Chasing Jupiter

by Rachel Coker

  I stood back and rested my head on Frank’s shoulder, staring at the rocket in the moonlight. I was okay with Cliff not understanding. He didn’t need to understand. I didn’t build the rocket because of that.

  It was all for his dream, or for the memory of it. Deep down inside, I knew that he saw it. The beauty of that hunk of wood and those sheets of metal. All of the childish hopes and dreams. All of the wishes and imagination. It was real. Here. Now.

  Cliff was halfway across the yard by now, on his way to the truck. I could tell that he was saying something to his nurse because he tugged her arm and looked up at her. Then, something happened. A moment that I’ll never forget.

  His lips still moving, Cliff glanced over his shoulder and took one more look at the rocket. And then, just like that day in the mental facility, he smiled. Really, actually, smiled.

  And, of course, I smiled too, even though he had turned around by then and was making his way toward Old Clunker.

  You know what, Cliff? I thought back on all the conversations and giggles and moments we had shared. Somewhere along the way, I think I finally grew up. And it wasn’t because I suddenly became smart or popular or pretty. It was because of you.

  I leaned against Frank’s chest and sighed. Everything felt so much better now. It really was amazing, actually.

  “I think you did a pretty fantastic job,” Frank said, his chest rumbling under my head.

  “I agree.”

  I turned to see Dad walking back toward me. “It looks great,” he said with a smile. I stepped forward, and he slipped his arm around my shoulder. He squeezed me close to him and nodded, smiling at the rocket. Bending down to kiss my forehead, I caught a whiff of his aftershave and felt the way his beard tickled my skin. My eyelids slid shut, forcing myself to remember this moment. These few brief seconds when everything seemed not only okay, but also wonderful. The world was at peace, my family was together again, and Cliff was here with us.

  Dad pulled back and patted my shoulder. “Come on, Scarlett. Just about time to go home. I’ll give you two a minute, but we need to head back. We may only have one night where we’ll all be together like this, and I mean to make the most of it.” He gave me one last squeeze before I was alone again with Frank and his flashlight.

  I sighed and gave the rocket one last look over. My mind was a flurry. Gratitude and happiness and peacefulness all mixed up.

  God … I squeezed my eyes shut, unsure what to say. Thank you, I finally decided. Thank you for right here and right now. For all the little things you’ve given me.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Frank was saying, turning the flashlight away from the rocket. He picked up the sheet and draped it back into place.

  I began walking back to the truck. “Are you coming back to our house for your car?”

  “Nah.” He shook his head, causing snowflakes to fall to the ground. “I’ll get it tomorrow. I need a reason to come see you anyway.”

  “It’s Christmas. Isn’t that reason enough?”

  He nodded. “Merry Christmas, Scarlett.”

  As I walked back to the car, Mama and Dad were standing by the door hand in hand. They were smiling and looking up at the moon, watching the snowflakes drift across the sky.

  I stopped and grinned. Merry Christmas.

  Every story has to end somewhere. And I don’t know how mine is going to end just yet, but you know what? That’s okay.

  I’d like to think I finally grew up that summer. Finally fell in love, finally found my place in the world. We all get to a point in life where we are standing on the brink, and we have to jump.

  Frank did become a veterinarian, and we now have a house over-brimming with rescued animals. We hope to have children who have their father’s way with animals. In the meantime, we both volunteer at the children’s hospital from time to time, and try to make some of the kids’ dreams come true. Like the one girl who wanted to see the ocean—we decorated her room like an undersea paradise, and I can still remember how her eyes lit up when we took her inside.

  I only live about an hour from Cliff and not far from the rest of my family. I can see him once a week, and even though he still doesn’t say much, sometimes, if I visit often enough, he remembers who I am. And because of that, I realize that we’re all going to be just fine.

  A few years ago, we went back to Frank’s parents’ house and moved the rocket we’d built. With a fresh coat of paint, it was ready for its new home on the edge of our yard. I can see it outside of my kitchen window. Every morning, when I do the dishes, I look at that sign and thank God for the hope he’s given me.

  Life isn’t always filled with sunshine and laughter. I’ve had my share of heartaches, just like everyone else. And I know that God’s plan is to give his peace for those who struggle, even if it takes some time for us to see his plans. And I think that would be a pretty great thing to paint on a sign. In Spanish or not.

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  Enjoy this excerpt from Rachel Coker’s debut novel, Interrupted.

  Chapter 1

  A chilly Peace infests the Grass

  The Sun respectful lies—

  Not any Trance of industry

  These shadows scrutinize.

  — Emily Dickinson

  I stared at the ceiling in silence. Although it was so dark I don’t think it could really be called staring at all. More like tilting my chin up in that direction.

  My room was cold and quiet, the moon casting eerie shadows through my window over the things that, at thirteen years old, I held dear. My china doll, my stuffed bears, my book collection …

  “Alcyone,” a voice whispered.

  I gasped and jerked my head toward the door.

  Mama stood by my bed, clad in a milky-white nightgown, her long, dark hair falling down her shoulders. She held a finger up to her lips.

  “Come on, Allie,” she whispered, grabbing my wrist gently. “I want you to see the stars.”

  My heart still thumping, I followed her down the hallway, my bare feet pattering on the cold wooden floor. The moon shone on the clock by the staircase. 2:52.

  I rubbed my eyes groggily. “Where are we —”

  Mama halted in the doorway of the kitchen, the moonlight illuminating her from the back.

  “Close your eyes.”

  I did, and let her lead me out the little door until I could feel the damp grass between my toes. I shivered at everything I could feel and sense: the chilly air, the chirping crickets, the dewy earth …

  “Open them,” Mama commanded, lowering her hold from my wrist to my hand.

  I did, and the first thing I saw was heaven, the way it was meant to look from earth.

  Millions of dazzling stars were strung across the sky above us. Twinkling and dancing and singing. My heart skipped a beat.

  I knelt on the ground beside Mama and stretched back to see as much of the sky as possible. It just seemed to go on and on, covering the fields around us with a sweet and heavy blanket.

  I tilted my head and racked my brain for words to describe it. Eerie … dreamy … alluring … enthralling … breathtaking.

  “The moon is distant from the sea,” Mama murmured, “and yet with amber hands, she leads him, docile as a boy, along appointed sands.”

  I turned to look at Mama. She was staring at the sky, a strange look on her face. She was so beautiful … so light and delicate.

  I was confused. “Mama,” I whispered, “we aren’t at the sea.” I’d never been to the sea, and I was quite sure she hadn’t been in many, many years.

  Mama’s lips upturned in a little smile. “That was Dickinson.”

  She reached over and stroked my cheek. Her eyes had a far-off mist. “One day you’ll understand, Allie. One day you’ll be a great writer too.”

  “Is that what you want of me?” I whispered.

  Mama nodded slowly, stroking my cheek. “Yes, my miracle. I want you to write and I want you to be happy.”

  I longed to ask more questions, but
Mama was so peaceful that night I rolled back around and stared at the stars in silence while Mama sang softly in French. I painted in my mind the sweetest dream of a lifetime spent gardening the stars.

  Mama had a beautiful voice. It was high and clear. When she sang it sounded like dozens of little tinkling bells. I used to lie awake in bed and listen to her play the piano and sing from the foyer until my eyelids slid down and shut.

  For the last six years, it had been the two of us, just like this. I was born when Mama thought she was already an old woman: 1925, the year she turned forty-seven. She always called me her “miracle baby” as a result.

  All Mama and I had were each other. Mama said that the world was full of people — and people are full of evil. She told me there was no one and nothing you could trust but where you come from and who you are. We didn’t talk to those evil people. We kept to ourselves and spent our time keeping busy.

  I heard a meow from across the yard. “Daphne,” I whispered, holding out my hands for my little orange kitten. I held her close and whispered in her little feline ears the names of the different constellations. “And that one right there is Taurus — it holds the star Alcyone, just like my name. See, Daphne?” I yawned, smiling. Daphne purred and settled her head on my stomach. I stared at my namesake. “I’m a star, aren’t I?”

  The moon began to grow hazy and dim as my eyelids started to drop. Mama rubbed my back with one hand and sang to herself as I drifted off to sleep.

  About the Author

  Rachel Coker is a homeschool student who lives in Virginia with her parents and two sisters. She has a passion for great books and has been surrounded by them all her life. In fact, as a young child, Rachel helped her parents in a family-run Christian book business. Her gift for writing became apparent at the age of eleven, at which time her parents signed her up for a year of lessons with a professional writing coach. When she is not writing or playing the piano, Rachel enjoys spending time with her family and friends.

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  Other books by Rachel Coker

  Interrupted

  ZONDERVAN

  Chasing Jupiter

  Copyright © 2012 by Rachel Coker

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  EPub Edition © DECEMBER 2012 ISBN: 978-0-310-73298-3

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