The Distance Between Stars

by Nicole Conway

  Then it struck me—today was the 21st, the day of the funeral. Only a few short hours ago, Joe had laid his brother to rest.

  Folding up the papers, I tucked them into the pocket of my robe and went back upstairs. Mrs. Pearce had already turned back the blankets for me and was waiting by the door to lock me in for the night.

  "The weather is supposed to be dreadful tonight," she reminded me. "So I had better not find the window open again. Am I clear?"

  "Yes."

  She waited until I was climbing into bed to finally close the door. I heard her lock it, and the jangling of her keys along with her footsteps retreating down the stairs. With everything finally dark and still, I could hear it was already thundering outside. A faint, hungry growl from the horizon, and the wind howled around the corner of the house.

  This time of year, storms came and went so often it was stranger when it wasn't raining. But tonight the atmosphere seemed as restless as I was. There was chaos in the air.

  I laid awake for hours listening to the weather changing. The storm approached, snapping bolts of lightning in the distance. Each flash put shadowed silhouettes of tree branches across my walls.

  I had barely drifted into a restless sleep when I heard it. A noise against the overpowering whoosh of the rain against the house.

  I bolted upright.

  Lightning was flashing at a near constant rate, like camera flashes from a hoard of paparazzi. Each deafening crack of thunder shook the house and rattled the windows. I could feel my bed shudder each time.

  But through the wildness and fury of the storm, I heard something else.

  Gathering my courage, I went to the window. It was coming from outside. A knocking sound. Tap! Tap! Tap! Over and over against my window.

  A flash of lightning burst overhead. I saw a face.

  There was a man in the window.

  I screamed. I started to run. Then I stopped and looked back.

  Oh god. It was Joseph! He was outside on the roof, trying to get in!

  I darted back to the window and fumbled around clumsily, trying to unlock it. As soon as I slid it open, the storm howled into my room. The violent winds swirled in my curtains, sending newspapers scattering in every direction, and tangling my hair. Cold rain hit my face like needles.

  I grabbed onto Joe's shoulder and tried to help haul him inside. He collapsed on the floor and I wrestled with the window again, forcing it closed. Instantly, the chaos outside was hushed beyond the glass barrier.

  I, on the other hand, was nearly soaked through to my skin. And Joe …

  He was sitting on the floor under my window. In a puddle, no less. He was dressed in a formal black suit and absolutely drenched from head to toe. I watched him sit there, breathing hard, staring vacantly ahead with his eyes wide.

  "Joe, you're soaked," I said quietly as I touched his face, trying to coax him into looking at me. "And you're freezing. Did you walk here?"

  He didn't move.

  I bent down, looping an arm under his shoulder to pull him further in. I got him to his feet, guiding him to the velvet-tufted bench at the foot of my bed. He sat down, and I rummaged around for anything I could use to dry him with.

  All I could find was a roll of paper towels I used for painting. I tore a few off and started drying his face and neck. His eyes wouldn't meet mine. It was as if they were frozen in place, locked straight ahead, completely unaware I was even there at all. He was completely catatonic.

  "Joe. My Joe." I ran my fingers through his cold, wet hair and brushed a thumb over his cheek. "I'm here."

  He blinked slowly. His eyes moved, finally looking up to stare back at me. I could see it all over his face—hot, fresh agony. His eyebrows drew up, crinkling his forehead. His jaw was rigid, but his chin was trembling and his mouth was mashed into a desperate, hard line.

  It was the same look my mother had given me when my father took me away. I realized suddenly that at that moment, she must have felt like a part of her was dying, too.

  Tears blurred my vision.

  "I-I'm so sorry."

  He grabbed me suddenly. His thick arms came around me, pulling me in to squeeze me tight.

  I hugged him back, wrapping myself around him as closely as I could. I buried my face against the side of his neck.

  I could hear him sobbing quietly.

  I cried with him.

  I don't know how long we sat that way. But I do know it was Joe who pulled back first. He wore a worried expression that put a little wrinkle between his eyebrows. His eyes darted to the door then back to me.

  "Don't worry about her," I said. "I doubt Mrs. Pearce can hear anything in this racket. Even I barely heard you."

  He nodded. His eyes were bloodshot and drooping. Every crease on his face sagged some, as though he were about to drop from exhaustion.

  "You should lie down and rest," I offered and started taking off his tie. After all, everything he had on was soaked through. I didn’t know what I could do about that, though. The dryer was all the way downstairs, and—

  He seized my hand.

  I froze. He was startlingly strong.

  All of a sudden, his lips were on mine. I could taste the rain on his skin. It was cool. Sweet. Delicious.

  He kissed me fiercely and dragged me back in toward him.

  I climbed onto his lap, my legs on either side of his waist. I could feel the urgency in the way he yanked at my clothing and wound his fingers into my hair. I bit down slightly on his bottom lip, letting it slide slowly past my teeth.

  With a revealing flash of lightning, I saw that Joe's expression had gone dark. His eyes were glazed and distant. He grabbed my thighs and pushed my nightgown up, over my head. I could feel him—his hard erection throbbing under me through his dress slacks. The feel of it pressing against me put wild heat in the pit of my stomach.

  The warmth of his lips touched my bare skin. I gasped, my body shaking with elation at the feel of his hands on me. Cold droplets of rainwater dripped from his hair onto my skin. I curled against him, instinctively grinding my hips down onto his.

  Joe let out a deep, satisfied breath and squeezed my rear end.

  I untraveled his tie and pushed his wet blazer off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it, casting it into a growing soggy pile of clothing on the floor. Underneath, I could see the dark bronze hue of his skin showing through his thin dress shirt. The moisture made it stick to his body, outlining his burly frame.

  Then together, we moved onto my bed.

  35

  COUNTDOWN

  —Joseph—

  The whole room smelled like lavender and paint. It smelled like her.

  Lying in the dark, our tangled bodies still buzzing with heat, I listened to the storm growing fainter in the distance. I twirled her hair through my fingers. It was unbelievable how smooth it was. Like silk. It slid through my hand without a single knot.

  And the rest of her …

  Her tiny body was draped over mine, still breathing hard and damp with a mixture of sweat and rain. I ran my hand down the curve of her back. Her skin was every bit as smooth and perfect as I’d imagined it would be. I knew every freckle, every scar—believe me, I'd left no inch unchecked.

  "I was afraid you'd never come back," she whispered. "That I'd never see you again."

  I swallowed. Slowly, I used one of my fingers to draw out a message on the skin on the back of her shoulder.

  Missed you.

  "I missed you, too."

  Going to be OK.

  She pulled back some, just enough to look down at me with that uncertain furrow in her brow. "Who is?"

  I tried to smile convincingly.

  Us.

  "You don't have to be okay, Joe. You're allowed to be broken when you lose someone you love." She touched my face, running her fingertips over my mouth. God, I loved it when she did that. "Sometimes I try to imagine what your voice sounds like. Do you ever try to imagine what it was like to see me dance?"

  Yes. />
  "I remember my first recital. I was four and I was completely terrified to go out on stage in front of all those people. I was crying and hysterical. My mother looked at me and she said, 'Beverly, it's okay to be scared. It's okay to be afraid of what you don't understand. But only at first. Count to five. Let yourself be afraid for five seconds. Then take a deep breath and do whatever it is that scares you.'”

  Bev’s fingers brushed my chin. “So I did. I stood with her behind the curtain, I counted to five. And together we took a deep breath. It was the first time I ever danced in front of so many people."

  She looked down at me through the lengths of her long black hair. Her dark eyes were examining every corner of my face. I was doing the same thing, trying to memorize the way she looked right now. I never wanted to forget.

  "I've counted to five a lot since then. I did it the night you took me to the beach."

  I tried to imagine that.

  And last night?

  She blushed. "No. Last night didn't scare me."

  My brows rose involuntarily. Oh?

  "It's right now, this part, that scares me."

  I didn't understand that. I guess she could read the confusion on my face because she shut her eyes and cuddled closer, resting her head against my chest. "The part where we have to say goodbye … and I have to watch you drive away again."

  I put my arms around her, holding her as close as physically possible while I stared up at the ceiling. I hated this part, too. And no matter how many times we did it, it never got any easier. In fact, if anything, it was getting harder each time.

  We laid there in silence.

  1 … 2 … 3 … 4 … 5 …

  Then together, we both took a deep breath.

  36

  SACRIFICES

  —Joseph—

  I knew exactly when it was her walking through the door of my favorite cafe. Same black hair, although hers was bobbed off to chin-length. Same fair complexion. Same petite stature. If I’d been a betting man, I would have wagered she only barely cleared a hundred pounds.

  Beverly looked a lot like her mom.

  Mary Esmont paused right inside the door, gripping the strap of her leather purse. She was looking around, searching the faces of every patron inside. Looking for my brother, probably.

  When our eyes met, I smiled and nodded. Yep. I'm the guy you're looking for.

  She gave me a relieved smile in return and came walking over to sit down across from me. "I'm sorry I'm late. Traffic from the airport was terrible. You must be Dr. Clancey?"

  I stared at her outstretched hand. Instead of shaking it, I placed a note into it, a long one I'd been working on before she arrived.

  I watched her expression fall as she read it. At last, she sank down into the chair across from me and stared.

  "I-I'm so sorry. I had no idea," she said quietly.

  I looked down at the notebook. It was a new one I'd just bought. I started to write.

  It doesn't change what needs to be done. We can continue on as planned.

  She smiled cautiously, almost like she was afraid it would offend me if she let her real enthusiasm show. "You're sure?"

  I nodded.

  "You've seen her?" There was quiet desperation in her eyes.

  I nodded again.

  "Is she … okay?" Her voice seized up.

  I had to grin. Only because Beverly, despite looking the part of a fragile ballerina plucked straight from a music box, was about as tough as an Abrams tank.

  She's holding her own. She speaks very highly of you and gives her caretakers hell.

  A tear rolled down Ms. Esmont's face. She smiled back and bashfully wiped it away. "Sounds like my baby girl."

  Tomorrow night we will be at the meeting point by eleven. If everything goes according to plan, it should be a smooth transition.

  The intense way she was studying me reminded me eerily of Bev. Like she was trying to figure me out. Hell, I'd never considered myself to be a complex guy to begin with.

  "I'm sorry. This is going to sound awful any way I phrase it, but I need to know. Why are you doing this?"

  I must have had a terrible poker face.

  "Ooh … " She sank back some in her seat.

  I looked down at the tabletop and started gnawing at the inside of my cheek. Was I blushing? Yep. Either that or my hair was on fire.

  "And you're still doing this? Even knowing you'll be saying goodbye to her? That you may never see her again?" She sounded confused.

  I met her gaze.

  Yes. I had to. Making sacrifices wasn’t a new thing for me, but this was the first time I knew beforehand, without any doubt, that it would be worth it.

  Anything for Bev would always be worth it.

  A strange, sad smile spread over Ms. Esmont's face. She reached across the table and took my hand. "Thank you, Joseph. She's very lucky to have met someone like you."

  37

  IN THE FLAMES

  —Joseph—

  Rhonda hugged me so tightly I thought my head my pop right off my shoulders. She kissed my cheek and told me over and over again how sorry she was that my brother had passed away. She was determined to cook me something, and no matter how many times I shook my head she kept insisting.

  “There are only three things that heal the soul,” she declared. “Good food, good music, and the Lord.”

  Even Mrs. Pearce offered some stiff, extremely subdued condolences as I started out the front door to begin working on laying the flagstones on the path I was putting in that would lead from the porch to the sunroom out back.

  Right under Bev's window.

  It was sunny today, though. So naturally the drapes were pulled closed and I doubted I would catch her sneaking peeks at me.

  Business as usual. That was my mission today. I had to project the impression that nothing abnormal was about to happen. I was back to my normal routine. Life would go on.

  Inside, Bev would find a message from me in my new notebook. I was keeping the old one for myself like a memento. Soon, I suspected it would be all I had left.

  I can't find sand in my scalp anymore. Must be time to go back.

  P.S. Cheeseburger or something else?

  I worked straight through to lunch. Then I went inside to find that Rhonda had put out a serious spread for me. I mean, holy shit. A whole baked chicken, dressing, cranberry sauce from scratch, potato salad, a fancy green bean sauté, and corn bread drizzled with raw honey—the works. The whole house smelled like Thanksgiving.

  My mouth was watering as I sat down at the table. Rhonda was beaming with pride. I couldn’t compliment her out loud, so I let my eating do the talking.

  Meanwhile, she sat down across from me and talked about her family while we ate. Even Mrs. Pearce came in to fix herself a plate, but she didn't sit with us. I guess she counted herself above the rest of the hired workers.

  That suited me fine. On her own, Rhonda was pleasant company. She told me all about her oldest grandson, who was going into the Marines. Her younger grandsons were still in high school. One was playing football, dreaming of a professional career, while the other had already made a perfect ACT score and was looking at Ivy League schools. Her only granddaughter was about to start college. According to Rhonda, she’d dreamed of becoming a marine biologist since she was four and still hadn’t changed her mind.

  I didn't mind hearing all about it. Sounded like she had a lot to be proud of, and it was nice to hear that outside of my own private misery, the world was still spinning and other people were finding happier endings. Plus, I mean, she could say whatever she wanted as long as I got to eat myself into a coma on her delicious food.

  Which I did.

  “I tried going to college when I was about your age. I almost finished, too. I liked books as much as the next person, I guess. And then one summer, I took a part time job at this fancy restaurant. I was a waitress, but the second I put a toe inside a real gourmet kitchen, I knew I wanted to be a chef. There wasn’
t anything else in the world I was meant to do. I dropped all my college courses and applied for culinary school the very next week. My parents were furious.” There was a dreamy, romantic glint in her eyes as she recalled. “Finding your place in the world isn’t easy. Some of us have to walk through hell and brimstone first. But once you find it, that thing that makes you ready to move mountains and sets your soul on fire, you can’t let it go. Never, ever let that go.”

  I couldn’t decide if she was subliminally trying to hint at something, or not. This had gotten kind of deep, and I was on edge—afraid of getting caught right before my big plan came together.

  But the conversation turned light again. She started telling stories about how she’d learned to be a chef, and I ate … and ate … and ate.

  I was craving a couch to collapse on so I could sleep it off when I staggered out of the dining room. But I still had work to do. I was going to finish that path outside today if it killed me.

  I hated leaving jobs unfinished.

  On my way back outside, Bev's reply to my message had me grinning like an idiot.

  I could use another coating of sand, myself.

  P.S. A cheeseburger sounds wonderful. And what about extra bacon and extra pickles?

  P.S.S. It's awfully warm today. Maybe you should work with your shirt off.

  Sneaky girl. She was watching me somehow. I'd quickly written her back before going out to unload heavy bags of pea gravel from the back of my truck.

  Excellent. Same time, same place tonight.

  P.S. Bossy today aren't we? Kinda turns me on, you know.

  I stopped at the back of my truck and let down the tailgate. After a quick glance back at the house, I stripped off my shirt. I whipped it in the air over my head a few times and did a little dance—just for her benefit—before tossing it into the bed of the truck.

  Yep. Anyone else watching probably thought I was out of my mind.