Buried in the Stars

by Gretchen Tubbs

  I roll my eyes. There’s no use lying when he already knows the truth. “Fine. I won’t.”

  “You can’t avoid my family forever.”

  I shake my head at his stupidity. “Watch me.” I speed up, but he’s grabbing at me, tugging me towards him.

  “When are you going to get over this?”

  My head snaps back as if he struck me. “Get over this? God, Easton, I don’t know. What’s the protocol for forgiving the love of your life for getting someone else knocked up?” I yank out of his grasp, willing the tears to stay away. I refuse to cry over Sutton Winters anymore. He’s gotten enough of my tears. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get over this.” I speed up once more, but my short stride can’t keep him away for long.

  “Fuck,” he exhales beside me. “I’m sorry, but you’ve punished my whole family because my brother’s a complete dick. My parents miss you, Scarlett. They’ve gone from seeing you every single day to not seeing you for three years. It’s like they lost their daughter.” He runs his hand up my arm and holds the side of my neck, pausing first at the cluster of freckles by my shoulder. If he knew how upset his fingers on that spot made me, I’m sure he’d avoid it. “You need to come home.”

  I close my eyes and blow out a harsh breath. “I’ll see.”

  “Please think about it.”

  “I will.”

  He tugs me forward and kisses my forehead. “You tired?” I shake my head. “You wanna binge watch some Netflix?” I smile and nod this time, my skin rubbing along his mouth.

  “My place or yours?”

  “Mine,” he answers. “Your couch sucks.”

  It’s hot, much too hot in this room, but it feels too good in Sutton’s arms to get up. His hands move down my shirt and sneak underneath, running lightly along my spine. I push against his body, wanting to get as close as I can. His heartbeat under my cheek feels so good. As his hands trace rhythmic patterns along my skin I tilt my face up slightly and place my lips on the scruffy skin just underneath his chin. My kisses aren’t well received, though. He jolts beneath me, practically pushing me off the couch.

  “Shit, Scarlett. I’m sorry.” His voice doesn’t sound right.

  I open my eyes, confused at his rejection. Realization comes crashing down around me when I see that I wasn’t with Sutton, but Easton. The night before comes back to me… walking home from work, watching movies until I was too tired to go home. I guess he fell asleep out here with me.

  My eyes close and my head falls against his chest. “Sorry,” I murmur. I should know better than to believe what I see in my dreams. He shifts uncomfortably underneath me, trying to hide, rather unsuccessfully, how he feels about our current position. I jump off the couch and clear my throat, turning away as Easton’s hand goes to his crotch to adjust himself.

  “You want some breakfast before you leave?” he asks.

  I look back at him and he’s actually blushing. I can’t help but smile at him.

  “There it is,” he says, a matching smile appearing on his face.

  “What?”

  He stands up and runs his fingers through my hair. I’m sure it’s a mess this morning. His is all over the place, but messy always looks good on him. “Your real smile. Haven’t seen one of those in a while.”

  “Maybe sleeping on top of you makes me happy,” I tease. The color on his face deepens and I can’t help but chuckle.

  “Yeah?”

  “I haven’t slept that well in a while, Easton. Not since…” There’s no need to finish my sentence. The remaining words are always here, lingering between us.

  “I’m at your service anytime you need me,” he says, his arms spread wide before they come to rest on my shoulders. “Let me cook something for you. I need to fatten you up.”

  I shake my head, but don’t bother arguing with him. He’s always taken issue with the fact that I’m so tiny. It’s not intentional, but I eat when I’m too hungry to do anything else. There’s no enjoyment out of good food anymore. I don’t really find enjoyment in much these days besides spending time with Easton.

  He makes me a couple of scrambled eggs and a slice of toast and fills me in on what he’s doing for the rest of the day. Just as I’m starting to wash our plates he brings up this weekend again.

  “You’re relentless.” I keep my eyes focused on the dishes in the sink, but I can feel his body behind me. He’s not touching me, but if I move, if I breathe too hard, his body will be against mine.

  “Please do this for me, Scarlett. If it’s too much for you to handle, we’ll come back. I won’t try to talk you into staying.” He turns me around, and I stare into his light green eyes. They remind me of sea glass, just like Doc’s.

  At least he’s got one thing that doesn’t remind me of his brother.

  “Alright,” I sigh. “But I can’t promise it’ll be pretty.” He hugs me and the stubble on his cheek rubbing against my smooth skin reminds me of my lips on his flesh this morning. I pull away, suddenly uncomfortable at the memory.

  My unease must be evident. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

  I live in the complex right next to Easton’s. His apartment is a lot nicer than mine, but I couldn’t afford to live where he does. My loft is perfect for me. It might not be much, but it’s better than anything I ever lived in with my mother. When we first moved here, Easton tried to convince me to get a two bedroom with him, but I wanted to stand on my own two feet. I wanted to prove my mother wrong, show her that I could make something out of myself. I haven’t made much of myself yet, but I’m managing to pull off decent grades, hold down a job, and pay the rent on my little apartment. Amy Cook’s words don’t have a hold on my life anymore- I’m not the stupid little white trash girl she always told me I was.

  “We’ll leave Friday after your last class,” he tells me as I’m unlocking my door. “Pack enough for a few days.”

  I could crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head, and sleep for the next week at the thought of going back home, but I guess I have to face the music eventually. Besides, it’s just his parents and Emily.

  The idea that maybe it’s not enters my mind and panic bubbles inside my body. My heart is racing, thumping against my chest, echoing in my ears. A light sheen of sweat breaks out along my skin. They wouldn’t try to trick me into seeing him again, would they?

  “Scarlett?” Easton calls.

  “He’s not coming, is he?” I whisper in a panic. “Please tell me he won’t be there.”

  “I’d never spring that on you.”

  I close my eyes and get my erratic breathing under control. “Okay.” I take a few more breaths. “Okay.”

  Easton walks me inside but lingers in the doorway. “I’ll come by later to walk you to work. Have a good day.”

  “You too.”

  I expect him to shut the door and leave, but he stays there for an extra beat or two. He’s staring, a look on his face that I can’t quite pin down. Or, maybe I can but I just don’t want to. I like to remain oblivious to the fact that Easton Winters may have feelings for me that go beyond this friendship. He looks at me like he is now when he thinks I’m not looking. Or, when I freak out about his brother, like I was on the verge of doing a minute ago.

  A sad smile passes over his lips, and he shuts the door behind him.

  There are many things I should be doing right now to get ready for the day, but instead, I do something that I have no business doing. I started to realize, on a small scale, how my mother felt when she would drink. The need for the blissful ignorance, the escape, the numbness the alcohol brings. I always feel terrible after I do what I’m about to do, a million times worse than before, but I can’t help my compulsion. Sometimes, especially after episodes like this morning, I need a fix. I need to forget for a little while. I need to pretend that my life is back how it once was.

  Before.

  It doesn’t take me long to walk the perimeter of my loft, shutting off the lights and closing the blinds. The darker I
can get it, the better. I power on my laptop, the flash drive already in its slot and ready to go. My hand slips between my mattress and box spring and I root around blindly until I feel the edges of the journal.

  I kept two things from the time in my life with Sutton- the music and the journal. I couldn’t sever the last ties to him, no matter how much I hated him. It’s a fine line between love and hate. I still teeter on that line, not quite sure which side I fall on.

  When I lie back on my mattress and stare at my ceiling the tears start to form. A perfect recreation of the constellations is up there, glowing in the darkness. West is streaming through my laptop speakers. I clutch my journal- a replica of Sutton’s- to my chest and convince myself that everything is as it should be. I’m here, he’s there, and we’ll be just fine. My eyes shut on their own accord, and I take the lyrics of the song to heart. Our compass may be broken at the moment, but we’ll find our way back to each other. I’m just waiting for the other half of my heart to come home.

  It’s sick.

  I’m sick, but I think this is the only way I’ll survive.

  “Look for Virgo.”

  His voice is still so clear. If I close my eyes tight enough, it’s like he’s pressed against my back on the roof, whispering in my ear, like he’s done countless times before.

  I open my eyes and do as he says. My gaze can locate her on the ceiling in an instant. I think back to the first time he told me the story of her. I stare at Virgo through the next song and then let my eyes move around the circle of stars, conjure up his voice in my head once more and let him tell me the stories I long to hear. When I get through all thirteen, I switch on my lamp and focus on the journal.

  Buried in the Stars.

  I run my finger over the words on the cover and wonder if he ever does this, too. Did he keep his? Does he read the stories to his daughter? I shake my head. When I’m here, with our music playing and our stories in my hand, there is no daughter. It’s just us, like it’s supposed to be.

  I start on the first page and read through the journal in its entirety. There’s no need to even look at the pages anymore; I’ve long since memorized it. My heart clenches when my eyes land on pictures of us. The letters that weren’t burned that night are tucked neatly in the back of the book. I take them out of the envelopes, the creases of the folds worn, the ink fading from my tears. I read over each and every one.

  When the last letter is read, when realization sinks in, I dart from the bed and go straight to the bathroom. The contents of my stomach end up in the toilet. Tears flow down my cheeks as I cling to the edge of the sink, rinsing the foul taste from my mouth. I feel nothing but disgust and regret. Every time I do this to myself it makes me sick, but I can’t seem to stop.

  Maybe I do know what side of the line I fall on. I’m still just as in love with Sutton Winters as I was all those years ago. I can’t get over him, even though he’s across the country with his new family. He’s living the life I thought we would have, not even giving a passing thought to the girl he used to date in high school.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The drive back home isn’t nearly long enough. I wish I had picked a school further away when I realize Easton’s already parking in the driveway. A few days’ notice wasn’t enough time for me to prepare for seeing this family again.

  Mrs. Vera is running out of the house, apron fluttering around her, as soon as he shuts off the engine. She bypasses her son and heads straight for me.

  “Scarlett, honey,” she cries. Her embrace is tight. I struggle to breathe through the constricting hug, and she must sense it because she eventually eases up and pulls back a little to look at me. As soon as our eyes meet I start to cry. “Go on in, Easton,” she tells her son without so much as a glance in his direction. Her hand is warm on my cheek, just like the day she cleaned the cut on my face. “We’ll be inside in a minute.”

  He waits for me to protest, but I give him a tight smile over my shoulder. He takes our small bags with him and moves toward the door. When it shuts, I’m back in Mrs. Vera’s tight hug. She’s sobbing at this point, and I’m not far behind her.

  “Welcome home, my sweet girl. Let’s sit for a bit.”

  She leads me to the steps and we sit, much like we’ve done in the past. The two of us just stare at each other, waiting out the awkwardness, searching for the words we both need to say. The guilt of leaving the only mother I’ve ever really known is weighing heavy on my heart and the selfishness of my decision is causing me to feel slightly ill. The longer we sit, the heavier my tears feel as they fall.

  She finally breaks the silence. “Dry those up, honey. You’re home now. Let’s forget that you ever left.”

  “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t handle being here. It was too hard.” She takes my hand in hers and strokes the top. “I don’t know if I can handle it now, but I promised Easton I’d try.”

  “This wasn’t easy on him either.”

  “Easton?” I know he had to give up the life he planned out, but I never asked him to do that for me.

  “No, honey. Sutton.”

  I pull my hand out of hers and tuck it between my knees. “Please,” I plead. “I can’t do this. If being here is going to work, I can’t talk about him, or us, or what happened.”

  “I think if you knew,” she starts, but I shake my head and interrupt.

  “No. That’s over and done with. If you want me to stay, you have to promise me that we won’t be reliving the past or bringing him up.”

  She sighs, resigned, but agrees to my terms. “Tell me about school. I want to hear all about your life.”

  A chuckle escapes. My life is about as exciting as watching paint dry. “Surely Easton fills you in on all the boring details.”

  “He does, but I want to hear about it from you. I miss our talks. I miss the sound of your voice filling my kitchen. The few emails we exchange aren’t nearly enough to give me my Scarlett fix. So, spill it.”

  We sit on the porch and I tell her about my classes, my tiny apartment, and the hole in the wall bar where I work. Vera Winters listens, fascinated, like I lead the most glamorous life she’s ever heard of. It feels good to visit with her. The aches and pains that permanently reside in my heart don’t hurt as bad while we catch up. Doc eventually comes out of the screen door to break up our private reunion, two glasses of iced tea in hand.

  “There’s my girl. You can’t keep her to yourself all night, Vera.”

  The smile that I give him is genuine and probably the most real I’ve produced in years. I’ve missed him terribly. He spreads his arms wide and waits for his hug before giving me the drink.

  “I hope my son’s treating you right,” he teases.

  “Easton’s perfect.”

  His eyes twinkle. “I raised him right.”

  I nod, taking a sip of my tea to prevent me from saying something cruel about his other son. Nothing Doc or Mrs. Vera did caused Sutton to ruin what we had. That was his choice. It’s just too bad we’re all paying for his transgressions. It saddens me that I’ve missed out on so much time with Doc and Mrs. Vera because their son hurt me so badly.

  “Why don’t we go inside and get something to eat. You know Vera’s been cooking since Easton told her you were coming home.”

  Her arm snakes around my waist and it’s just like I remembered as we walk into the house. Doc did not exaggerate. There’s food spread across the kitchen island and most of the available counter space. Easton’s shoveling food in his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in days. He never could resist his mother’s cooking.

  “Why don’t you head into the living room, and I’ll make you a plate?”

  “I’ll get it,” I tell her, but she insists that she waits on me. That plate will have five times the amount of food on it that I’ll be able to eat, but I know better than to argue with her. Besides, Easton can eat the leftovers.

  The second I step over the threshold from the kitchen to the living room, I see them.

  They’re a
ll over the walls. Pictures of Sutton and his daughter, smiling, beautiful, happy. My God, she’s the spitting image of him. The same tan skin, the same messy head of curls, the same hypnotic eyes. This family can’t expect me to stay here and stare at the two of them all weekend, so blissful and carefree, when I feel like I’m dying on the inside.

  The glass of tea slips from my hand and the cool liquid splashes all over my legs. Glass is shimmering in the lamplight, but I can’t worry about that now. I have to leave. There’s no way I can stay in this house, surrounded by images of the two of them.

  I take off for the bathroom and shut the door behind me, twisting the little lock on the knob until I know that no one will come in behind me. My butt hits the closed lid of the toilet and my face lands in my clammy palms.

  “Scarlett,” Easton calls from the other side of the door. “Open up.”

  “Go away.”

  “I’ll kick this door down.” He’s using a voice he’s only used on me a handful of times. I know he’s serious. Reluctantly, I leave my seat and undo the lock. As soon as he pushes through the door I shut it and make sure the lock is back in place. Easton is not small, and this is only a half bath. Certainly not the best place for us to have a conversation, but I’m not going back out there.

  “What happened?” He’s close. Inches away from touching me. I can see each individual lash framing his eyes, see each fleck of the different hues of green.

  “The pictures in the living room,” I whisper.

  “Shit. I didn’t even think about that.” He runs his hand along his scruff. “I don’t even notice them anymore.”

  I try not to cry, but a few tears manage to slip out. “She’s beautiful.”

  “She is,” he says while gently wiping the tears away. “Estella is a smart, beautiful, wonderful child. She takes after her uncle.”

  His attempt at a joke falls flat. My lip starts to quiver and I bite it to try to hold the tears back.

  Estella.

  Of course he named her after his precious stars. Why wouldn’t he?

  “Hey,” Easton says. “I think if you heard the whole story of what happened this would be easier on you.”