Chasing Jupiter

by Rachel Coker

  I rested my chin in my hand and imagined Cliff sitting on the floor beside me making quips about how Grandpop Barley’s face looks like some kind of gnarled Spanish tree. Or asking to turn on the television and see what was going on with the rockets and astronauts. Suddenly, the room seemed too quiet and too still. I climbed to my feet and gently shook Grandpop Barley.

  “Time to wake up, Grandpop Barley. It’s morning.” Well, technically, it was probably closer to noon by now. But I need him to wake up. To hear him grumble and complain and know that things might almost be back to normal.

  His eyelashes fluttered and opened, and he frowned at me. “Whaddya want? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  I shook my head and waved a hand nonchalantly. “Never mind. Go back to sleep.”

  I left his room, closing the door behind me. I rushed across the hallway and into my room and pulled off my pajamas. Opening my dresser, I yanked out my oldest pair of jeans and a faded shirt. I had to get away.

  The air outside smelled sugary and fresh. The last gasps of the hot Georgia summer were still kicking well into October, providing warmer temperatures and little breeze. I walked in sandals down the dirt road, kicking at little rocks in my path.

  I stopped in front of Mrs. Ima Nice’s house. Pastor Greene’s pickup truck was parked out front. He stood by the front door with a large board in his hands. Not noticing me, he lifted the board and laid it across the door, hammering it into place.

  “Hey!” I shouted without thinking. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He jumped and whipped around. “Scarlett?” His eyes squinted, and he took a step forward, like he thought I wasn’t truly there. “Scarlett Blaine?”

  I crossed my arms and stomped up to the house. “You can’t just board up her doors. It’s not your property.”

  Pastor Greene lowered the wood and nails. “The bank is closing up the house. It’s going to be demolished next spring to make way for a new grocery store. They figured it would be better for the community than to leave it vacant.”

  “But …” Tears stung at my eyes. I looked around at the empty porch. “But this is where Mrs. Nice used to sit in her rocking chairs and yell at us. There were two of them.” My voice cracked. “Right here.” I pointed.

  Pastor Greene scratched the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “Look, Scarlett, I know this is a very difficult time for you right now, but you have to understand. This is all for the best. If the house stays vacant, it will eventually become rundown and rickety. The paint will chip, and the bushes will become overgrown. Local teenagers will come here to throw rocks through the windows and do stupid stuff.”

  I stared at the house that was no longer a home while he talked, my mind whirling. Just two months ago, it was all so different. I never knew—never imagined—that any of this could have happened. Everything had been so wonderful.

  Pastor Greene picked up the board again, watching me to see if I’d stop him. “Mrs. Nice was very proud of her home, remember? She would turn over in her grave if she knew it had become a laughingstock of the community.”

  My eye caught sight of something. A medium-sized cardboard box labeled For Church Sale. Photo frames and bits of clothing peeked out from over the side. I imagined the old ladies at church rummaging through her boxes and gossiping about her belongings. My temper flared. “You are not going to sell her things at a church sale!” Without thinking, I snatched the box off of the porch steps and ran, not looking back.

  “Scarlett!” Pastor Greene shouted behind me. “Scarlett!”

  It was a pretty good-sized box, and I was pretty winded not long after I left the porch. He could have caught me if he wanted. I don’t even think he tried. Maybe it was meant to belong to me all along.

  I ran until I reached our driveway. Then I collapsed on the ground by the mailbox and set the carton down next to me. A pile of framed photos lay on top, a little jumbled from the ride. I pulled them out one by one. There were photos of Ima Nice as a child, a bride, a mother, and an older woman.

  Nestled underneath all of the photos was an unframed photo of Ima Nice and Grandpop Barley taken about fifty years ago. Photographs must have been pretty new back then. The picture was grainy and blurry, but I recognized him by the curve of his smile and the dent in his chin.

  They were standing under the shade of an apple tree. In all of the other photos, Ima had been wearing fancy church frocks and hats. In this one, she was in a simple cotton dress, her dark hair falling around her shoulders. He wore thin trousers and a rumpled shirt, his arm slung around her shoulder. Both were smiling.

  I wrapped my fingers around the photo and slid it into my pocket. Then I piled the rest back into the box and carried it into the house, plopping it down in the garage. Well, it may not belong to Ima Nice anymore, but at least there won’t be any snoopy old gossips digging through her things.

  The picture I saved until later, when I was alone. I smoothed out the edges and placed it in a frame, switching out a picture of me smiling with missing teeth. Then I carried it up the stairs and placed it by Grandpop Barley’s bedside. There. Now it’ll be the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes.

  I looked at the smiling man in the photo one last time before dropping my gaze to the sleeping one in front of me. “I just want everyone to be happy again,” I whispered, lightly touching Grandpop Barley’s forehead, then leaving.

  Chapter 16

  It was the first Saturday in December, which meant visiting day at Cliff’s facility. We all piled into Old Clunker and headed toward the city. A few houses were starting to put wreaths out on the front doors. It felt like a nice, cheery start to the holiday season.

  Mama wrapped her arms around her chest and glanced at Dad from the passenger seat. “I don’t want any Christmas decorations this year. I just want everything to keep going on normally so we can forget about how we’re supposed to feel this month.”

  That idea didn’t upset me as much as I thought it would. The last thing I wanted to do was wake up Christmas morning and stare at a fat tree with no presents and no siblings beside it.

  The home didn’t get the memo about the no-Christmas thing, though. They were already in full-on holiday mode; a Perry Como carol greeted us as we walked into the lobby.

  Mama grimaced and grabbed Dad’s hand. We said our hellos to Stacey and headed upstairs to visit with Cliff. Today, they had him dressed in a lightweight reindeer sweater. His small room was covered in candy canes, and Albert sat in the corner looking over some Christmas cards his family must have sent him. I’d overheard someone say they lived in Alabama and sent him here so he’d get better medical attention.

  Cliff was sucking on a candy cane when we walked in. He held it up to show us, a big smile on his face. I guess if he was sugared up enough, he was too happy to be shy.

  “Well, hello there, Cliff!” Dad, obviously encouraged by the smile, took a step forward.

  Bad idea. Cliff’s happy expression immediately fell away, and he crawled back into his bed, refusing to look at us.

  As a result we ended up standing by the foot of his bed for most of the visit and talking to him without being able to see his face. Mama told him about the Christmas potluck supper at church. Dad said a few things about getting the truck fixed (which wouldn’t have interested Cliff anyway, but it’s not like Dad knew that), and Grandpop Barley asked for a candy cane. A nurse gave him one, and he sucked on it in silence.

  I went last. I told Cliff that I was going to try to make Spanish quesadillas for dinner this week, and that I’d gotten an A on my last biology test, and that my teachers seemed to think I could go to any college I wanted to next fall. I also mentioned that there was talk of another space mission and that I was praying they’d pick Jupiter. He stiffened at that word but didn’t make any move to look at me or say anything.

  “Yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be spectacular anyway,” I said, crossing my arms. “You’re going to be the first astronaut on Jupiter. Not some lousy
NASA guy.”

  Cliff said something, but his voice was muffled by the sheets. I jumped forward. “What did he say? Cliff, what did you say?”

  Stacey grabbed my arm and pulled me backward, away from the bed. “Don’t get too close to him,” she warned.

  “But he said something,” Mama protested. “We all heard him. He said something. What did he say?”

  “Sí,” I murmured.

  Everyone looked at me. Stacey blinked. “What?”

  “He said sí.” It’s a Spanish word.” I looked back at him, buried under a mound of sterile white sheets and gray flannel blankets. “I know he said it.” He remembered.

  “Scarlett, can you help me with this?” Mama’s voice sounded through the house.

  I glanced at Grandpop Barley one last time to make sure he was asleep before climbing to my feet and making my way downstairs.

  Mama was standing on the front porch, straining under the weight of a tall evergreen. “Help me with this, would you? It’s really heavy.”

  I stopped in the doorway. “A Christmas tree? Seriously?” I felt as if someone had punched me in the gut. I thought she said no memories. No reminders.

  “That old couple in the house next to the church donated it to us,” Mama said, pushing a branch out of her face. “Your father picked it up at Pastor Greene’s house this afternoon.”

  My face felt hot. “Why do they feel like they need to give us a tree? We didn’t ask for one. We don’t even have any of the decorations down or anything, and I thought we weren’t planning on—”

  “Scarlett.” Mama stopped and turned to look at me. The tree was twisted in her arms, halfway in the door, the bottom half trailing down the steps. “Please.” Her voice was whisper soft.

  I looked up and caught her eye. The pain I saw there was evident. She wasn’t any more joyful this Christmas than I was.

  Pulling on a light sweater, I scurried out onto the porch and helped her drag the tree into the house. I strained under the weight. Pine boughs pressed into my skin and scratched my cheek. The spicy scent of sap filled my nostrils.

  We set up the tree in the living room and stood back. It seemed so big and pretentious in the small empty space. Unadorned, it was just a big sweet-smelling hunk of greenery and sap.

  I stuck my hands in my pockets and looked around. No other decorations were in sight. “Mama, do you want me to get the ornaments down from the attic?”

  She gulped, pressing a hand to her throat. Tears glistened in her eyes as she stared at the Christmas tree. “No,” she said, her voice sounding clogged. She cleared her throat and turned away. “No, I think it looks fine. I’m going to … I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  I stared at the tree in silence. It really is ugly. Ugly and stupid. I kicked at the carpet and walked back upstairs, taking two steps at a time.

  Grandpop Barley’s door was shut. I knocked on it, but there was no answer. Pushing the door open, I tried to smile brightly. “Grandpop Barley! Guess what we got!”

  I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the dimness. They fell on the bed, where he lay curled up in a small ball. My heart sank like a lead weight. Oh, Grandpop Barley.

  I perched on the edge of the bed and gently touched his leg. “We got a Christmas tree downstairs. Do you want to see it?”

  He grumbled a bit and rustled under the sheets. His head remained buried in the pillow, turned away from me. And he wasn’t wearing his necktie anymore.

  I reached out and gently touched his back. A million thoughts rushed through my mind, but the strongest gnawed at my stomach. We should have never tried to send you away. Never.

  The unusually cool winter air pinched at my reddened cheeks. I wrapped my jacket tighter around me, snuggling into the warmth. The air had that distinct Christmas aroma: a mixture of pine boughs and freshly mowed lawns. I guess everyone in Georgia has a Christmas tree by now.

  I wandered through the streets with my hands in my pockets. Avoiding the glances of housewives through windows, I kept my eyes on the ground. Dead leaves crunched under every step.

  I paused in the middle of the road and took a deep breath. This is the spot where I rescued that turtle. The skid marks of my bike had faded, of course, and a fresh layer of dirt covered the ground. My eyes drifted toward the pond. Smooth ripples moved across the surface of the water as the wind blew.

  The soft rushing of wind filled my ears and tickled my cheek. I stood on the edge of the water and took a deep breath as I lifted my head to the sky. Thick, dense clouds covered the sun.

  Everything was quiet. Too quiet. I was conscious of the heart pounding in my chest, of the breaths escaping my lips, of the hands clenching in my pockets. Conscious of the fact that, like it or not, I was still alive.

  I’m still alive, and I must go on living. The thought filled me with a sickening discomfort. The thought of living … of going on like nothing had ever happened even though it had … I would never be the same because of it.

  Juli’s words floated through my subconscious. “I think there’s a divine happiness out there that brings about peace to the open mind.”

  My throat burned. God, my mind is open. I stared back up at the sky, filling with bubbling anger. “Wide open!” I shouted. “And I’m not feeling anything!”

  Ducks scattered around the pond, startled at my outburst. I pulled my arms back toward my chest, hugging myself tightly. I felt something hot and wet slide down my face, and realized I was crying. Oh, God, I want to feel something.

  I sniffed. The moisture on my face was inviting a cold wind. I rubbed my nose.

  Go to Mrs. Greene’s house.

  The thought came unbidden. Mrs. Greene? I haven’t been to see her in months. It’ll only be awkward after everything that’s happened …

  My feet began to move, one step after another. I was walking toward her house, still uncertain as to whether I wanted to go.

  What if she … What if she talks about Cliff? What if she wants to know what happened with Frank?

  And then I was standing at her little red mailbox, staring up at her house. It looked exactly the same, with the exception of a few dead flowers no longer blooming on the front porch.

  Mrs. Greene is your friend. She would never make you talk about something you were uncomfortable with. She knows you.

  I knocked weakly on the front door and stood back, my thoughts in a flurry. I rubbed my frozen hands together. Maybe she didn’t hear me. Maybe she’s out and won’t be back until …

  The door opened, and Mrs. Greene stuck her head out. She blinked when she saw me, her eyes widening into two small full moons. “Scarlett, what a surprise! Come in.”

  She held open the door and stood back, letting me pass. I shivered and slipped out of my heavy jacket. “Here, I’ll take that.” Mrs. Greene hung the coat on a rack in the closet and led me to the kitchen. “It certainly is cold outside. Would you like a cup of hot tea?”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Greene stood with her back to me as she began brewing a pot for us. “I must say it is a surprise to see you today, although I am pleased. I was wondering if you’d want to start up cooking lessons again. Tim was just saying he’d love you to teach me a few new recipes.”

  “No,” I murmured. “I didn’t come here for that.”

  “Oh. So then, what have you been up to?”

  I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see me. “Nothing.”

  “Here you go.” She turned and handed me a steaming hot cup.

  “Thanks,” I said, pressing the tea to my lips and letting the warmth sweep through me.

  “You know, this is the second time you’ve just shown up at my house, and I have a feeling it wasn’t just because you were passing by.” Mrs. Greene settled next to me and gently squeezed my arm. “How are you, Scarlett?”

  I opened my mouth to respond with “Just fine” when it struck me that I wasn’t fine. I wasn’t even close to fine. I was broken and bruised and lonely. Every waking second I asked myself w
hy: Why are my family and I living like this? What’s the point anymore?

  I took a heavy breath and set down my cup. “I came here because I need you to give me a reason to keep living, Mrs. Greene. No one’s ever home. Cliff’s gone and Grandpop Barley’s … quiet … and I feel all alone. I need help. I don’t understand …” I cleared my throat, fighting back tears. “I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

  Mrs. Greene’s eyes flickered down to the table. She took one of my hands and folded it in hers, rubbing it gently. “What is it you want, Scarlett? What do you desire more than anything else in life?”

  My chest squeezed. “I don’t know! I want …” I took a deep breath, looking around the kitchen, tears blinding my vision. What do I want? I want Cliff to remember me. I want my family to be whole. I want Juli to come home. I want Frank to love me. I want for everything to be okay. I want …

  “No.” I shook my head, raising my eyes to Mrs. Greene’s face. Pain was etched in it—pain that I knew reflected my own suffering and loss. I took a shaky breath. “The one thing I want more than anything is to have peace. I want to know that there’s a reason for all this. So much has happened that can’t be erased, but more than wanting to erase it, I just want to know that I’ll be okay in spite of it. If I could just know that …” I trailed off.

  Mrs. Greene was watching me closely. She didn’t say anything; she just waited for me to continue.

  Shaking my head, I tried to explain the heaviness inside my chest. “There’s so much more I could have done. I could have stopped Juli if I’d just been honest enough with her. If I’d just tried to talk to her and find out what was wrong. And I should have been there more for Cliff. Given him more things to remember. And I should have been there for Grandpop Barley. I let him down, and if I’d stood up for him, maybe then Cliff wouldn’t have …” I bit my lip and willed the tears back. “It was my responsibility to keep the family together, and I just … I just couldn’t do it well enough.” My voice grew thick. “It just wasn’t enough.”