The Distance Between Stars

by Nicole Conway

  I sketched out the shape of a large keyhole in chalk on the black wall. Then I outlined the front door, the stained glass panels on either side and the chandelier overhead. Then the coat hooks.

  And the coat—his coat.

  15

  SHEDDING LIGHT

  —Joseph—

  I flicked the TV off and sank down into my bed, still holding the notebook with Bev's suggestion as to how we could meet. Had to give her credit, she was pretty sharp. She'd obviously given this a lot of thought. And it wasn't that I didn't think we could manage it. I was just, you know, nervous about the fallout if we got caught.

  Becoming homeless wasn’t topping my list of new things to try.

  I sighed and rolled over, dropping the notebook onto my nightstand.

  It was going to be a busy week. I'd be taking one of my lunch hours to go see an apartment downtown. With any luck, I'd been signing a lease this week and packing up the few belongings I had to finally move out.

  Someone knocked on my door, which meant it was Jacob. Kara Anne didn't knock.

  I rolled over enough to look at him.

  Uh oh. He had his "I've got something on my mind" face on.

  "Can we talk?"

  I nodded and sat up.

  Jacob came in, closing the door behind him and sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Look, Joe, I want you know that I'm here for you. I feel bad about the way it went down. I don't want there to be any hard feelings between us. It's not that I don't want you here … "

  Yeah, yeah. I knew. He wanted me to have a life of my own.

  "Anyway. If you need any help with anything—”

  I reached for the notebook and opened to a clean page. I tore it out before writing on it. I didn't want Bev snooping on this.

  What do you know about solar urticaria?

  Jacob frowned at the note. He scrunched his mouth and rubbed his chin. "Not much, I'm afraid. It's a fairly rare condition. Not something I've ever seen, personally. But I understand it can be very unpredictable. It's not unlike any other allergy. The severity of the reaction varies from patient to patient. Most can get by with sunscreen, protective clothing, or even medications. More serious cases require a patient to carry an EpiPen. Why? Is this something you think you have?"

  I shook my head slowly.

  "Someone you know?"

  I didn't move.

  "Joe, is it someone at that house?"

  Slowly, I looked up and met my brother's gaze. I nodded once.

  "A woman," he concluded aloud. I guess he could read me better than I'd thought.

  I looked down at my notebook filled with Beverly's messages. Should I tell him? No. No, some things I wanted to keep to myself.

  I wrote on that torn out page.

  I just wondered if there's anything I can build to make things more comfortable for her.

  Jacob sighed. "Well, they usually can withstand LED light without complications. Maybe a lamp of some sort?"

  I smiled slightly. It wasn't a bad idea. I patted him on the shoulder and added another line.

  I'm not upset about moving out. It'll take time to get used to it. But you're right. I need to start trying to move on. No hard feelings, bro.

  Jacob was teary as he gave me a hug. "Good. I'm rooting for you."

  He left and I looked down at the torn out page. A lamp. It wasn't a bad idea at all. But a lamp seemed sort of boring all on its own. And frankly, I could do better than a damn lamp.

  16

  ORBITAL OPERATIONS

  —Joseph—

  Surprise, surprise, it was a shit hole. Not that I could afford much else, but even I had standards. For instance, black mold and dead mice is not a design choice I would have made.

  I drove back to the Filibrault house with dashed dreams of scoring a new place to live. As I pulled up to the curb and parked on the street, I sent Jacob a message to let him know it had been a bust. Keeping him informed, even with useless details, was my way of letting him know I wasn't sitting on my hands. It'd make him feel better. And even if his wife was a snarling harpy, he was still my mush ball, bleeding heart of a big brother. Like a damn Care Bear. Had to love him, though.

  I looked down at my notebook. I was thinking about that lamp idea again. It had been on my mind all week. I was planning on making another hardware store run later, maybe tomorrow, to pick up new bathroom fixtures. Maybe I could do a little side shopping while I was at it.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. Storm clouds were gathering. The forecast had mentioned that it could be a rough afternoon, not uncommon this time of year, so I'd planned on focusing on indoor work.

  I smirked and jotted down a reply to Bev.

  We'd been talking about my family. She was curious about my brother, my parents, and seemed to agree (based on my completely unbiased testimony) that Kara Anne was a total bitch.

  She was especially interested in my dad's prognosis, which was a difficult topic for me to talk casually about. He'd been diagnosed with aggressive late stage lung cancer last year. Not surprising after a lifetime of smoking Churchill cigars every night. But he'd fought hard so far. My brother being an oncologist had overseen his chemotherapy and treatments personally. For Jacob, I think he must have felt like he was supposed to be Dad's savior. Almost as though that was his entire reason for ever being born.

  Failure meant he had no purpose.

  And in Dad's case, that was like putting your entire self-worth in an ice cube on hot pavement. You didn't exactly bounce back from cancer like his. I wasn't a doctor, but even I could read the signs. That kind of dying was difficult to hide. With every passing month, more of him withered away.

  That's a lot of pressure for anyone, let alone someone like Jacob.

  Climbing out of my truck, I went inside long enough to hang up my coat and let Rhonda know I was back. Then I got busy cleaning up the yard of my tools and locking down the shed for the night. Inside, I worked on ripping out the old fixtures downstairs first.

  Then I braced myself to ask the unthinkable.

  I wrote out a note to Rhonda first.

  Where is Mrs. Pearce?

  Rhonda smiled and tilted her head to the side slightly. "Oh, honey, she went to run some errands. What do you need?"

  I need to rip out the bathroom fixtures upstairs and get measurements for replacing the tile. I also need to check the plumbing to see if anything needs to be repaired or replaced.

  Convincing, right? It wasn't exactly a lie.

  Rhonda’s forehead creased as she read my note. She glanced up at me, then at the note, as though she were trying to make up her mind. I'd never asked to go upstairs before.

  At last, she smiled at me uneasily and produced a set of keys from her pocket. "Of course. It shouldn't be a problem. Let me go get things arranged upstairs."

  I nodded and stood by the stairwell while she opened the door and went up. I heard her clamoring around, the sound of voices, doors opening and closing. According to Beverly's notes, the upstairs was as tangled a maze of halls and passages as the downstairs. The difference was that Pearce kept all these doors locked, and only she and Rhonda had a set of keys.

  Bev had insisted she could sneak around pretty well when Pearce wasn't looking. She said she could pick almost all the old locks with relative ease. But she didn't want to do it often for fear of being caught. She was already taking big risks by slipping down to leave me notes twice a day. So far, Pearce obviously hadn't caught on.

  I wondered how long our luck would last.

  "All right, Mr. Clancey," Rhonda said as she reappeared with an anxious smile. "Follow me."

  The stairs creaked and groaned as we climbed them. All the windows were either covered by long heavy curtains or had black poster board taped over them. The darkness made the place feel heavy and smothering. It would have made a fantastic set for a low-budget horror flick or one of those paranormal TV shows.

  Rhonda walked fast for an older woman. I couldn't waste any time getting my bearin
gs or she began leaving me behind. A left at the first landing. Down a narrow hall. Then a right to another narrow staircase. At the top was another hallway lined with doors. She brought me to the third one on the left.

  The door opened to an odd space. The small sitting room was lit by one old lamp, so I couldn't make out much except more of that old, velvet upholstered furniture and walls covered by dusty mahogany bookcases. Didn't look like most of those books had been touched in a while.

  To the left was another staircase, a narrow one that apparently spiraled up and out of sight into the house's tower: Beverly's room.

  She was probably up there right this second.

  I tried not to think too much about that.

  "The bathroom is right there." Rhonda pointed to an open doorway to the right. I could see that she had already opened the drapes in there. Dull, stormy gray sunlight ebbed in through a bay window behind the claw-footed tub. "I'll have to ask you to close the door while you work."

  I arched a brow at her, feigning puzzlement.

  Her already strained smile tightened. I saw worry flickering in her dark eyes. "It's not my rule, honey. Mrs. Pearce is very strict about keeping the doors up here closed. I have to lock you in. Don't worry. I'll come check on you in a little while."

  I nodded, turned, and went into the bathroom to begin unpacking my tools like it wasn't a big deal. I could handle being alone in this creepy place for a few minutes. Besides, I had a feeling I knew what was going to happen as soon as she left.

  Rhonda shut the door behind me. I heard her stick the old brass skeleton key into the lock and twist. With a loud metallic clunk I was locked inside. I heard her footsteps retreat.

  Then silence.

  And I waited.

  It took about five minutes. Three to make sure the coast was clear, then two more to pick the lock on the bedroom door at the top of the stairs. Thump, thump, thump. I heard more footsteps approaching. These sounded much softer and lighter.

  I was kneeling on the floor, taking out my notebook, pen, measuring tape, and other tools to prepare to rip out the fixtures. I tried not to hold my breath. I couldn't keep myself from looking.

  There was an eye watching me through the keyhole. One big, soft, brown doe eye.

  "Joseph," she said my name in a tiny, breathless whisper.

  My heart started racing. I looked back down at my tools, unable to stop grinning like an idiot.

  "The light," she pleaded.

  I looked back at the door, then glanced over my shoulder at the window.

  Right. Almost forgot.

  I got up, leaned over the tub, and closed the drapes again. Almost as soon as darkness swallowed the room, I heard her begin picking the lock.

  17

  CONTACT

  —Beverly—

  The door swung open before me, seeming to make an excessive amount of noise as it did. Almost as though it were screaming, "Mrs. Pearce! Miss Rhonda! She's at it again!"

  And suddenly, there he was, squinting and blinking in the dark.

  Joseph Clancey.

  At first, I couldn't move. My body was frozen in place, my pulse stalling and starting erratically. My throat grew tight. Every muscle in my body tensed. All I could do was stand there and stare up at him. His eyes were focusing; he wasn't squinting anymore. He was seeing me.

  Me. Only me.

  I took a step toward him. He didn't move. I crept closer and closer, gradually closing the gap between us.

  Then I was standing before him, looking up into his face. He seemed surprised. Maybe I didn't look how he'd imagined. I'd been afraid of that. Was I still pretty? I think I had been once, long ago, when I stood bathed in spotlights wearing glistening, crystal encrusted costumes. Now? All I had were a pair of soft black leggings, an oversized knit sweater, and knee high socks with sleeping kittens printed on them.

  He reached out one of his big hands like he wanted to shake.

  I hesitated. How long had it been since I touched another human being? How long would it be until next time?

  If this was my one chance in ten, twenty, or thirty more years … was a handshake really what I wanted?

  I lunged at him, throwing my arms around his middle and hugging him as tightly as I could. I buried my face against his clothes and breathed in deeply his strong, masculine scent. He smelled like the outside. Like sweat, soil, wind, rain, and sunshine. Holding him was like coming home.

  His hand brushed the back of my head. There was uncertainty in his touch. Caution. Curiosity. I pulled back reluctantly and looked up at him in the dim bathroom. He was still blinking through the gloom, but my eyes had become so used to this it never bothered me.

  "I'm sorry. It's been so long since anyone except Mrs. Pearce … " I struggled to find the words.

  He smiled warmly. His fingers brushed my face, gently grasping my chin. He began to lean down nearer to my face. My stomach did frantic somersaults. Was he about to—?

  Surely he wouldn't.

  Oh, but god, I hoped he would.

  His lips touched my forehead. I tried not to be disappointed. He was a gentleman, a gentleman soldier. Despite his rough vocabulary and affinity for manual labor, there was something quietly dignified about Joseph.

  It was one of the things I liked best about him.

  "We'll only have a few minutes," I reminded him. Minutes if we were lucky. Rhonda was less intense about my containment than Mrs. Pearce. But she wasn't lackadaisical, either.

  He nodded. His head tilted to the side. He had his thinking face on, the one that made his brow crease and his mouth quirk at one corner. I'd seen that look many times while he worked.

  His hand left my chin to take my wrist. I wasn't sure where he was going with this. And then he started drawing on my arm with his finger, tracing letters. He was talking to me in the dark, speaking a language only I could hear.

  It was the sweetest sound I'd never heard.

  How long? he spelled out on my arm.

  My skin prickled at the contact, thrilling at such simple intimacy.

  "Have I been here?" I finished for him.

  He nodded.

  "I'm not sure. After a while time is just … time. It goes on and you quit noticing," I whispered. It felt wrong to break his silence. "They took me from New York after the doctors finally suggested that somewhere less sunny might allow me more freedom. My father jumped at the excuse to put me somewhere far, far away. I suppose it was too sunny on the moon."

  He smirked, but I could see the hesitance in his eyes. Second guessing. Somewhat worried.

  "Joseph Clancey, are you trying to figure out how old I am?" I waggled my brows at him.

  He blushed.

  Oh well. It was the curse of the ballet dancer's body. I was short, though I preferred the term "petite" if anyone asked.

  “Of course I’m an adult. I’m probably not all that much younger than you are. I could even buy myself a glass of wine if I had a license. And money. And a means of getting somewhere that sold wine," I teased.

  He started tracing letters on my arm again. Why can't you leave?

  Fair question. Legally I should have been able to do what I wanted. And believe me, I had tried. But that was before …

  "Leave and go where? I'm thousands of miles away from the last place my mother lived. God only knows if she's even still there. I don’t have any money, and no prayer of ever getting a normal job or being able to travel. My father won't allow me any access to the outside world. And I don't have a phone or a computer anymore." I gazed up at him, once again feeling like a tiny, insignificant speck in a grand universe. "You might be the only person outside this house who even remembers I still exist, Joseph."

  He hesitated. His eyes searched mine. Then he took my arm again and began tracing out another message.

  Just Joe.

  I laughed quietly. "Joe."

  He was risking so much to be here, standing in front of me, squinting in the dark. It really wasn't fair. I didn't want to be the
reason he might lose his sole source of income. But selfishly, I didn't want him to be anywhere else. I didn't want to share.

  He was precious to me. My piece of the outside. My quiet place.

  I laid my head against his chest again. "Please, let me stay like this for a little while," I whispered. "In case I don't get to see you again. I want to remember what it's like."

  He put his arms around me. They were solid and warm like the rest of him. I closed my eyes and listened to the soft sound of our breathing echoing off the bathroom walls.

  "I'd almost forgotten what this felt like."

  He squeezed me lightly, holding me closer against him. I felt his chin come to rest on top of my head. His breathing, like his heartbeat, was steady and calm in my ear.

  I didn't want this to be the last time I saw him. But I also knew how much he had to lose—or at least I thought I did. Mrs. Pearce would fire him on the spot. My father might sue.

  I had no right to ever ask him to come meet me like this again, no matter how desperately I wanted it.

  18

  AFTERMATH

  —Joseph—

  I sat in my truck, parked at the curb, staring up at the tower for almost half an hour. I tried to figure out when everything had changed. When was the precise moment?

  I didn’t know.

  I'd been sitting alone on the beach of my own private island of silence, watching the surf of time lap at my feet while other people went sailing by, living out their lives. But I’d been content. I'd never really felt alone.

  Until now.

  Without her, the silence I’d grown so used to was now crushing me. We'd talked about everything and nothing for almost three hours while I took "notes" about the bathroom measurements and took out fixtures.