else, but just...better. Better than I used to be. I lost my old life that day, but I also lost my arrogance. I had to hit the bottom to realize the ground was hard." He grins sardonically.

I smile back, warmed by his words, by his sudden outlook on life and himself. I don't respond; I just take his hand and continue walking. There is a warm breeze to alleviate the glare of the hot sun and I inhale the scent of grilling food and freshly mowed lawn. The scents of summer are some of the best ones. I watch the people around us in the their yards, their cars, their world.

"Do you ever think about all the people you see on a daily basis?"

Monica and Janet glance back at us, smiling before facing forward again. Rivers' grip on my hand tightens. "Yeah. Right now, I'm thinking about the people ahead of us and I'm wondering what they're saying about us."

"I'm sure only great things."

He glances at me, the scowl disappearing as he takes in my grin. "Well, about me anyway."

"Look at that lady over there." I nod to a woman standing in a yard across the street. She is watching a little boy play catch with a large, fluffy brown dog. "What do you think her life is like? What do you think she is thinking? What's her story?"

"She's laughing," he murmurs. "She's happy. She's wondering how anything could be more amazing than this moment right now."

"I think...she is a stay-at-home mom. Maybe she is active in the community. She looks like a baker. I can see her making cakes, baking cookies. And she likes to decorate them too. She probably gets up in the morning with a smile on her face, knowing she gets to spend the day with her son."

"She takes her son in the stroller as she walks the dog."

I smile. "She loves the sun and muffins."

"She loves her husband."

I nod, wrapped up in our imaginary story. "He's an accountant. The youngest at the firm. He's smart and he's going places, but he loves his wife and son more than any job. He kisses her goodbye and he kisses her hello, thinking he is the luckiest man in the world."

Rivers stares at me, saying softly, "He flies planes. Because he wants to fly and she loves the stars. He flies planes so he can touch them for her, so he can be her personal Superman." The story has shifted, become a make-believe tale of Rivers and Delilah; a story of what could be, if that future day is ever to come.

I blink my eyes as tears form, whispering, "She paints every room in the house a different color of the rainbow. He doesn't like it, but he knows she loves it, so he really doesn't mind all that much. He brings cheesy movies, that he says are scary, home every Friday night and makes her watch them, and she does, because when he is happy, she is happy."

He smiles slowly, glancing at me as we cross the street. "He stocks up on peanut butter so there's never a chance she'll run out. He makes her try every sport, just once, and if she doesn't like playing them, he doesn't press her, but she has to at least try them."

"She picks out a random person in the crowd and they form a life around that person. She can tell he thinks it's silly, but he humors her anyway."

"He wakes up beside her every morning, and every morning he is hit with the enormity of how blessed he is. He is thankful for every day he has with her, and all the days in the world will never be enough."

Our steps slow as my house comes into view. My mom and Rivers' mom are already on the porch, quietly watching us, something like delight in each of their faces. He turns to me, in the middle of the road, and clutches my hands. The smile on his face is beatific, striking, and makes me want to weep.

"Do you know how you make me feel?"

"Slightly insane?" I tease.

"Yes," he answers seriously. "But in the best way. In fact, I feel like doing something really crazy right now."

A flutter of conflicting emotions sweeps through me. Rivers, being spontaneous—it's a little worrisome. "Please don't."

"I have to," he insists.

"You really don't," I reassure him.

Apparently, he does.

Grinning at me, Rivers spins me around, singing the opening verses of 'It's Time' by Imagine Dragons. We turn in a circle so fast and for so long, I get dizzy, laughter falling from my lips in a waterfall of joy. He releases me and I stumble to a stop as he steps back, directly into the path of traffic, if any were around, and slides back and forth across the pavement as he continues the song. I imagine the elderly folk in surrounding houses are peeking around their window curtains right about now.

He stops only to ask my mom, "Is this your car?" and when she says yes, he uses it as a prop, causing me to giggle when he slides over the hood and lands on his feet before me. Air catches in my lungs at that move. He looks at me, grinning so widely I want to grab his cheeks and kiss his smile. But my mom and Monica are watching. Then I think,
So what?

And I do exactly that.

When I pull away and see tears in my mom's eyes and that Monica's eyes are suspiciously red, I mutter to Rivers, "I feel like we just exchanged wedding vows or something."

"If we hold hands for too long, they'll probably think we're expecting."

Nodding my agreement, I approach the house. "Come on, the lasagna isn't going to cook itself."

As the four of us sit around the mismatched furniture of our kitchen, I feel serenity with the ever-present, and the slowly growing touch of an inescapable void just beyond us. There is light here, but surrounding us is darkness. We laugh, but there is sorrow nearby. I feel it. It's getting closer. I am knitting the future together in broken pieces of yarn, tying together loose ends to make a blanket of security for the three people talking with me. I will keep them safe. I will protect them. I will give them each other when I can no longer give them me.

"I know it's probably going to embarrass the two of you, but—" Monica begins.

"But you're going to say it anyway," Rivers guesses.

She hands a breadstick to her son. "You're right. I am. And do you know why? Because it's amazing." She looks from me to Rivers. "Clearly the counseling and physical therapy—" 

This time I interrupt. "Have been beyond beneficial. Right, Rivers?"

He frowns at me. "No. Not really. The whole world knows that isn't it, Delilah. It was you."

My face burns as three pairs of eyes focus on me. "It was unconscious, I swear."

"Why don't you want to take credit for a good thing?" my mom quietly asks.

"I don't like attention," I mumble.

Rivers' laughter is incredulous. "You do nothing but draw attention to yourself."

"It isn't like I set out to, or that that is why I act the way I do. I just...I want to live as much as I can. If people are around when I happen to get impulsive, I can't exactly tell them to go away. I can't be like, clear out the grocery store! I feel the impulse to dance."

"I would."

I throw a chunk of a breadstick at him.

"What is it with you and throwing things at me?" He pops the bread into his mouth and chews.

"Well, I, for one, am grateful, whether you meant to help Rivers or not. You have. Tremendously. He's so—I've never seen him more content." Monica pauses, clearing her throat. "Anyway, thank you." She gets up from the table and begins to clear it.

When my mom starts to wash the dishes with Monica beside her, Rivers leans over to whisper, "I miss you, so much it hurts."

"I'm right here."

"It isn't the same," he insists.

"I know."

"Come outside with me? If I can't sleep with you at night, I at least want to have you next to me in some way, for a little while."

Before I can even offer to help with the clean up, my mom is nodding me toward Rivers and the back door. I salute her and we head out. Clouds have taken over the sky—swirling, morphing masses of gray and white.

"I think it's going to storm." The wind picks up even as I am saying this, sweeping the tail of my shirt out and causing my skin to pebble. A dew has formed to the grass, strands of it tickling the soles of my bare feet.

"Then I guess we should hurry." He yanks me to him and seals our lips in a heated kiss. "I have dreamed of your eyes every night. Do you know, every time you look at me, I feel it all the way to the very center of me? And your scent—I lie on the pillow you did just so I can catch a hint of it. Lime and sugar." His mouth scorches my neck, his fingers biting into my waist. He wraps his arms around me and squeezes me to him, burrowing his face into the crook between my neck and shoulder. I feel the tremor in his body and stroke his back. "This is torture."