Generations: Wilder Times

by Lori Folkman

  “A telescope!” Kat sounded relieved. “Holy Tupelo, that thing is … huge.” She stepped forward into the open-air shed. “Isn’t this like … professional size?”

  “Almost. Not quite as big.”

  Ben pulled her stool up close to the eyepiece. “First stop: the moon.” He adjusted the telescope so that the moon was directly in its sights, and once he saw the image in the eyepiece himself, he let Kat see.

  “Cool! You can see all the … pock marks.”

  “Yeah, the craters.” He let her look for several minutes, then he recalibrated the telescope. This time they viewed Jupiter.

  “Whoa—you can see the stripes.”

  Again, he corrected her terminology. “The belts.”

  Ben turned the telescope toward the southern horizon. He found Saturn and focused the telescope. Wow. It was in opposition. Perfect. He’d never seen it this bright—this visible—himself. She was going to love this one.

  “Oh. My. Gosh,” she said. “That is so cool! I can see the rings.”

  His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark. He could see every detail of her face. She looked enlivened, thrilled. Completely serene. Completely beautiful. She studied Saturn for several minutes, giving him ample time to study her. Their last date—the time when he gave her that necklace—she had obviously dressed up for him. And she’d looked great. Stunning even. Tonight, she was more casual. Her make-up was light. Her hair was a little fuzzy—the curls a little less springy. No jewelry or anything ornate; just sneakers, a skirt and a hoodie. She looked common, yet still sublime. He loved it. That she could be so pretty without even making an effort. She was real. Such the antithesis of the people Ben was required to keep company with. His mind strayed momentarily. Was she just as beautiful when she crawled out of bed in the mornings? Or fresh out of a shower? He imagined so. Not like the problem his friend Troy had. His live-in girlfriend wore make-up to bed, and then would always wake up an hour before Troy just so he never saw her looking less than perfect. She was faux suede. But not Kat. She was more than ultra suede even.

  She looked up at him just then and saw him gawking at her. She looked uncomfortable. Uneasy. “What?” she asked quietly.

  He knew that he’d been ogling. But he didn’t care. Nor could he stop. “You’re so pretty.”

  She tried to shrug off his compliment, like always. She said something about not even washing her hair today. “Really, Kat. Maybe I haven’t said it enough. But your beauty is incomparable. You’re fair. Wholesome. Heavenly. And that’s why I’ve never called you suede. Because it doesn’t fit. You’re better than that. You’re not some derogatory slang word. But the problem is—I can’t even think of a word to describe how pretty you are. And I really don’t think one exists. There is not a single word that illustrates how … exquisite you are. Not in the English language. Or in any other language here on Earth. But maybe somewhere—up there,” Ben briefly looked away from her eager face and up into space, “there is a language that will do justice to the description of your beauty.”

  She bit on the corner of her lip again, but just briefly. Then she asked, “Does that mean that I’m extraterrestrial too?”

  “Of course. I think we both came from Venus.”

  “Venus? Why?”

  “Because it’s named after the mythological goddess: the goddess of love and beauty.”

  Kat gave a slight giggle. “Should we leak that to the press? That we both think we’re aliens from Venus?”

  He chuckled back. Especially because that was so Kat: to change the subject to something light and noncommittal. “Yeah, they’d have a heyday with that. We could tell them that we came out here to meet our spaceship.”

  Ben stood and went to the wall at the side of the shed. He needed a cheat sheet. He also needed something else. It was in the pocket on the wall, right behind the planisphere. He reached for the planisphere, and kept the other item tucked behind the star map, out of Kat’s sight. He found the constellation he needed, and set the telescope. Then he showed Kat two different constellations: the Serpent’s Head and its globular cluster, and then Berenice’s Hair and its Black Eye Galaxy.

  Kat was enthused. “This is so awesome! I can’t believe Paul’s friend only uses this thing twice a year. What a waste! I’d be out here every night if I owned one of these.”

  “I don’t know if Henry really uses it when he comes to the ranch. He had it built for his wife. His second wife, I think. But since she left, it’s gone relatively unused. I probably use it more than anyone.”

  “You come here a lot?”

  Her voice had an undercurrent of … accusation to it. What was she getting at? Was she thinking that he often brought girls here, to woo them? This tugged at the bottom of his heart momentarily. But then he realized that it was her feeling insecure, inadequate. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him; she didn’t trust herself. To be good enough for him. Which was a tragedy, really. And that was why he needed to move forward with his plan. He answered her question with ambiguity. “I love it out here. It’s so peaceful. So secluded. It’s the place I always come when I need to be alone. To regroup.” Then he moved the telescope, consulting the planisphere again for direction. It took him longer to set the telescope this time. This was intentional. He wanted her to get bored—distracted. He needed her to look away for a second. When her eyes were fixed on the stars, he made the slip. Then he looked in the eyepiece. Perfect.

  “Okay, check this one out. It’s a constellation. It’s only visible with a high-power telescope.”

  Kat brought her eye to the eyepiece. “What am I looking for?”

  “Find the biggest, brightest star. That’s the bottom tip.”

  “Kay …”

  “The shape is almost perfectly symmetric. There are four stars to the right and three stars to the left. They each form an arc.”

  She was silent, obviously searching. Her eye stayed at the telescope for a good minute and then she pulled back, looking at Ben. “Naught-uh.”

  “What?” he feigned.

  “There is not a constellation in the shape of a heart.”

  “Yeah, there is. It’s the Amore Constellation.”

  “Naught-uh,” she again said. She put her eye back to eyepiece. “How come I’ve never heard about it before?”

  “Like I said, you have to have a high-power telescope. There’s not a whole lot of people that can afford telescopes like this one.”

  “But still,” she said, still keeping her eye on the constellation. “Everyone would know about it. There would be pictures of it and stuff.”

  “Nope. It’s space’s best kept secret.”

  She looked at him again. “That can’t be real. I know I’m not an expert on astrology, but there is no such thing as the Amore Constellation.”

  He laughed out loud. That was just too good. “It’s not astrology … it’s astronomy,” he said lightly. He didn’t want her to get embarrassed.

  “Oh, yeah. I was … kidding.”

  “Right,” he teased. “But just a word of advice: don’t represent yourself if you ever have to appear before a judge.”

  She smiled and then put her eye back to the eyepiece. She searched in silence again. Then she said, “That cannot be real. You’re trying to punk me, aren’t you?”

  “No. How could I mess with the cosmos—that’s impossible. Even for a Wilder.”

  Again, the silence. He could see her jaw was set. She looked absolutely serious. Studious. Then she smiled, her eye still at the telescope. “I don’t know how you did it … but those stars aren’t real. I can’t see the gases. They aren’t shimmering. They’re completely … inert. And the color is off too. They’re too white.”

  “Stars can be different colors—depending on the temperature of their surface.”

  She looked up at him again and gave him a look of consideration. Then she shook her head. “Nope. I’m not buying it. Nice try though; you almost had me.”

  He didn’t give anything a
way. Yet. He held his face in poker-perfect impassiveness. He knew that he could convince her that the Amore Constellation was real. He had some astronomical terminology up his sleeve that would do the trick. But then his face gave way to a smile. He didn’t want to misuse her trust. He reached to the lens and pulled off the vinyl sheet and handed it to her. It was clear—except for those small dots in the perfect shape of a heart.

  Kat looked triumphant. “Ha,” she said. “You can’t fool me.”

  He slid his stool next to hers, and turned so that he was facing her, their legs intersecting. “If I could write your name in the stars—for real—I would. I’m not afraid to tell the world what you mean to me. I just was hesitant to do so because of you; I wanted to protect you … from the ugliness of the media. But I didn’t realize how keeping it private would make you feel. I didn’t give you any kind of public affirmation of my feelings. Which makes it understandable that you would think … think that I was using you. But I’m not. You’re everything to me. And I’m going to show you that—all the time, not just when we’re alone together.”

  She put her hand on his, looking somewhat somber. “I thought that it was best to keep it private too. But it just felt—I dunno, fake or something. Like it wasn’t real—just a dream.”

  “My dreams are never that good,” he said with a smile. Really, if his dreams were as euphoric as the time he spent with Kat, he’d never want to get out of bed.

  “And I don’t think you need to write my name in the stars,” she smiled a mischievous smile. “I think you already announced … everything … to the world when you showed up at the skating rink.”

  “Yeah, the Kat’s out of the bag.”

  She gave a little giggle. “I’m sure that news is spreading like brushfire right now.”

  “The pap’s probably out in full force, scouring the streets of L.A. for us.”

  This time she didn’t laugh. She gasped. “I bet they are back at my house! My dad’s probably freaking!”

  “We’ll help you out, any way we can. We’ll hire you a public relations rep. And get security in place. Hopefully it won’t get too crazy. Just tell your dad that if he’s going to cross-dress, he needs to close the blinds first.” Ben surprised himself by that joke. Because what happened with Malia’s dad wasn’t funny. At least it hadn’t been at the time. Although plenty of people had laughed about it. But Ben had seen the pain that it inflicted on Malia when her dad was caught gallivanting through the house in a mini-skirt and stilettos. Now—all this time later, and a heart that still struggled to find anything positive about Malia—maybe it was laughable to think of what her dad had done. Just a bit.

  Kat must have thought it was funny, because she gave an all-out hearty laugh. “I don’t think we need to worry about that. My dad can’t fit into my clothes. He’s got a beer belly.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six ……

  Kat let Ben lead her away from the little shed with the telescope. They went back to that intersection that was marked with the star sign. This time, they took the other fork—the one that was marked with a painted white lily. About thirty feet down the trail, Ben stopped and turned off the flashlight. Kat could see lights up head: brilliant blue lights hanging from trees and lining the pathway. As she got closer, she could see that they were globes of hand blown glass. And there were dozens of them—maybe hundreds—decorating a small clearing. She stopped to touch one of the globes that was hanging from a lantern rod. It was solar powered. The brilliant color it omitted looked magical. She felt like she’d just walked into an enchanted forest.

  They walked into the clearing, the blue globes framing in a large circle. At the center of the clearing was an arbor and a patio table. The table was set with fine china. Kat looked at Ben with her mouth agape. And she couldn’t get her mouth to close. Or to make a sound.

  He squeezed her hand. His face was calm, happy, proud. “You hungry?” he asked.

  “Aren’t I always?”

  “Exactly. I knew we couldn’t be out here for long without food.”

  He escorted her to the table and pulled out her chair. “Hold on a sec,” she said. She pulled her cell out of her pocket. “Sorry, but I’ve got to get some pictures of this.” She looked at her phone—no service. Sheesh. Were they really still in California? She wanted to ask more about their location—not because she was worried or anything. Just curious. But she didn’t want to ruin the ecstasy of the moment.

  She took pictures of everything: the white china, the teak table, a blue globe, Ben. Ah, Ben. She couldn’t believe how good it was to see him again—in person. “This is so awesome, Ben.” She knew she was smiling a goofy, I’ve-been-bitten-by-the-love-bug-smile, but she couldn’t stop. This was seriously the most amazing night, ever. She couldn’t imagine even her wedding night trumping this. Unless, of course, it was Ben that she married, then ….

  She forced herself to stop that train of thought. She was getting way ahead of herself.

  “You like it?” Ben asked. “I didn’t know what color lights to do. I realized that I don’t know what your favorite color is.”

  “Oh. It’s blue, actually.” Kay, so she’d never given that answer before. But don’t be so judgmental. Maybe purple just wasn’t doing much for her anymore. And Ben’s eyes were blue, so it only made sense to change her favorite color. So it was blue now. And probably would be for the rest of her life.

  “Lucky guess,” he said.

  Kat expected, what with the fine china and elegant ambiance, to have a five-course meal served. She laughed out loud when a butler—dressed in full waiter attire—lifted the silver lid off the tray he had just placed in front of her, revealing a paper bag bearing the name In and Out Burger. “A Double, no onions,” the waiter said.

  After the waiter left—vanishing into some dark spot in the forest—Ben asked, “Is this okay? Would you rather eat something else?”

  “You kidding me? What could possibly beat a Double?”

  “Lobster maybe. Or swordfish.”

  She laughed again. “I don’t see any of those on the menu.” She pointed at his plate, which also had a In and Out bag. “Unless the food in your bag didn’t really come from a burger joint.”

  He pulled out his burger. She could see the grease seeping through the paper wrapping. He had to be cringing, but he took a bite anyhow.

  After dinner, Ben turned on his flashlight and walked Kat away from the clearing. They went downhill a bit, to another, bigger clearing. This one wasn’t lit at all. And then he turned off the flashlight. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

  “Ah, Ben? I can’t see anything. Why do I need to close my eyes?”

  “Because I said so,” he said in this mock parental voice.

  She obeyed. He held her arm and pulled her forward several feet, then a few steps sideways.

  “Okay, sit down now,” he said.

  She cautiously sat back, hating that feeling of not knowing when (or if) her butt was going to make contact with a chair. And for all she knew, he could be telling her to sit on a rock. But then again, this was Ben and not her Dad. It would be a chair.

  When she felt the seat, she opened her eyes. It took a little while for her eyes to adjust to the dark. The chair that she was sitting on was warm. She put her hands down on the seat. It was the softest leather she’d ever felt. And it was heated. Heaven. Finally, her eyes adjusted and she could see Ben. He was sitting on a chair identical to hers—a plush lounge chair. His was set right next to hers, their armrests touching.

  “Recliners,” he said. “So we can stargaze.” He pushed a button and his chair reclined.

  She didn’t recline hers just yet so she could see everything around her. There was a dark spot on the ground about ten feet ahead of them. “Is that a pond?”

  “Technically, it’s a lake. But it’s not much bigger than a pond.”

  “Is it stocked?” Her dad would be all over that.

  “Yeah.” Ben told her that he actually caught his first fish
here, back when he was six or so. “Come to think of it, this is the only place I’ve ever freshwater fished.” Then he told her about a few of his deep sea fishing trips. Yeah, she definitely needed to get out more often. Her life was so boring in comparison with his. So unspectacular. And even though he’d just said that he’d write her name in the stars, she still didn’t understand that—why he had picked her. It was perplexing. And completely amazing.

  Just a few feet in front of them was a small fireplace—it was gas, not wood. So her hair and clothes wouldn’t smell like campfire all night. It was going to be hard to go camping with her dad this summer. Ben’s luxurious take on the great outdoors was much more enjoyable.

  “Did you bring stuff for s’mores?” she asked. Not that she was hungry. But it just seemed fitting.

  She saw Ben give a look of shock. “I didn’t even think about that. Dang. I’ve never even had a s’more.”

  “What!” Her voice echoed across the pond. “Kay, I just won for infinity. That beats all. Never had a s’more? Unbelievable! You poor, deprived boy.”

  He chuckled and said, “We’ll have to do that next time.”

  She reclined her chair all the way, so that she was practically lying down. They both had their eyes fixed on the sparkling sky. It was absolutely silent. Completely peaceful. Perfectly serene.

  Eventually, Ben spoke again. “It really puts everything into perspective, doesn’t it?” She looked away from the sky. His face looked peaceful. Like how Taylor looks when she’s asleep—when a child is closest to heaven. “Your place in the world,” he continued. “We are all so small, so insignificant. So powerless.”

  “And you like that feeling?” she asked. To her, that feeling was discouraging. Hopeless, almost.

  “Yeah. I do. I think I need it.” He was quiet for a minute. When he spoke again, he sounded subdued. “Everywhere I go in this world, I’m someone. I can’t escape that, no matter what. But if I focus for long enough and feel like I’m out there,” he gestured to the dark expanse above them, “it all changes. Looking on the earth from out there—from a different perspective—I’m a no-one. I’m just this little speck like everyone else.”