As Far as the Stars

by Virginia MacGregor

  A hard lump forms at the back of my throat.

  I close the car door, put my left hand on the steering wheel and I’m about to switch on the ignition when I notice something else: the photograph taped to the dashboard. I’m ten years old, standing on this tall rock above a swimming hole. Blake’s holding my hand. We’re about to jump.

  Jude must have taken the picture. It was the first time Blake took us there – Blue Springs in the Cherokee National Forest, Tennessee.

  I switch on the ignition.

  And then I realise that he’s still standing there.

  ‘Do you have someone?’ I ask.

  He looks at me, his grey eyes wide. ‘Someone?’

  ‘Someone you can call – or go to?’

  He looks back at the arrivals lounge and then back at me like he’s struggling to make up his mind about something.

  ‘Where were you meant to go?’ I prompt. ‘After you picked up your dad—’ Then I stall.

  I grip the steering wheel harder. ‘Well, where were you and your dad meant to stay? When he got here, I mean?’

  Please may he have someone. A friend. A relative. A contact from his dad. He can’t stay here alone.

  ‘Oregon,’ he says. ‘A connecting flight. To see the eclipse.’

  ‘Wow, Oregon,’ I say. ‘That’s cool.’ Because Oregon’s where I would have chosen to be – if it weren’t for the wedding. I mean, Nashville’s a cool place to see the totality, but Oregon is where it all starts.

  I wonder whether, in a different lifetime, without the wedding and without the plane going missing, Christopher and I might have met out there, at the beginning of the eclipse. And then I think about how we might have crossed walking around the Sculpture Garden in DC. Blake wrote this song, ages ago, about how when you’re meant to be meet someone, you get loads of chances – you brush past them over and over until BAM! you finally notice each other. I’d always thought that was a bit slushy and romantic – and too superstitious for my scientific world view. But maybe there’s something in it.

  ‘So, you have someone you know in Oregon?’ I ask. And then I feel stupid. They’re going on a holiday, why would they know anyone there? And even if they did know someone there, it’s miles away – it’s not like a friend in Oregon is going to help Christopher with what he’s going through here in DC.

  ‘No, we were going to stay in a hotel.’ His eyes go far away, like he’s trying to picture being there. ‘And Dad booked us a place on a sailing boat,’ Christopher says. ‘He wanted to see the eclipse from the water.’

  A silence hangs between us: the silence of what was meant to happen if his life hadn’t just been turned upside down.

  ‘What about your mom?’ I ask.

  He stares at me and blinks.

  ‘Was she meant to come with you – to see the eclipse?’ I ask.

  And I know it’s overstepping. And that he would have mentioned his mom already if she were in his life. But I can’t drive away thinking that he’s going to be here on his own. There has to be someone he can call.

  He shakes his head.

  ‘Is she back in England?’

  He shakes his head again. ‘Atlanta.’

  ‘Your mom lives in Atlanta?’

  He nods.

  ‘I’ve got a parent from each side of the pond – like you. Only the other way around. Mum’s American, Dad’s English.’

  That was in Blake’s song too: how when you meet someone you were meant to meet you find out all this crazy stuff you have in common that can’t be explained away.

  ‘They’re not together,’ he says.

  ‘They’re divorced?’

  ‘They never got married.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘They separated shortly after Mum had me.’

  ‘Do you go to Atlanta to visit her?’ I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  I know I’m in a minority: the kid of parents who are still together – more than that, who love each other. And that even though Mom’s totally crazy in the way she organises every second of our lives; and even though Dad’s too much of a wuss to ever stand up to her and say No, life’s already hard enough without another one of your mad projects; and even though Jude annoys the hell out of me with her throwing away her life to be a 1950s housewife, and Blake drives me crazy in the way he thinks the whole world revolves around him – I love them more than anything. All four of them. And I know that that makes me one of the lucky ones. I’ve got a family. A proper family. The most incredible family in the world.

  ‘Have you called her?’ I ask. ‘Your mom? To tell her what’s going on.’ My breath is tight in my throat. ‘With the plane.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t know what to say.’ He pauses. ‘It’s like too much time has passed – too much has happened. We can’t just pick up where we left off.’

  I look at him and think about how he helped me get the car back, and the thought of him going back into that airport terminal on his own makes my heart sink.

  ‘Perhaps it would help if you saw her face to face.’

  His head snaps up.

  ‘I could take you part of the way to Atlanta,’ I suggest. ‘I’m heading in that direction. Sort of.’

  Leda jumps up and starts thumping her tail on the tarmac, like she’s totally up for taking Christopher with us.

  He bites the side of his lip and looks back at the door to the arrivals lounge.

  ‘As soon as there’s any news, it will be all over the TV and the internet,’ I say. ‘It’s not like you’ll find out more by staying here. And you’ll go crazy waiting. Come with me – you can charge your phone in my car and I’ll drive you to Knoxville. There’ll be a bus to Atlanta from there.’

  He doesn’t say anything.

  ‘I could do with the company,’ I say.

  Leda starts licking Christopher’s arm.

  ‘And it looks like she wants you to come too.’

  Then, very slowly, he nods. ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  I shove the dresses and the suit to one side on the back seat to make room for his backpack and lift the binder from my summer internship at the Air & Space Museum off the passenger seat.

  Leda jumps into the back.

  And then Christopher gets in beside me.

  Chapter Ten

  20.45 EST 1-66

  It takes us ages to get out of DC because of the traffic. When we finally do, I relax for a bit and look up at the sky. It’s dark. And now that we’ve left the city, it’s clearer; there are billions of stars. The moon. A pale, round disc in the sky. Tomorrow night, it won’t be there at all, not the night before the eclipse. Well, it will be there – it’s always there, like the stars – we just won’t see it.

  I wonder what it would be like to see the eclipse from the moon; to watch a long, dark shadow slicing the earth while the rest of the world stays bright. Now that would be even more amazing than being in Oregon.

  One day I’ll live somewhere where it’s so clear it’ll be like living in the sky itself. When Mom was a kid she spent her summer holidays way up in the north of Scotland, and she says that there are islands there where you can see more stars than you ever thought existed.

  The warm, night air brushes against my arms and my face, cool against my eyes.

  It feels good to let my body go numb, not to have to think.

  The only sound comes from the engine, a low hum, the tyres clicking over ridges in the road and Leda, who keeps letting out her random yelps in her sleep.

  I still don’t know where Blake is, and the news of what happened to the plane and Christopher’s dad is hanging over us like this horrible black cloud. But it feels good to have left the airport behind and to just be driving.

  I look over at Christopher. After he plugged his cell into the lighter socket, he sat back and stared out of the windscreen. And he hasn’t stopped staring. Like he’s hoping that the night sky will give him an answer.

  As the wind r
ushes past us, the smell of his skin and his clothes drifts over to me: pines needles and rainwet earth, like he lives deep in a forest somewhere.

  Besides Dad and Blake and a couple of boys in my Physics class at school, I don’t really hang around guys much. Which means that, if he were here now, Blake would totally be giving me a hard time about this.

  And then it comes back to me: the reason I’m in this weird situation – driving my brother’s Buick through the night with a strange guy from England – is because Blake’s missing.

  Christopher hasn’t said anything since we left Dulles, which is kind of a relief; my brain’s been on overdrive ever since I got to the airport and I don’t have the energy to talk or process any more information.

  So, I keep my eyes on the road, let the warm air wash over me and push the CD player into its slot.

  The sound system’s the only concession Blake made to updating the car. He wants the Buick to be true to its 1970s spirit. Yeah, the car has a spirit. For Blake, everything’s got a spirit.

  The CD spins and then music starts coming out, and it takes a second to sink in. The singer’s voice.

  Suddenly, I can’t breathe.

  My hands go numb on the steering wheel and the car starts swerving to the middle of the road.

  ‘Hey! Watch out!’ a voice yells beside me.

  I hear Leda barking from the back seat – loud, strong barks, way louder than her usual whining.

  Then I hear her scramble down into the footwell, like she does when she’s scared.

  The next thing I see are headlights, huge, beaming in through the windscreen: a truck is coming towards us, head on.

  My heart’s hammering.

  A hand reaches past me and pulls the steering wheel hard until the car swerves to the side of the road.

  Then I lose control of the wheel and I’m thrown against the door.

  The tyres screech.

  Leda yelps from the footwell.

  The car spins and, for a second, I think this is it, this is where it ends.

  And then everything stops.

  We’re on the hard shoulder, facing the wrong way. The side of my body feels bruised from the impact against the door. My head’s spinning. Blood’s pounding in my ears.

  Outside my body, the only sound is the tick, ticking of the engine. And the whoosh of cars driving past us.

  My throat’s dry and my heart’s knocking so hard I think it’s going to push out of my ribs.

  And I’m wondering why the airbag didn’t detonate. The only way Mom agreed for Blake to drive this museum piece of a car was if he got it totally safety-checked. He said he did.

  Of course, he said he did.

  He probably decided that airbags weren’t true to the car’s spirit. I should have taken it to the garage myself.

  I try to steady my breathing.

  The weird thing is that the music’s still playing. Blake’s cover of Johnny Cash’s ‘Flesh and Blood’.

  I reach out for the CD player and thump my palm against all the buttons, trying to make it stop.

  ‘Damn it!’ I yell, still thumping at the CD player.

  ‘It’s okay,’ a voice says beside me. ‘It’s okay.’

  And then I remember I’m not alone. That Christopher’s sitting beside me, a guy who, a few hours ago, I didn’t even know existed. A guy who, more likely than not, just saved my life.

  He reaches past me, pushes on the eject button and the CD slips out.

  I sit back, my whole body shaking.

  Neither of us says anything.

  Then, his voice low and gentle, he asks, ‘What just happened?’

  My eyes are closed now.

  ‘That was him.’ My words come out jagged, like my mouth has forgotten how to form words. ‘That was Blake, singing.’

  I open my eyes and look back at the road. Everything looks normal: cars drive past us on either side. Headlights. Tail lights. No sign of the truck that we swerved to avoid.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, my voice shaking. ‘It’s all been too much. And then hearing Blake’s voice.’

  From the corner of my eye I see Christopher nod. And then he looks down at the CD player. My eyes follow his and I see Blake’s handwriting scrawled in Sharpie across the top: For Air.

  I’ve listened to the CD he made for me so many times it should be worn out by now.

  ‘Your brother’s a musician?’

  I feel blood in my mouth; I must have bitten my cheek as we swerved away from truck.

  I can’t believe I haven’t told him this about Blake yet. It’s like you can’t mention my brother’s name without mentioning his music in the same breath. Blake is his music. And I assume that the world knows him already, which is stupid, I know. But then if you’ve lived with Blake, you’d understand: he was born with Destined to be famous stamped on his forehead.

  ‘Yeah. He’s a musician. He writes songs. Plays the guitar – has a band. He was on tour in England.’ I pause. ‘He’s even more successful over there than he is here.’ I stare out of the windscreen. ‘He loves London, especially.’

  I stare out of the windscreen, feeling numb. And then I cover my face with my hands and dig my fingers into my scalp. My breath is ragged, like there’s not enough oxygen in the air.

  ‘All this is so messed up,’ I say.

  I picture our special family breakfast at Louis’s tomorrow morning without me and Blake there. How Mom will be out of her mind with worry – and totally pissed that I’m not answering my phone.

  And how, if Blake doesn’t show up in time for the wedding itself, I’m going to have sing instead of him. Which makes my stomach cave in on itself. He’s the one everyone wants to hear.

  Blake’s words come back to me:

  I’ll be there, no matter what.

  I’d guessed there would be a screw-up. There usually is with Blake. And he’s made a fine art out of turning up late to things. It makes him even more noticeable – as if he needed that. But this is Jude’s wedding for Christ’s sake. This is different. This is the one time where he has to be on time. This is the one time where (besides the song) he doesn’t get to steal the show.

  I take a few breaths to calm myself down.

  I’ll be there, no matter what, I whisper to myself. No matter what. He promised.

  And then I look back up at the stars.

  Someone once asked me why I wanted to do it – to study the night sky, to be an astronaut. Why I was so obsessed with the world beyond the earth.

  My answer was simple:

  It makes me believe that anything’s possible.

  But it’s like all that’s an illusion. I feel trapped. And totally powerless. Like even if the whole universe were on my side, it wouldn’t help me.

  ‘If Blake doesn’t make it to the wedding, I don’t want to go either.’

  Christopher waits a beat and then, in a quiet way that’s louder and clearer than anyone yelling, he says:

  ‘Whatever’s going on with your brother, you’ll be there. For your family.’

  I stare up at him. ‘I will?’

  ‘Yes, you will,’ he says firmly, like there’s no alternative. He looks at me through the strands of tangled hair that fall over his forehead. ‘You said that your sister’s wedding was the most important day in your family’s life, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So, you have to go.’

  ‘But what am I meant to tell them?’ I hold out my phone. ‘I’ve got all these missed calls from Mom. She’s wondering what the hell’s going on.’

  ‘Don’t tell them anything. Not yet. Just focus on getting to Nashville.’

  I stare at him for a second. His grey eyes are so light, they’re transparent. He’s doing the job I usually do: he’s calming me down and telling me that it’s going to be okay and getting me to focus on finding a solution. It feels nice not to be the one sorting things out for once.

  I nod. ‘You’re right. It’s going to be fine. Blake’s going to show up and it�
��ll all be fine.’

  ‘I didn’t say—’

  ‘He’ll show up,’ I talk over him. ‘And he’ll sing his song and everyone will forget he was even late.’

  I press the words into my head.

  ‘Yeah, it’s going to be fine.’

  I can feel Christopher staring at me. He doesn’t say anything.

  I look at the steering wheel. Somehow, I have to find the strength to get going again – to drive those hundreds of miles to Nashville.

  ‘You still want to be driven by someone who nearly crashed into a truck?’ I ask Christopher.

  He keeps looking at me. Then the corners of his mouth turn up. ‘The truck was kind of in the way.’

  I let out a laugh, and all the tension in my body dissipates for a moment.

  ‘It was, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘You trust me? To keep driving you?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that…’ he says. But he’s smiling. ‘Yeah, I trust you.’

  The thing is, I don’t even know whether I trust myself anymore.

  I look up again at the stars. If I’m going to be an astronaut one day – if I’m going to make it all the way up there – I’d better learn how to navigate things down here.

  A low whine comes from the back of the car.

  ‘Oh God.’ I unbuckle my seatbelt and twist round to the back of the car.

  Leda’s cowering in the footwell, her eyes two black, glassy pools. For once, she’s dead quiet. My binder and my telescope are wedged in beside her and Blake’s suit has flown off its hanger and is draped over her. The hat box is in the other footwell. It’s got a big dent in the side. I hope to god that the hat isn’t damaged.

  I rip the suit off her body, pull her out of the footwell onto my lap, wrap my arms around her neck and let out a sob. Then I hold her away from me and inspect her. There’s a small cut on her ear – and on her nose too. Her whole body’s shaking and I can feel her heart hammering against her ribcage. I lean in and kiss the top of her head.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

  She licks my face. Her tongue is so warm and familiar that my eyes well up and for the first time since Blake left her with me six weeks ago, I’m grateful that I’ve got her.