Unlit Star

by Lindy Zart

  Her grip on me becomes painful as we both cry, but I don't mind. We are a mother and a daughter knowing their time together is almost at an end. It hurts. The pain is filling me, pulsating through me. I will cry this night with her and then I will smile for her after today. I will be brave for the ones I love.

  I pull away and clasp her hands between mine. Her face is red, her eyes bloodshot, and grief hides the beauty of her features. “Can you promise me one more thing?”

  She nods abruptly.

  “When you look at your flowers, can you think of me?”

  “Oh, Delilah,” she weeps, covering her face as her shoulders shake from the force of the sobs leaving her. She grabs me and unceremoniously pulls me to her, brushing hair from my face and kissing my temple. “Yes. Yes. I will do that. I will look at my flowers and think of you.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  Not a lot of talking happens after that, both of us too sad to do much of anything except cry and look at memories of lives forever captured within the pages of a photo album. I am seeing myself, knowing this is how I will be soon—just a face in a picture.

  “YOU MIGHT AS WELL HAVE a drink with me. It seems silly to make you wait.” She blinks as pain filters through her eyes, like she is only now aware of what she just said—I won't be around to drink when I am legally able.

  Her face crumples and I pat her hand. “Stop it, Mom. Don't be a sad drunk. No one likes them.” I take the glass from her and swallow some of the pale yellow liquid. “Lemonade and vodka?” I guess.

  “Yeah. I decided coffee just wasn't going to cut it tonight.” She gets up and mixes another drink, returning to the table and setting it before me.

  I sip it, liking the tangy bite it has.

  “Do you know what I keep thinking?”

  “That drinking and thinking is a bad idea?”

  She shakes her head, swiping tangled hair from her face and behind her ears. “I keep thinking that, if I'd bothered to know who I was sleeping with, maybe none of this would be happening.”

  “Oh, Mom, don't think that way.” I reach across the small table and squeeze her hand.

  “I can't help it. What if it's genetic?” She blinks her eyes and tears fall from them. “What if your father has it or someone else in his family? Maybe they could have checked for it sooner. Maybe it could have been operated on before it got to the point where it couldn't be. If we'd only known, maybe none of this would be happening.”

  “And maybe it would have been, regardless. Thinking that way doesn't make a difference in any of this. It is what it is.”

  She snorts and takes another drink. “Delilah, stop sounding like the adult. You're making me look bad.”

  I get up with my glass and walk from the room. I come back holding a portable CD player my mom likes to drag into the backyard when she's gardening. It's old school, but effective for what she needs. Drinking to dull the pain is okay and everything, but there has to be a limit, and there has to be music and dancing involved to keep the heaviness out of the room.

  “What are you doing?”

  I hit play and turn the volume up. 'I Can't Change The World' by Brad Paisley flows from the speakers. My mom is a country music nut. I enjoy certain country songs, but I am more drawn to fast music with unexpected beats and bass, music that physically moves me, although I like anything, as long as it touches my heart or gets my body moving. But this is what my mom likes and tonight is her night, so I pull her up from the table as we sing along with Brad.

  It isn't that I've never had alcoholic beverages before, but the times have been infrequent and never with my mother. I suppose all sorts of rules need to be broken in instances like this. Mothers and daughters become drinking buddies, enemies become tolerable, strangers become lovers. One drink becomes two and we dance to Taylor Swift's 'Mean'.

  The music and drinks continue to flow as we decide to do makeovers. My mom forms my shoulder-length hair into messy curls, I paint her nails black with pink dots, and we talk about boys. I talk about Rivers and she talks about Neil's father. I wonder where he is. I wonder if he misses his son as much as my mom does. I wonder if he still loves her like she still loves him. Was the pain of losing Neil the last nail to fall from the woodwork of their connection? Love comes, it fades, it goes, but it always has the power to return. I don't even know if she realizes it, but her eyes light up and her voice softens as she talks about him.

  "You know the Willow tree in Mr. Miller's backyard?" I mention at some point during the evening. My eyes are tired and sleep is calling me, but I feel like we need to talk about this. It's important to talk about Henry Miller, his loss, and even his tree.

  My mom leans her back against mine, my eyes in one direction and hers in another. "Yes. You and Neil used to love playing on it. I can't count all the times you two would sneak off to it without telling me."

  "He never cared. Henry." My voice is soft.

  "No."

  "He used to sit on his back deck and watch us with a smile on his wrinkly face. He never said anything other than hello and goodbye, but I liked him. There was soundness to him, like he was an unbreakable foundation in an always changing world. Of course, back then I just thought he was neat because he had a Willow tree." I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. "There's something magical about that particular kind of tree. I wonder if Henry realizes that. I wonder if he had it put there for his family that he lost. Those trees cry for the dead. It's like their branches try to sweep up all the pain and loss in the world and hold it to them so that it does not touch us. I wonder if he thinks the same."

  She shifts her position until her side is to my back, placing an arm around me and resting her chin on the top of my head. "That sounds nice. I'm sure he does."

  "I think you should talk to him."

  She pauses, and then nods, her chin rubbing against my hair as she does so. "I think I will."

  The hours sweep by, turning the evening into late night, and when we finally fall asleep in a pile of blankets and pillows on the living room floor, I feel closer to my mother than I ever have before. I sleep with her herbal scent around me, at peace with tomorrow and whatever it will bring.

  I awaken to my mother shaking my shoulder and telling me to get up. “Rivers is here.” Her tone is firm, but I still catch the hint of sorrow in it. She's wondering how many more mornings we have together.

  I glance at her as I get to my feet, rubbing my forehead. “He said he wouldn't be over until later today.”

  “I think he wanted to surprise you.” She tries to smooth my curls that have turned into a natty mess. I let her, smiling at her when our eyes meet. Her hand slowly falls away and she gives me a tight hug. "Better hurry. He looked anxious."

  I race through the living room and up the stairs to the bathroom where I quickly brush my teeth. I don't even bother to look at my hair because I know if I do, I won't go downstairs until it's into some form of control and that would be wasting time better spent near Rivers. I sprint back down the stairs, take in the raised eyebrow my mom gives me from the kitchen as she says, "Tick tock," and come to a stop in the small entryway.

  Running my fingers through my hair as I move toward the door, I give up trying to detangle the curls when my fingers get caught in the locks. I open the door to sunshine and a gaze immediately set on me. My pulse picks up and flutters form in my stomach.

  Dark eyes hold me in place and I put a bright smile on my face. "Hey. I thought you had stuff to do this morning."

  "I talked to Thomas last night."

  "Oh?" That wasn't what I thought his first words would be to me. I was thinking something more like a hello, a comment on my bed head, maybe even declarations of love. "Is everything okay with you two?"

  He shrugs, looking down. Then he grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me outside and to him. His arms wrap around me as his cheek rests on the top of my head. His heartbeat thunders in his chest and I place my ear to it. "I missed you," he says into my hair.

/>   That's better. My smile deepens. "I missed you too."

  Rivers pulls away, studying my head. “What did you guys do last night? Exploratory hair fashion?"

  "You talked to Thomas about what last night?" I ask, deciding not to answer his question.

  "We have a cabin in the woods."

  "Isn't that one of those scary movies you made me watch that really wasn't scary?"

  "Yeah. Anyway, the cabin is about ten miles outside of Prairie du Chien. We have about a hundred acres of land we inherited from a distant relative of my mom's. Most of it is woods. I guess that's why we originally moved to the area, but Thomas didn't want to build on the land, so instead we found a house in town. There's a cabin there that we would stay in every once in a while as I was growing up. We'd hunt the woods and fish in the creek near it. I can't remember when I was there last. It's been a couple years. The point of all of this is that I talked to Thomas last night about me moving out there."

  Rivers inhales deeply, his eyes moving away from mine as he says, "I want you there with me. I mean, you don't have to live there, but I'd like you to stay with me for as long as...as long as you want. But if you want to sort of move in, that would be okay with me. I mean, I want you to, but if you don't, I understand. I know you'll love it out there. Nothing but trees, green grass—and bugs, but I can't help that. Sleeping without you beside me...it's...reprehensible. I went out there this morning and got it cleaned out. I thought it would take longer than it did. There's running water and electricity. It's small, but it's in good shape. It can be ours, for however long we want or need it to be. And—"

  I shut him up with my mouth to his, effectively cutting off his indefinite rambling. A zing goes through me at the touch of his lips to mine, a tremble forms in my legs, and my stomach dips. He ends the kiss only to suck air into his lungs, and then we're kissing again, his hands molding to my back and lower, pulling me against him so all of me touches all of him.

  "I'll go pack now." I turn to the door, tugging at his hand when he refuses to move. "Why aren't you moving?" I ask as I face him.

  He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again. "I don't know. I just thought that would be harder than it was."

  "You underestimate your power over me." I smile as our eyes connect. "Are you apprehensive now? Maybe you don't think you can handle me."

  His eyes narrow and he finally moves. "I think I'll be okay finding out." He runs his fingers down my back as we walk through the doorway and I shiver. "In fact, I think I'll be okay even if I can't handle you." Bringing his mouth close to my ear, he whispers, "I'm sort of counting on it."

  I swallow with difficulty, knowing it is beyond time for us to move past the point of what we are to delve into what we need to be. I also know, with absolute clarity, that it will break me, but in the most wonderful of ways.

  "One condition," I tell him, lifting my eyebrows.

  His answer is swift and firm. "Anything."

  I blow out a noisy breath. "You cannot—cannot—treat me like an invalid. You do and I go. Promise."

  Rivers takes my hands within his and declares, "Delilah Marie Bana, you have too much life in you to ever have me mistake you for being anything other than one hundred percent functional."

  I sigh, but it is a sigh of tranquility. Then I grin. "Did you totally just hear me sigh? I'm sighing for you."

  "You act like you haven't been doing that all along."

  The scent of baking cinnamon hits me as I step into the house and sorrow forms around the edges of my excitement. My mother and I are finally bridging the gap between us and now I am going to blow it apart once more with my distance. This time it is a physical instead of mental distance, but does that really make it any less painful? My mother needs me too. And I need her.

  As though Rivers senses my thoughts, he enfolds my hand in his and squeezes, giving me support without saying a single thing. I tell him I need to talk to my mom for a minute and he nods, releasing my hand and moving into the living room. I watch him, the embodiment of all that I treasure, and I turn away, toward the woman who gave me this gift of life I cannot keep.

  Her back is to me, and even so, I can see the stiffness to it that tells me she knows something is up. She wipes her hands on a dish towel and places a pan of dough in the oven, finally turning to look at me. Her smile is brave, but I still catch the hint of melancholy in her eyes. They are darkened by it. "You're going to stay with Rivers," she states softly.

  "I am." I hover by the doorway, looking at the one person I have looked up to, resented, loved as long as I have been alive, and miss even as I am in the same room as her.

  "You'll call me?" She blinks her eyes and lowers her head, the trembling of her shoulders betraying her valiant effort to remain dry-eyed.

  "I'll do better than call you. I'll visit." I smile as she looks up. "I can't promise every day, but every week. And you'll come see me too. We should plan something now, in fact. How about this weekend? We'll invite Monica over too. I'll cook supper." My smile widens. "Not anything with peanut butter, I promise."

  "I would love that."

  "I'll have Monica pick you up since she knows the way. I'll tell her four on Saturday?"

  The sadness fades as brightness takes over her face in the form of a smile. "Yes. I look forward to it."

  I cross the room to give her a hug, pressing my forehead to hers before letting her go. "Don't worry about calling me or visiting too much. There is no such thing as too much."

  Her voice cracks as she replies with, "Right. Like fun and booze."

  "Exactly like that."

  She moves away, turning back almost immediately. Her eyes trail over my features, as though she is trying to memorize me as I am right now. "It is so hard to let you go, knowing...knowing what we know. But I also know I can't keep you here and I wouldn't want to try. You deserve to be happy and positive and you need to be with Rivers too. I just wanted to tell you that."

  I take her hands within mine, squeezing them. "Thank you. I love you."

  "I love you too. Go on. I'll see you soon. Oh, and take some cinnamon bread with you before you go."

  "I will."

  Rivers meets me at the bottom of the stairs and wordlessly lifts his eyebrows. I shrug and head upstairs with him following me. He sits on my bed and examines my room as I find my black and white polka dotted luggage I plan on taking on my Amtrak trip.

  "The Brewers game is next Sunday."

  I fall onto the bed beside him, pulling him down with me. "I can't wait."

  "You know, before I would have thought you were speaking with sarcasm, but I know you really can't wait. All it took was one baseball game."

  "All it took was one awesome baseball game. And you."

  "I just made you go."

  I shake my head, brushing strands of hair from my face. "No. You played baseball. You ran. You did that for me."

  "I did, yeah. I also did it for me. I needed to try it. I needed to prove to myself, and everyone else, that I could do it."

  "I know." I touch his cheek. "Thank you for not treating me differently, for not acting like I am about to break."

  "How can I do any less than you have done for me?" He faces forward, briefly closing his eyes. "I keep telling myself it isn't real. I keep telling myself it is impossible that one day you won't be here, smiling at me, teasing me, making me feel like I am someone special with just one glance of your golden eyes my way."

  "You are someone special."

  "I only feel that way with you," he insists.

  I partially sit up, resting my chin on my hand as I look down at him. "Then you need to change the way you think about yourself."

  He rolls his eyes and pulls me back down, wrapping his arms around me to keep me next to him. "You should have been a motivational speaker, you know that?"

  "Well, I am multi-talented."

  He strokes my hair and my eyelids turn heavy. "I'm not going to treat you like you're helpless. You didn't do that to me and
I'm not going to do it to you. But I also refuse to accept what life has decided to give us. It's crap. Pure crap." Sighing, he releases me. "Come on, let's get your stuff ready."

  THE MOON IS OUR SPOTLIGHT and we are the performers. Around us is a barrier of tall pine trees, the stars are our blanket, and we are safe within our dark world. Nothing can touch us. Nothing can take me away. The cabin is along the edge of trees to our right, alight with the soft glow of a single lamp in its window, and beyond it is a forest of life.

  And we dance.

  With our bodies, hands, and mouths, we say what is needed. With every touch, I tell him I love him. With every kiss he places on my lips, he tells me it back. I close my eyes, rest my cheek to his heart, and inhale deeply. It doesn't matter that our movements are a touch uncoordinated. I find the limp in Rivers' gait the purest form of elegance. When his expression shows a hint of frustration, my smile dispels it. He is beautiful to me. Perfect. I whisper this into his ear and his arms tighten around me.

  There comes a point where the sweetness of the moment turns into something more. Our kisses are more urgent, the clothes between us are too heavy, and I step away. The flash of disappointment in his eyes is clear to see, but fades as soon as I grab the hem of my top and tug it off, throwing it as far away from me as I can. I laugh at the look on his face.

  "Surprised?" I reach around me and unhook my bra, slowly sliding it down my arms, and let it drop to the cool grass.

  He sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes going black.

  "I guess so." Next come my shorts.

  When I reach for my underwear, Rivers says in a harsh voice, "What are—"

  I step out of them, whatever he was going to say dying on his lips as he stares at me. I think I catch a curse word, but his lips are on mine before I can ask. The tremble to his hands as they trail over me makes me smile, the raggedness of his breathing turns mine just as disjointed. I feel his heart thundering. I feel the way he wants me. I am alive in him, in this moment.