Where the Stars Still Shine(10)

If he sees me standing beyond the reach of his light, he gives nothing away. I watch, curiously, as he threads one last sponge, then secures the entire string to the underside of the roof.

“You know”—his voice is low as he knots off the second end of the cord. The muscles in his tanned arms flex—“you’re kind of creeping me out, standing in the dark.”

I move into the light.

His dark eyes rest on my face long enough to bring heat to my cheeks, and he gives me a little half smile that makes my heart grow wings. They beat against my rib cage as I take a bolder step closer.

“Better,” he says.

“What, um—what were you doing just now? With the—” I gesture toward the garlands of sponges.

A quiet laugh rumbles up from his chest. “You must not be from around here, huh?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, I can give you the tourist brochure version,” he says. “Or, we could grab a beer and I’ll give you the behind-the-scenes version.”

I know how this works: flirt, drink, sex. A familiar road on a brand-new map.

“What time is it?” I ask, wondering if Greg knows I’m gone.

“Eight thirty, maybe? Early.”

“I really—” I look at him and he’s standing on the side rail of his boat, poised to step down to the pavement if I say the word. The air between us is thick with want. Mine. His. It doesn’t make sense because I don’t know him. I don’t even know his name. He’s only the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and I’m so, so tempted. But I also know how this ends. And after everything that’s happened in the past two days, I’m not sure I want to add feeling like a slut to my to-do list. “I need to go.”

“Wait,” he says, as I turn away. “Can I drive you … somewhere?”

“Not tonight,” I say. “But thanks for the offer.”

I don’t look at him again, because if I do, I will change my mind.

Greg’s house is dark when I get back, only one light still shining. I picture him and Phoebe tucking the boys in bed, reading stories and kissing them good night. I remember bedtime stories, but more than that, I remember when they stopped. After we left Frank, we lived in the empty model home in Washington State. It was at the head of a cul-de-sac with no other houses. No grass. No trees. There were only depressions along the side of the street where driveways would go. Mom would tuck me into my sleeping bag on the floor of the room with mermaid wallpaper border and tell me to pretend it was my island.

“Stay on the island so the sharks won’t get you,” she’d say, kissing my forehead.

Then she would go to work, leaving me alone in the dark to worry about imaginary sharks and real live men who prey on little girls.

Pushing the thoughts away, I cross the backyard. I jolt at the dark shape of a person sitting on the step of the trailer and for a heart-rattling second I’m convinced it’s Frank.

It’s Greg.

“Sorry if I scared you.” He stands. “But—the first place my mind went—well, I thought you took off.”

“I just—I went for a walk.”

“You know how we talked about rules earlier?” He runs his hand over the top of his head. “Well, one of them will be that you need to tell me where you’re going and when you’ll be home.”

“Okay.”

“And tomorrow we’ll get you a cell phone so you can text me or something when you decide to go wandering, okay?”

“Okay.”

He exhales slowly. “You scared the hell out of me. Don’t do that again.”

“I won’t.” The words don’t mean anything. I might not be here tomorrow, and I don’t owe him anything. He steps toward me, as if he’s going to give me a hug. Reflexively I take a half step back, and he stops himself. The whole thing is awkward, and I just want to go inside and sleep.

“I went down to the sponge docks,” I offer.

“Really?” I can’t see his face light up, but his tone shines and I can tell this makes him happy. “What did you think?”

My mind beats a path directly to the guy on the boat and how easy it would have been to sleep with him. “It was … interesting.”





Chapter 4


The sky is still streaked with tangerine-colored sunrise clouds as I tape a note to the door of the Airstream:

Went for a walk. I’ll be back.

I’m not sure how I feel about being accountable, but leaving the note seems easier than getting another ambush lecture about it later. Mom usually had no idea where I was, especially as I got older and she took more night jobs. I haunted the library by day and wandered the streets in the evening until I got tired or the town curfew—whichever came first. That’s how I met Danny.

The last place we lived—God, it was only days ago I left there, but it already seems like some different lifetime—was a cornfield town with a handful of stoplights and a slaughterhouse at its edge. Every Saturday night—and never on Friday because Fridays were for football—kids from all over the county would make their way downtown, cruising up and down Union in their farm pickups and hand-me-down sedans, before gathering in the parking lot of the Big Chief to make plans.

The night I wandered in, Mom was working. We were a payday away from being able to fill the refrigerator, and I had just about enough cash for a small order of chili-cheese tater tots. Danny was there with his summer-sky eyes and get-in-your-pants grin. He left his friends and slid into the bench beside me. He smelled like flannel shirt and boy deodorant, and I smacked his hand when he reached for one of my tater tots.