Beneath the Stars

by Emily McIntire

  “Hi, Mama,” I breathe.

  The breeze caresses my face and I smile.

  “I miss you… so much. I’d give anything to have you here. You know, there’s still this hole inside me from the piece you took when you left. I don’t think there’s anything on this Earth that can fill it back up again.”

  A knot forms in my throat and I close my eyes, tears seeping out of the corners. No matter how much time passes, the pain never fades. You just learn how to live with it inside you. Careful not to pick the scab.

  “I don’t know if you’ve got any pull up there, but if you do… could you try and get Eli to come home every once in a while? We could really use him ‘round here. I’m sure you know Daddy isn’t doin’ so well since you’ve been gone.” I shake my head, chuckling. “I bet you’re sick of hearin’ me say the same things week after week. I’m just hopin’ one of these times you’ll give me a solution.”

  I pause, listening to the silence. Waiting with bated breath for a miracle.

  But just like every other time I visit, a miracle never comes.

  19

  Chase

  Twenty-Five Years Old

  “I have a date tonight.”

  Doc hums in his chair. It used to annoy me, but now the rumble is comforting. I don’t need long responses, and he doesn’t push me to verbalize things that are easier to write down. Yeah, he was right about the journaling. Fuck me, you know?

  “Are you nervous?” he asks.

  “I feel like I should be, right? I’m twenty-five and I’ve never gone on an actual date.” The guilt knocks, trying to work its way inside as I realize I never even took Goldi on a fucking date.

  I shake off the feeling. “I’m not nervous. I don’t really feel anything, to be honest. Her name’s Marissa, by the way. Not that you asked, Doc. You never do. But your method seems to work, so what do I know? You’re the professional here, not me.” I’m rambling, every word out of my mouth costing another twenty cents, but I can’t stop.

  “I mean, do you think I should be nervous?” I’m sitting on the couch, elbows resting on my knees. I gave up the whole lying down thing. Made me feel a little too One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

  “I think it’s normal to feel nervous. Or excited. But all of your feelings are valid, Chase. No matter what they are.”

  I click my tongue, analyzing him. “See, Doc, that’s why I pay you the big bucks. You always know the right things to say.”

  I’ve been coming to Doc for three years now, and some days, I feel like he’s my best friend. How fucking pathetic is that?

  There’s a group of guys from work I grab beers with, but it’s all surface level. Especially once I was promoted to Construction Engineering Project Manager. The pay is nice, but I found out quickly people treat you differently when you’re above them in management. That’s how I met Marissa, though. She’s a designer for one of our industrial complexes.

  I’ve picked up a lot of girls in the past five years, always for a quick thrill and a release of tension. A nice, warm hole for my cock to disappear in for a while. But I’ve never given them the time of day beyond that. Not until Marissa. I’m not sure what it was that made me ask her out. Maybe it was the conversation. She’s the first woman to hold my interest long enough to look into her head instead of staring at her tits. Or, maybe it’s the fact that with her jet-black hair, big brown eyes and legs for days, she’s the exact opposite of the girl my heart still beats for—no matter how many times I try to change its cadence.

  Journal Entry # 156

  I fucked a woman tonight. It felt good. I mean, obviously. It was fucking sex. And this girl fuck, woman. She sucked my cock like a Hoover.

  I really thought this one would be different, you know? We had things in common. Liked the same movies and shit like that. And I swear, I tried so hard to be invested. But every time she laughed, I compared it to the sound of Goldi’s. Every time she touched me, I waited for the sizzle to burn through my veins, but was left feeling cold. And when I came inside her, I had to close my eyes and imagine it was Goldi’s tight pussy. FUUUUCK. It’s like I can’t even function normally for a damn day. Maybe I’m destined to hate myself forever because my brain couldn’t stop being a little bitch for two seconds and ended up losing the other half of my soul.

  Jesus, I hope nobody ever finds this notebook.

  Doc thinks my problem is I was never shown healthy love during my “formative years.” Whatever the fuck that means. But Doc is usually right.

  I think there’s only one time ever where my mom even said the words. I wanted to tell him about it. So he would know that my mom DID love me, at least once. But like usual, my throat closed up and my chest started to cave in, so the words stayed buried.

  So here goes, notebook. I’m gonna tell you.

  I can’t remember how old I was, I think maybe four or five. Lily was still in diapers, I know that much. It was a good day, though. My birthday. My mom was in a happy mood, which was fucking rare. I didn’t know about drugs back then, only that she needed medicine and got sick a lot when she didn’t have it. But that day she was glowing. I remember her laugh the most. It lit me up inside and made me want to tell the whole world she had made that noise just for me.

  She woke me up that morning and said we were gonna go out for ice cream. “A birthday treat for a birthday boy.” We didn’t have money, so luxuries like birthday presents weren’t a thing. I was excited, naturally. I had never had a birthday treat before.

  I picked vanilla and she let me load it up with all the toppings I wanted. It was the happiest I’d ever been. Funny how something so small can have such a huge impact.

  We sat at the tiny metal table in the corner of the shop, the stools uneven and wobbly. It was there she told me how much she loved me. Made me promise to always look after Lily. “You’re a good brother. I can rest easy knowing Lily will always have you to take care of her.” Her words filled me up like a balloon, and I swear to god I was floating all the way home. My whole life I tried everything to get her love, and finally, I had it. I never wanted to lose it again. Never wanted to do anything to make her love me any less.

  I really thought she was better. She hadn’t been sick all day. Hope filled me that things were going to be different.

  We got home and she put Lily down for a nap. Said I should take one too, that she was gonna run to the corner store since we didn’t have any food for dinner.

  Jesus. I’ve never thought until this moment how irresponsible she was leaving a fucking child and a toddler alone in the apartment.

  But back then, it was a normal way of life.

  I woke up to the sound of Lily crying. It wasn’t an unusual alarm clock for me. I got up with her a lot, especially in the night when my mom was locked in her room or busy making sure every speck of dust was gone from our apartment. She didn’t like for us to bother her when she got in one of those moods, so I’d always rush in to keep Lily quiet.

  Tonight though, it was still early. Before dinner, for sure. My stomach was growling, the ice cream and remnants of my mom’s words the only things sloshing around in my belly.

  I went into the kitchen, knowing Lily probably wanted milk and I was relieved because Mom had already gone to the store.

  But when I got to the fridge, it was empty. All I could find was a sleeve of opened crackers in the cabinet.

  Mom was awake. I could hear her pacing the living room, ignoring Lily’s cries. My stomach sank as I watched her, peeking around the corner from the kitchen. She was in another one of her moods. “A side effect” of her medicine, she called it.

  I remember thinking that she must have been feeling sick and needed the grocery money for herself. But I knew if she used it on that, we wouldn’t be getting anything in our bellies that night.

  I crept back down the hallway, careful not to disturb her. She had a temper, and it had been such a good day. I didn’t want to ruin it.

  So I filled up a cup with water and hoped
it would be enough for Lily to get through the night. I stayed in her room and cuddled her up, nothing but tap water and stale crackers to keep us from going hungry. I held on to the words my mom had told me earlier. She loved me and I was a good brother. The best.

  I convinced myself that it was enough.

  20

  Alina

  Twenty-Four Years Old

  “Hey, I think you dropped this.”

  I’m rushing out the door of the rec center, digging through my bag, trying to find my keys. I have to get to my shift at the diner before Patty yells at me again for running late. I can’t afford to tick her off.

  “Excuse me, miss! Wait up.”

  I spin around, realizing the deep southern voice is trying to get my attention. Logan Baxter stands in front of me. I’ve turned so quickly my hands have landed on his chest to balance myself. I’m basically fondling his extremely defined pecs. My face flushes as I rip them away and take a few steps back.

  I know him, of course. Well, I know of him. We went to school together, and by “together,” I mean he was a senior when I was a freshman. Where Reed Stanton was the star quarterback, Logan Baxter was the shining wide receiver. A few months after our date, Reed went on to play college ball before declaring for the draft—going first overall. No surprise there. Logan, on the other hand, kept himself right here in good ‘ol Sugarlake.

  Logan grins. A crooked smile that pulls up a pinch more on the right. He reaches out, placing the missing keys in my hand.

  “You dropped these.” He trails his cerulean eyes from my plain ballet flats up to my flushed face. “Alina, right?”

  “Uhh... yeah. Yep. And you’re Logan.” I stumble over my words.

  “That’s the rumor.”

  His laid back personality reminds me of Jax, instantly putting me at ease. “Well, thanks for my keys. I woulda been up the creek without a paddle if it weren’t for you.”

  “No problem, just happy I was behind you.” He smiles, a glint lighting up his eyes.

  His words send a tingle rushing through me. His short blond hair is damp, and when he runs his thick fingers through it, that tingle shoots straight to my core. I can’t help it. It’s been a seriously long time since I’ve had any sexual contact.

  I shift on my feet. “Were you here workin’ out?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m a personal trainer. This is where I meet my clients.”

  “Well, shoot. I can’t believe I’ve never run into you before. I’ve been teachin’ dance here for years.”

  “I know.”

  “Oh, okay then.” I look off to the side, biting the inside of my cheek. I really need to get my butt in gear—Patty will be fit to be tied and ready to rake me over the coals. It’s hard though when Logan keeps looking at me like I’m his next meal. Although my heart doesn’t react to his perusal, my body sure does. So, I give him my number and make plans to meet up that night. Sometimes a girl’s just gotta get a little relief.

  A few days later, I’m with Becca for our Saturday brunch. It’s nice having her back in town. After she graduated from FCU, she came home, accepting a social work position at Sugarlake High. She spent all her life complaining about feeling trapped. Swore up and down she would never step foot in Sugarlake again, but here she is. I think facing the big, bad world scares her more. Better the devil you know.

  She and Jax started forcing these “friend dates” on me when they were fed up with my self-imposed solitude. Normally Jax would be meeting us, but he’s in California working with some fancy producer who wants his cars for a new indie production. I’m so proud of him. It’s what he’s been working toward since I’ve known him. But I can’t help feeling like everyone’s life is growing and changing while mine moves backward.

  I’m filling Becca in on my newfound “friendship” with Logan when my phone rings. Eli’s name flashes. Dang. I forgot today was our monthly call. I chew on my bottom lip, deliberating whether to answer or to ignore him and just order another mimosa. The mimosa wins.

  “Who was that?” Becca asks with a mouthful of food.

  “Eli.”

  She fidgets. “Oh. How is your brother, anyway?”

  I shrug. “He’s good as far as I know. Not that he tells me much. He won’t stop sendin’ money even though I tell him I don’t want it.”

  Truthfully, every time we talk it turns into an argument. He refuses to stop writing checks every month, and I refuse to let Daddy pour every dime of it down his throat.

  “You should just take the money, Lee. He’s clearly tryin’ to help.”

  “He could help by comin’ home,” I snap.

  “Have you even asked him why he won’t?”

  My eyes narrow, irritation tightening my throat. It almost sounds like she’s defending him.

  She throws her hands up. “I’m just sayin’. You don’t seem to know much about how things have been for him. Maybe you should take the time to ask.”

  I huff out a breath, crossing my arms. “Please. He’s pretty serious with some girl down there. Seems happy. What else is there to know?”

  The sound of Becca’s fork clattering onto her plate is jarring. She recovers fast, clearing her throat and picking it back up. Before I can ask what’s wrong, she’s on to the next subject like nothing ever happened.

  I spend the rest of brunch listening to her telling stories of her college friends. My heart squeezes at the thought I won’t ever experience the kind of life she’s lived. Even if I wanted to, I can’t leave Daddy. I’m all he’s got.

  Daddy’s what I like to call a cycler. Some days he’s quiet. Ignoring me, but normal. As normal as he can be with a gallon of whiskey in his belly. Other times he gets downright mean, taking out his anger with God on everyone around him. Once the dust settles—the lacerations barely healed from his cutting words, he’s back to the sullen and distant man I’ve come to know. Those are the days I ache for his words. I pray to hear that he doesn’t mean it when he says he wishes I’d disappear like Eli. Or that it’s my fault Mama’s dead.

  I know it’s the drink talking, not him. I have to hold on to the belief my real daddy is still in there somewhere. But, dang, it’s exhausting. He’s got cement shoes dragging him under, and I’m the only one left to hold his hand, desperately trying to keep his head above water.

  “Hey, Mama.”

  There’s no breeze today, the Tennessee heat sweltering on my face as I lay in the summer sun.

  “I met a guy. He’s nice, I think you’d like him. We’re not datin’ or anything. I’m not interested in that. But he serves a purpose, and makes me feel a little less lonely when we’re together.”

  I sit up, throwing my hair into a ponytail, the wispies sticking to the sweat on the back of my neck. “I’m sure you’re turnin’ over in your grave with that information. But it is what it is. I’d like to think if it were a different world, I could open up and let him in. But…” I sigh, looking down at the grass, picking a blade and twisting it between my fingers. “The truth is, my heart’s still taken by that broody boy with the scar through his eyebrow and the dimples in his cheeks.”

  It’s the first time I’ve admitted it out loud. The fact that Chase still has a hold on me after all these years. I hate him for what he’s done to me. But I’d be a liar if I said my heart still didn’t beat for every piece of his damaged soul.

  “Anyway. I’m not sure if you have any pull up there, but if you do…”

  21

  Chase

  Twenty-Eight Years Old

  “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”

  The voices repeat the phrase in unison, echoing off the walls in the basement of the church. I let the silence linger for a few moments, allowing the words to resonate before I speak. “Thanks, everyone for coming tonight. Whether you shared or just listened. See you next week, same time.”

  I’m not a big proponent for God, but Nar-Anon
’s message is more of surrendering control to whatever higher power you choose to believe in. It’s a crucial part of recovery, and while I’m not sure what that higher power is, I do believe there is one. I have to believe there is one.

  Two years ago, I finally opened up more to Doc, letting him read my journal entries. It’s been a lot of inner work, but I’ve recognized how the drug addictions of my mom and sister were the biggest factors of shaping how I handle relationships. Of shaping how I handle life.

  I had never heard of Nar/Al-Anon groups, but Doc gave me pamphlets and explained how they were support groups similar to Alcoholics Anonymous, but for family members affected by addiction.

  It took me two months to get the courage to go to a meeting. It took me six months to stand up and tell my story. Once I did, there was no turning back. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel so alone. Other people stood up and shared, flaying themselves open to showcase the pain from the addiction that cost them their loved ones. If they could be vulnerable, I figured fuck it. I could try. And so began the biggest strides in my healing.

  Four months ago, the founder of our local chapter moved to Georgia, leaving a spot open for someone new to lead the group. I have no fucking idea how it happened, but that someone became me.

  I’m twenty-eight-years-old and it’s the first time I can say I’m content with myself. It’s amazing how different things become when you aren’t harboring a lifetime’s worth of self-hatred. I’ve worked through the loathing of my culpability in Lily’s downward spiral. I’ve struggled with it. But I’ve accepted that she was battling her own demons, ones that had nothing to do with me. It’s a regret I’ll live with the rest of my life, knowing I chose to be blind to her pain.