Chasing Jupiter

by Rachel Coker

  “That’s astronaut Neil Armstrong,” Cliff whispered.

  “I know.” I tossed a pillow at him, causing him to duck. “The man from NASA just said that.”

  “Hey, don’t throw things at me!”

  “Just watch!”

  Neil Armstrong was speaking. As he climbed down the ladder, he described the surface of the moon below, and then, finally, he stepped all the way down. I gasped softly as Walter Cronkite confirmed someone was actually walking on the moon. “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” Armstrong’s voice sounded crackly and far away.

  Cliff squealed and looked at me. “He’s walking. On the moon!”

  “I know!”

  Cliff’s face was practically luminescent. He turned back to the television fixated on what was unfolding on the screen.

  The footage was fuzzy and blurred, and I couldn’t help think the astronauts looked a lot like wavering moonbeams, iridescent and shiny. They bopped around on the moon as if their bodies were full of air.

  “I was really hoping they’d be able to fly out there.” Cliff looked a little disappointed. “I thought that once you were in outer space, you could fly.”

  I bit my lip. “Well, it looks like they’re tied down. Maybe they’d float away if they were loose. That’s kind of like flying, right?”

  Cliff’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah.”

  “A hoax!” Grandpop Barley harrumphed from his seat in the armchair. “The whole thing is a phony scheme! Man can’t be on the moon. He couldn’t survive! He couldn’t breathe!”

  A vein rose on Cliff’s forehead. “That’s not true!” He stood, clutching one of Grandpop Barley’s pillows to his chest. “You’re lying! They really are on the moon!”

  “Cliff!” I jumped up and wrestled the pillow out of his hand. “Sit down!”

  Reluctantly, Cliff sat, a scowl wiped across his once-happy face. Exasperated, I rubbed my forehead and shot Grandpop Barley a glare. “If the US government says that they’re on the moon, don’t you think they’re on the moon?”

  He grunted and shook his head, leaning back to close his eyes.

  I sighed and settled back into my place on the floor. Only Grandpop Barley could make the moon landing into a family squabble.

  Chapter 12

  It was a hot day, the kind that sweltered and boiled near the end of summer. My hair fluttered in the wind, whipping all around me like a living thing. Georgia whizzed by, until I swerved my bike to avoid hitting a turtle that was stranded in the middle of the road. Poor little thing. The pond’s a whole twenty feet away.

  My mouth twitched. I should help it. I skidded on the brakes.

  “Scarlett!”

  I jolted. The edge of my front tire caught on a rock, sending me and my bike tumbling over into the dirt. I landed in a heap of tangled curls and jumbled limbs. Oh no. I buried my face in the grass. Please don’t tell me that was …

  “Are you okay?”

  My eyes slid shut. Of course, Frank saw me flip over a rock and land with my face in the mud.

  He was by my side in an instant, gently cupping my elbows. “Wow, that looked really painful. Are you … Is anything broken?”

  I pushed myself to my knees and rubbed my arms. “Would it be cliché to say, ‘Only my pride’?”

  Frank laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah.”

  I looked up with a smile and realized with a startling jolt that he was sitting inches away from me and looked concerned about my scrapes but happy about my intact sense of humor. Shouldn’t it make me all fluttery inside to think that I love him and he’s sitting next to me, smiling at me like that? But I didn’t feel fluttery at all, just warm and easy. Like this was the way it was supposed to be. To love someone and feel completely happy and relaxed. It was just that simple.

  Frank lifted a hand and brushed the veil of hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear. I was close enough to smell the soap on his skin and to see the golden specks in his eyes. In his eyes that were looking right at me and smiling like he knew being together like this was easy too.

  The corner of Frank’s mouth twitched upward. He reached out and helped pull me up. “I’m surprised Cliff’s not around to be the cause of this mishap.”

  “Oh, no. He’s home right now. I was just biking around and enjoying the sunshine when …” The turtle! I jumped up, grabbing Frank’s sleeve. “I hope he’s still alive! I don’t think I hit him.”

  “What? Hit who?”

  I pulled Frank back over to the road, where the turtle had balled up into his shell again. I knelt on the ground and stroked the warm, sunbathed surface. I squinted up at Frank. “We should probably get it back to the pond where it can cool off.”

  He nodded. “I’ll grab it,” he said, scooping up the turtle.

  My eyes widened, and I took a step forward. I didn’t think you were supposed to just pick up turtles. “What if it’s a snapping …”

  Frank suddenly threw his hand back. I screamed, trembling mid-sentence. Frank held up the hand, an impish smile on his face. No bite marks. No blood.

  “Just kidding.”

  “That wasn’t funny.” I broke into laughter all the same. Because it was kind of funny.

  “Sure it was.” Frank knelt by the edge of the pond and placed the turtle in the water. He stood and wiped his hands off on his jeans. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you scream before. But, seriously, you’re really good at it. You should audition for one of those bad horror movies. You know, the ones where the beautiful girls scream their heads off because some mutant beaver maimed a guy’s hand?”

  I shook my head. “You’re so weird.”

  “No, you’d be great!” Frank crossed his heart. “Upon my honor.”

  My bike was still lying in the middle of the road. I lifted it and inspected the front. No dents. I touched the spot where my ribs smashed into the handlebars and winced. That’ll hurt tomorrow.

  “I never figured I’d be an actress,” I said as I pushed the battered bike back toward home. Frank fell into step beside me and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I don’t have a face for the big screen. Juli maybe, but never me.”

  “What?” Frank snorted. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Your face could hold its own alongside John Wayne or Paul Newman. You’re one of the prettiest girls in Georgia, I think.”

  My face heated. I glanced at him sideways, to see if he was joking. He looked away quickly and stared at the road ahead of us. Oh. A smile spread across my face.

  Before I realized it, we were standing by my mailbox. I propped my bike up against the gate and sighed. “You know, I wasn’t planning on coming home for a while.”

  “Really?” Frank smiled. He shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets. “We can go to the peach orchard, if you want.” He cleared his throat. “Only if, you know, you don’t have any other plans.”

  I grinned. “Sure. Race you there?”

  He nodded and took off, leaving me to chase after him. We both reached the orchard at the same time. With my heart slamming against my chest, I leaned on the fence and tried to catch my breath. Frank settled himself on the ground and laid out on his back. I sat beside him and watched the clouds sail across the ocean-blue sky.

  “Would you rather ride a cloud or a raindrop?” Frank asked, glancing at me.

  “A cloud. I hate being wet.”

  “Huh.” He looked back up at the sky. “Yeah, me too, I think.”

  I pressed my lips together. “Would you rather fall out of an airplane and discover you can fly, or sink in a boat and discover you can breathe underwater?”

  “Fly.”

  “Definitely.”

  “Right.” Frank’s mouth twitched. “Would you rather eat cake every morning for breakfast, or pie every day for lunch?”

  I laughed. “Why is it boys always think about food?”

  “Just answer.”

  “Okay, fine. Pie. I really like pie.”

  “Me too.” />
  Frank turned and looked at me again, the gold in his eyes matching the hair that fell on his forehead. And once again it felt so simple to be sitting beside him and talking. It felt right.

  “You know,” Frank said softly, “I think you’re the closest to a best friend I’ve ever had.”

  “Me too,” I said. But what I was really thinking was that I didn’t want to just be Frank’s best friend. I wanted to marry him and grow old with him and sit and talk with him forever. But every time I opened my mouth to say so, I found it was frozen shut.

  Besides, Frank loves Juli. Juli, with the perfect smile and wild streak and dangerous balance of sane and insane. Juli, who was more desirable than me in so many ways.

  I pushed myself up. Suddenly, the sun felt too hot and the air too humid and all the things that were left unsaid between us were just too much to handle. “I should really go. I remembered I promised Cliff I’d play Spanish Civil War with him this afternoon. This time he gets to be the guerrillas.”

  “Fun.” Frank stood and stuck his hands back into his pockets. His forehead was pinched in confusion, but he nodded. “Well, I guess I’ll see you on Saturday, then. At the pie stand.”

  “Right. Okay, then. See you later.” Then I turned and walked away. I wanted to be calm and cool-headed. Carefree. But my stomach was roiling. Because, as much as I wanted things to be simple and easy, I couldn’t help but feel like my life was quickly becoming the most complicated one on earth.

  On Friday afternoon I knocked once, but no answer. Twice, and still no footsteps coming down the hall.

  That’s funny. Her car is in the driveway. I stood on tiptoe and tried to peek through the frosted window by the door. A lacy curtain fell over the glass, blocking my vision.

  I raised my hand to knock again when the door flew open. What in the … I blinked.

  Standing in front of me was Mrs. Greene. Or at least it looked like her. Sort of.

  Her long blonde hair was falling down her shoulders in tangled knots. Mascara had smeared around her eyes and down her cheeks, and her pretty dress and fancy light sweater were wrinkled. She sniffed and rubbed her forehead. “Oh, I meant to tell you not to come today.”

  My presence on her doorstep suddenly felt very awkward. Whatever was going on, she definitely didn’t need me in the middle of it. I took a step back, stumbling on the mat. “Um, okay. I’ll just go.”

  Mrs. Greene shook her head as if trying to compose herself. “No. Come in, Scarlett.”

  Her voice sounded like she was stuck in a tunnel or in the early stages of a bad cold. Mrs. Greene sat and pointed to an empty barstool next to her. “We’re not cooking today. I called everyone to say we wouldn’t be stopping in.” She sniffed again. “I thought I’d be gone.”

  I glanced around the kitchen. It seemed undisturbed. Everything in place, hanging neatly or stacked in the cupboards. A pair of keys lying discarded on the counter. I pressed my lips together and swung my legs under my stool, letting the silence hang in the air.

  “Um, I guess you’re wondering why I look like this.” Her face was blotchy red under the tear streaks.

  I kept my mouth shut. Obviously, I was wondering that. But it wasn’t like I was going to come right out and ask. So I crossed my legs at the ankles and waited for her to go on.

  “Today is our seven-year wedding anniversary. Tim’s and mine.” She let out a jagged breath and rubbed the golden band on her finger. “We’ve always been extravagant in our celebrating. Tim likes to give me the traditional anniversary gifts. You know, paper or wood or whatever.” She pointed at the clock on the wall. “He gave me that charming cuckoo clock for our fifth anniversary.”

  Okay. I forced a smile. Where’s the tragedy in all this?

  Mrs. Greene sighed and pressed her hands together. “This year he was supposed to give me wool or copper, according to the chart. And so I woke up expecting to find something wrapped by the bed like usual …” Her mouth twitched. “I got him wool slippers, although I hid them in the closet. Anyway, when there was no gift waiting for me, I thought maybe he was planning to surprise me by taking me out to lunch. So I called and canceled all the meals and got all dolled up in my best dress and piled my hair up …”

  Her voice began to deflate, and her lip quivered. Looking at me with piercingly sad eyes, she whimpered, “Scarlett, he forgot our anniversary. He didn’t remember at all.”

  I blinked. “How could he, if you two make such a big deal out of it?”

  “I don’t know!” She hugged her sweater close. “It was more than just the anniversary, though. It’s been like this all week. He’s been so busy and always coming home late and seeming frazzled.”

  Should I let her talk to me like this? It wasn’t like I had any advice to give her or anything. And she was the pastor’s wife, for heaven’s sake.

  Mrs. Greene sniffled. “It got so bad that I just blew up this morning. I called his office and pouted and screamed and said the most … horrible things.” She shivered. “I told him that I didn’t want to live in this house and have to sit and look at a husband who didn’t care enough about his wife to make time for her, even on the most important day of the year.”

  My eyes widened. “You didn’t.”

  “Yes!” Mrs. Greene moaned and buried her head on the table. “Oh, I’ve been a mess all afternoon. I’m so angry at him and at the same time so angry at myself.”

  She tried to control the tears, but her shoulders were shaking visibly. The more I watched her, the heavier my chest felt.

  Why do couples have to fight all the time? And over such stupid things. A lump formed in my throat. Why do they call it family when it isn’t even strong enough to handle things like this?

  “I don’t even care about copper or wool. I was just mad because he didn’t remember me. I’ve felt so unimportant lately, Scarlett. But I was being so silly. I’m sorry you are seeing me this way. I’ve probably shared more than I should with you.” She dropped her head and tried to compose herself.

  Feeling more like an adult than a child, I reached out and began rubbing her shoulders, searching for the right thing to say to a woman who suddenly seemed so different from the one I knew. But every time something popped into my mind, it seemed so completely wrong. So I zipped my lips and rubbed her back in silence.

  The minutes dragged by slowly. My eyes wandered around the room, resting first on the cuckoo clock. It really was cute. Mrs. Greene must have been really pleased when she opened it.

  I looked down at her. Her hair was silky and smooth, falling down her back in waves. No wonder her bouffant is so high. I thought about asking her how it fell out of its updo.

  Suddenly, the door flung open. The hairs on my arm stood up. Pastor Greene stood in the doorway with a bouquet of roses in his hands. He didn’t even seem to notice me as he floated through the kitchen and knelt by his wife’s side.

  “Dotty,” he whispered, pushing back her tangled hair. He planted a kiss on her cheek and whispered something in her ear. Then he pulled out a gift from behind his back and watched her with the remorseful, anxious expression of a schoolboy. “I really didn’t mean to forget. I just was so worried about other things that it slipped my mind. You know I’d never do anything to hurt you. You’re the most …” He reached out and stroked her blonde hair. “You’re the most beautiful, special, wonderful …”

  Mrs. Greene lifted her head with gleaming eyes. She threw her arms around his neck and cut off his words with a kiss, tears still falling down her cheeks. Their kiss deepened, and they pulled each other close, completely oblivious to my presence.

  I took a step back. Just when I thought things couldn’t get more awkward, I witness the pastor and his wife making out in their kitchen. Nice. I considered announcing my departure but decided to just slip out the back door.

  On the walk back home, I felt more confused than ever. Pastor and Mrs. Greene had always seemed so happy and perfect for each other, but one silly misunderstanding seemed to unravel eve
rything. Maybe I didn’t understand love at all—certainly not the love between a man and a woman. And I most certainly didn’t know what to think of the idea of “divine love.”

  Once again, I felt caught. Caught in the middle of ignorance and knowledge, childhood and adulthood. Loneliness and happiness.

  I sighed and stuck my hands in my pockets.

  “You know what I thought of today?” Cliff tucked the covers under his chin and pulled his knees close to his chest.

  “Hmm?” I flipped through the pages of Peter and Wendy. Where did we last stop? It had been a busy week, and I’d only had time to read to him once or twice. There didn’t seem to be time for anything lately. I hadn’t seen Mrs. Greene in over a week, and I’d only run into Frank once or twice in the past ten days.

  “We only have one more month before school starts. Today is August eighth. Soon it’ll be September.”

  I halted. He was right. “I guess the summer’s almost over, huh?” It was a sad thought. Fall meant the end of peach stands, sweltering afternoons, and all the other things I had started to consider normal.

  He nodded. “And we still haven’t built our rocket.”

  I patted his knee. “Yeah, well, we’ll do that soon. As soon as we have fifty dollars, I’ll get Frank to drive us into town so we can pick out all the supplies. We’ll get it done before September. Promise.”

  “Okay.” Cliff snuggled under the blanket. “You ended with chapter eight.”

  “Oh, right.” How does he remember that? I cleared my throat. “Chapter Eight. The Mermaids’ Lagoon.”

  Cliff recited the Spanish numbers softly to himself while I read. “Uno, dos, tres …” Every now and then he’d look up and laugh at something I read.

  Grandpop Barley had already fallen asleep and was snoring in the chair by the door. I tried not to think about the struggle it would take to drag him up the stairs.

  When I finished the chapter, I closed the book firmly and rubbed Cliff’s forehead. “Sweet dreams. Are you ready for the peach stand tomorrow?”

  He nodded. “I think we’ll reach fifty dollars.”