Where the Stars Still Shine(45)

Free.

“I, um—” In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve found a job, a friend—even as turbulent as our best-friendship has been so far—and a parent who grounds me when I mess up. Greg’s been a safety net when I fall. And that’s a kind of freedom I would have never expected. But none of this is what she wants to hear. I smile and rest my head on her bony shoulder. “Sounds good, Mom.”

My cell phone buzzes with an incoming text message. She reaches for it and I see Alex’s name flash across the screen. “Ooh, Alex,” she teases. “Let’s see what Alex has to say.”

“Mom—” I make a grab for the phone, but she holds it out of my reach as she fumbles for the button that will reveal his message. I stand and lunge for it, ripping it from her grasp.

Her eyebrows lift.

“Interesting.” Her voice is soft as I pocket the phone without reading his message, even though I’m dying to know what he said. “Is he Greek?”

I never told her about any of the other guys I’ve been with because they weren’t worth mentioning, but now—Alex might be worth it, and I’m afraid telling her will ruin everything. “He—he’s nothing.”

“Obviously.” She laughs and stubs out her cigarette in the candle again. I make a mental note to get rid of it before Greg sees. “Be careful with those Greek boys, though. They’ll break your heart.”

Except I know better. I’ve seen the photos in the red leather album that tell a different story about who’s heart was broken.

“I have to go to work in the morning,” I say. “You can stay with me tonight if you want, but you should probably be gone before Greg and Phoebe get up at seven.”

Leaving her sitting on the couch, I go into the bathroom to read Alex’s text.

It’s dark out tonight and the sky is thick with stars. I think you’d love it.

I lean against the bathroom wall and close my eyes, trying to picture what he sees. Imagining him at the wheel of his boat as he heads out into the dark water of the Gulf of Mexico. I look out my little window but the sky is obscured by trees and houses. I send a message back, just four words.

I’m sure of it.

The phone buzzes again.

I’m about to lose signal, but don’t make any dates this weekend.

My mouth spreads to a mile-wide smile, as I answer.

Too late. Unless you’ve got plans with someone else on Saturday night.

Buzz.

I’m all yours.

I stand there, attempting to think of a clever response, but my brain has abandoned my head and taken off for the party my heart is throwing in my chest. I’m all yours. I can’t stop smiling as I brush my teeth and change into my pajamas. I’m all yours. I arrange my face into a less incandescent expression so Mom won’t ask questions, but by the time I come out of the bathroom, she’s already tucked beneath the covers of my bed.

Typical.

Most everywhere we’ve lived she’s chosen the best sleeping space, claiming that because she worked, she needed a good night’s sleep. That usually left me with the too-short couch, or the uncomfortable foldout sofa, or the sleeping bag on the floor. That was the worst, especially when it was cold. Although the Airstream’s couch converts to a full-size bed, I climb in beside my mother, something I haven’t done since I was very small. She rolls onto her side and faces the wall, giving me what little room is left.

“Mom?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I’ve got money,” I whisper. “If you can get my computer back, I’ll give you some of it. Just—please?”

I wait, but she doesn’t reply, except for the deep, even breaths that come with sleep. I shift so my back is against hers, stealing a little comfort from the soft vibration of her snores. Except my happiness that she’s here is eroded by worry that Greg is going to discover her in his own backyard, and I can’t sleep. What am I going to do when she’s raised enough money to leave? My life is complicated now and I’m no longer so certain I can just walk away from my dad. And this time I’m old enough to have a choice.

I draw Toot up under my chin and stroke my finger across the soft wales of a brown corduroy patch, the way I used to do when I was a little girl. It’s as soothing now as it was back then and I finally fall asleep.

When my alarm goes off the next morning, Mom is already gone.





“I can’t ask Kat because she’s already left for school.” Phoebe’s cell phone is wedged between her ear and shoulder, as she scoops oatmeal into a bowl on Joe’s high chair tray. He dips his fingers into the steamy mush. “Use your spoon,” she says, before returning to her call. “Are you sure you can’t come home? What about your mom? Do you think she could watch the boys?”

Tucker wriggles off his chair, saying my name over and over until it becomes a string of sound—calliecalliecalliecallie—and attaches himself to my leg. “Pick me up.”

“Greg—” Phoebe stops abruptly when she sees me, and I feel as if I’ve walked in on another private conversation about me. “I just—”

She’s quiet as she listens to whatever it is he has to say. I imagine he’s defending me because he does that. Pretending I’m not paying attention, I reach down for my little brother. As I hoist him up, I groan and strain, as if he’s too big for me to lift. “You must have grown a million inches last night, Tuck. Or have you been eating rocks?”