Between Us and the Moon

by Rebecca Maizel

  Fourteen days until all my lies come crashing down on me. Ever since I realized that Andrew was invited to Scarlett’s party, it comes back into my head on a delayed loop. The last ten days or so I’ve just been on autopilot. But when I’m alone for five minutes, it will sweep through, unwelcome, haunting me. The beach, the party, Andrew’s house—again and again.

  Why did I have to pick a boy who knows my sister?

  The radio echoes in Dad’s office and he turns it up to hear the DJ.

  “Tropical storm Lola is heading across the ocean toward the East Coast. It’s too early to accurately decipher if she’ll be a hurricane. Keep it here for updates on 96.3 the Rose.”

  There’s the squeak of his chair and he stands in the doorway.

  “It’s 9:45, kiddo,” he says. “Make any headway?”

  “Tons,” I lie.

  Dad combs his hair to the side to cover his bald spot. Once he puts the comb in his front pocket, we lock up the office.

  “Looks like we might all blow away at your sister’s going-away party,” Dad says as we walk from Building 40 to the seal aquariums.

  “Maybe we can position Scarlett for the strongest gust.”

  “Come on,” Dad says with a laugh. “I’ll let you feed Bumper first.”

  Bumper and Lu Seal turn and spin, uninterested in the walls holding in their tank. I’ve dropped a few fish into the water, but it isn’t holding the same thrill that it usually does. Dad asks all kinds of questions about the temperature of the water and the seals’ daily maintenance. Bumper and Lu Seal don’t need to do tricks for their food. I love their little whiskers and tiny mouths. Bumper’s eyes have a milky film over them—they’re not deep brown like Lu Seal’s.

  In the distance, down the street filled with tourists, the Martha’s Vineyard ferry blows its low horn.

  You don’t get into MIT and track comets by dating every guy in the world.

  Lu Seal’s little flippers propel her down the long length of the tank. I focus on the ripples in the blue depth of the water.

  I am running out of time, I know that. Either I leave early and never speak to Andrew again or I say something. The truth is going to come out at the going-away party. Maybe I can invent some reason for Andrew to miss the party altogether. I have to go to the party, what am I talking about?

  I groan but cover it up with a cough so Dad doesn’t notice. That’s ridiculous.

  I want to dive in there with those seals. Bumper twists and turns in that water even though he can’t see a thing. I wish he knew how beautiful he looked.

  Scarlett used to come to seal feeding day when we were little. We would come here and afterward go on the Fort Hill Walk. It is a trail that leads through the Eastham woods. A boardwalk snakes and curls through hundreds of moss-covered trees. It was magical to me then, a place with great but silent power.

  We always went every year at the beginning of the summer and then again at the end. That reminds me that I have junior year orientation in a few weeks too. Summer goes by too fast. Everything I’ve done, all the places I’ve gone and people I met will slip away soon, just like the warm weather and salty air.

  I have to go back to Rhode Island and back to my life. My life where I get my driver’s license this year and start prepping for the SATs. I don’t want to stand here anymore. Seal feeding day isn’t making me feel better like I thought it would. I walk over to Dad, who is still chatting with a couple of scientists.

  “I’m gonna go for a walk,” I say. “Just go think for a while.”

  “That essay’s got you distracted from Bumper and Lu Seal,” Dad says.

  “You got it!” I lie, but manage a smile.

  “Bean’s applying for the Waterman Scholarship . . .” Dad starts on his whole spiel about the comet and me. Some of the biologists wish me luck.

  I say thank you and head out.

  “Eleven months of calculations!” I hear Dad say before entering back into the main building. “A hundred percent accuracy.”

  Even though I know the Alvin is not assembled, I head to the tool shop.

  I keep thinking about the night of the party at that airport bistro. The night I wore that ridiculous dress. Mom thought I had been home but I had already been out for hours. That gnawing doubt I felt that night, that tidal pool churning in my stomach, swirls again.

  I make it back to Building 40 and push through the double doors of the tech shop. I walk directly to the spot where the Alvin would usually stand, but the floor is bare.

  It’s only been a minute, but Rodger stands by my side.

  “You look like someone stole your puppy.”

  “Mom’s allergic to dog hair.”

  Rodger’s hand gently cups my shoulder. “You know, the Alvin is just the vessel,” he says. “It’s the scientist inside that counts.”

  He leaves to do something important, like all the scientists do. Was the comet experiment important? Yes, I know in my heart the execution of that experiment was huge. I can track comets. I can track them from millions of miles away.

  The Scarlett Experiment was important too. But it’s not that important anymore.

  I stare at the floor where the ghost of the Alvin stands. Scarlett would never find beauty in the deepest sea. She barely likes sand on her toes.

  Jim Morrison said, “break on through to the other side.” He said it over and over. Break on through, break on through, break on through. I text Andrew before I chicken out.

  ME: I want to try out the Fort Hill trail. Want to come with me?

  ANDREW: Never been. Totally game but stuck with work for the next few days.

  ME: Perfect.

  Andrew will be blindsided at the party. The time has come. And I’m doing it as soon as possible, before I can’t, before I break apart and fade away too.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “HOW IS IT THAT I’M A LOCAL AND HAVE NEVER been here?” Andrew asks a few days later and slides out of the truck.

  My heart is pounding so hard I’m nearly out of breath. This is it. The moment. We stand in the upper parking lot at the entrance to the Eastham, Fort Hill trail.

  “I used to come here with my family,” I say and lean on the hood of the car. The trail leads through the Nauset marshlands, but across the bay, the ocean waves crash onto the outer beach, Nauset Beach. All I can do is stay focused. Tell him the truth and don’t chicken out. I’d been practicing in the mirror for the last day or so but could never look in my eyes when I said the words aloud.

  “You know,” Andrew says, taking his place next to me, “you can drive from the outer beach almost all the way out there.” Andrew points to the farthest tip of sand.

  “Where we were for our first date?”

  “That’s a lot farther but the same basic idea,” he says and gestures to the path that leads down into the Fort Hill boardwalk. He takes my hand. “Ready?”

  “Steady” is on the tip of my tongue, but it feels so silly now. I can’t believe that was a “thing” Tucker and I ever said to one another.

  We walk out of the marshlands and onto the boardwalk that leads through the forest. The sunlight fades the deeper we get into the woods.

  “Wow,” he says, ducking under a massive tree trunk that arches six feet above the boardwalk. “You’d never know the beach was behind us.”

  I inhale the familiar, earthy smell of the moss and bark of the red cedar trees. I just need the right moment or a logical transition. Everything in my body feels tight, from my forearms to my jaw. The pressure to tell him is hardening my muscles. This cannot be good for me.

  “So are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Andrew says. “You hardly said anything in the car.”

  “I’m sorry. Here it is. It’s just, my aunt, the one we stay with every summer? She wants me to be just like my sister.”

  Do it. Say it. Say it. Just say, like my sister, Scarl—

  He has that look again, that concerned, “I am here for you” look and I want to scream.

  His ex
pression eats away my words.

  “My sister has a lot of different interests and I guess I’m more . . .” I search for the word. “One-note,” I say.

  I can barely stop myself from cradling my head in my hands as I walk.

  “You’re not that way at all,” Andrew says and takes a hold of my hand. “You’re the opposite of one-note.”

  “My sister spends all this time with my aunt during the year. And they can talk to each other, really talk, you know? My aunt doesn’t know how to talk to me. She thinks I need to be the same as I was before. . . .”

  “Wait, Scarlett! Wait for me!”

  Scarlett runs ahead, follows the curve of the boardwalk, and disappears around a bend. Her laughter curls into the air.

  “Beanie, look at this tree,” Dad says. He stops and Mom follows after Scarlett. Dad touches an ancient limb of a tree. The moss is soft and I run my fingertips over it again and again. “Feather flat moss,” Dad says. “It means the forest is old.”

  Dad holds on to my hand as we keep walking. We finally catch up to Scarlett and Mom. Scarlett pirouettes and leaps down the boardwalk.

  “You try it!” Scarlett calls to me, and I try to jump too. I don’t land as quietly as she can. Our laughter ripples into the air.

  I refocus on the boardwalk. Andrew walks quietly by my side. He doesn’t press me to talk. That’s a nice change from Tucker, who always told me how I was feeling before I had the words to articulate it.

  We’re not far from Dad’s tree; it’s right up ahead. I recognize it from the specific twist of the gnarled branches. This one has a massive branch that arches overhead too. It’s much higher than the last one and only the tips of Andrew’s fingers can graze the bark.

  I stop at the tree and run my fingers over the green moss. Andrew steps behind me and kisses the nape of my neck. Chills rush over me. I’m going to try again.

  “My sister is the perfect one,” I say. “She’s older than me.”

  “How old?”

  “Closer to your age.”

  Tell him. Tell him now. Frustration gnaws at me. Maybe I can hint at it now and then really explain it to him the night of the party. That way he won’t have time to talk to his friends about me and find out about my age. I can contain this a little if I parse out the truth over time. My back aches from holding my breath.

  “You should be yourself,” Andrew says, and that only makes my muscles even tighter.

  “But you,” I say. “You’re still working out your life too so that’s comforting.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you work for Mike’s family. You live his life, you said so on the beach.”

  Andrew frowns.

  “No. I said I’m working for his family because I owe it to him. I’m living my life, Sarah.”

  “But you’re not,” I say. “You should be in school pursuing your criminal justice degree.”

  Andrew stops. “That’s not true.”

  Up ahead is the last bit of the boardwalk, the sunshine beams where the dense trees stop and the dirt lane begins again.

  “Yes, it is. You’re fishing when I know you want so much more. You’re not pursuing your dreams, you’re pursuing Mike’s, and he’s dead.”

  “What the hell do you know?”

  He walks ahead toward the exit and I follow after.

  “That’s a fact, Andrew. He’s dead.”

  Andrew whips around.

  “I know he is!” he yells to the trees, and I jump backward. I’m glad we’re alone on the trail. Andrew immediately dips his chin to his chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell.”

  I don’t say anything. Andrew’s face is red and he has both hands on his hips.

  “You don’t get it. You’ve never been through anything like this,” he says and flings his arms out. “I am living the life I want. It’s the life I owe to Mike. I should have been there that night and I wasn’t. I told you this. You couldn’t understand.”

  “I understand. Believe me. Do you know what I hear every single day? You can’t wear that! You should be working on your essay. You should have more interests. You’re just a little girl. Get your head out of the clouds. Get a backbone—”

  The name “Bean” catches in my mouth and I stop it.

  “No one else but you should define the life you want to live,” I say.

  “Next year, in college, you won’t have to worry about that anymore. You’ll be living your own life,” Andrew replies.

  Anger surges through me. I’m angry that I’m not actually going to college next year and angry with Andrew for believing what he is seeing and not asking any questions. I almost wish he would catch me at this point.

  I stride past him toward the exit and once I’m beyond the dense trees, the sun blasts the sandy pathway.

  “Sarah, wait,” Andrew says, his footsteps padding after me. I stop and look up to the top of the path at the parking lot above. A couple of cars have pulled in, but no one is coming down the path yet.

  “I just have to do this for now,” Andrew says as he catches up to me. “I can go back to college later in a couple years. We can still be together.” I bring my hands to my face. A sob runs through me and it vibrates against my hands.

  College. College. Damn it. I’m seeing red—seeing blue—seeing nothing but how mad I am.

  “You wanna throw your whole life away?” I cry. His hazel eyes seem dark and his jaw is set tight. “Fine. Why don’t I do that too! Why don’t I take a page out of Andrew Davis’s book and I’ll skip the scholarship. I’ll take more shit from Nancy when she has to pay the tuition. I’ll be just like you and throw away my whole future!”

  I’m not looking where I’m going and I am thrown forward. I’ve tripped on a rock and my palms hit the gritty ground.

  My skin stings when I push up from the ground. “You don’t even know me,” I say. “Or what I am capable of.”

  Andrew takes a step and eyes my red hands. He wants to help me but he, just like everyone else, has no idea how to do that. Only I can. This is my fault. No scenario I’ve presented will work. I’ve come to the end of my options.

  Andrew follows me up to the parking lot.

  “I’m walking home,” I say.

  “It’s, like, four miles.”

  “I need to be alone,” I explain.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Andrew says as he stands by his car. “This is really surprising me.”

  I turn. Maybe it’s dramatic. Maybe it’s silly to say, but I’m mad at him for being perfect and for being exactly what I need.

  “You wanna live Mike’s life, be my guest,” I say. “Then you might as well be dead too.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  “TWO TYLENOL?” I ASK MOM THE NEXT MORNING.

  Trying to make it through breakfast after a night of no sleep is hell. I imagine this is what it might feel like to be hit by a Mack truck. I think I got about three hours max. I kept waiting for my phone to beep.

  I kept waiting for Andrew to respond to my text messages:

  ME: Wow. Overdramatic much? I am really sorry for this afternoon.

  And the next one:

  ME: I had no right to blow up at you like that. Your business is your business and I should keep my big mouth shut.

  And the last:

  ME: I’m really sorry. I was actually mad about something else. Shouldn’t have taken it out on you.

  In an effort to do something that wasn’t completely sabotaging my relationships, I distracted myself from 5 a.m. to 6 a.m. by double-checking the Waterman Scholarship application. I somehow managed to finish proofreading the fifteen pages even though my headache was slamming against my brain. I still need to write that damn essay.

  Today is not that day.

  “Don’t feel well?” Mom asks and hands me a couple of Tylenol.

  “Not really,” I say, after swallowing the pills. I slide on some sunglasses and head to the stairs. It’s dark there and I can be silent in my room.

 
“Were you out last night?” she asks, turning to me from loading the dishwasher.

  “You couldn’t tell?” I ask and back toward the stairwell.

  “You’re so quiet!” she says.

  “I can be loud.”

  “Beanie . . . ,” she says and shakes her head.

  When Scarlett goes out on weekends Mom waits at the kitchen table until she comes home.

  I get upstairs and collapse on my bed. I check my phone—I only have one message, and it’s Claudia responding to me about going shopping for some clothes. I know I’ll need some of my own once Scarlett comes home.

  CLAUDIA: Stuck with family today. Tomorrow?

  ME: Definitely.

  After a quick nap, I can move my head again without a knife digging into the back of my eyeballs. I gather my beach things to head to Nauset alone.

  I am about to sling my bag over my shoulder when my phone rings.

  I nearly knock all of my Waterman papers off the bed trying to get to it.

  “Hello?” I say as casually as I possibly can. I think the decibel of my voice went up too high and I clear my throat. My head throbs and I bring my hand to my forehead.

  “Bean.”

  I rip off my sunglasses, stand up straight, and double check the caller ID just to make sure. I sit back slowly into the chair.

  Tucker.

  “Bean?” His familiar voice echoes through my phone. Tucker’s voice isn’t higher than Andrew’s, it’s just . . . different. Like it isn’t totally formed yet. Like it’ll be deeper in five years.

  “I know you hate me,” he says. He’s probably sliding his glasses closer to his face.

  “I don’t hate you,” I say, and I’m surprised it’s true.

  Silence.

  “You must be wondering why I’m calling.”

  “Yes,” I say, and I am wondering. “But since quitting the Pi Naries in June, you must be swimming with free time.”

  He sighs and says, “Can we have a normal conversation?”

  “Go for it, Tuck.”

  “Trish is excited about your sister’s party. My mom’s been trying on dresses for weeks.”

  Ah. The party. I guess I get to finally find out if His Highness is coming.