As Far as the Stars

by Virginia MacGregor

  ‘The one I want to try and answer: how far the stars are – from us.’

  ‘We don’t know that already?’ he asks.

  I shake my head. ‘No, it’s basically impossible. To know for sure. To know precisely.’

  He looks back up at the sky. ‘So, if the star’s brighter…?’

  ‘You’d think it was closer, right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t work like that. And if a star’s dimmer, it doesn’t mean that it’s further away either. It turns out we could as easily be looking at a brighter star from further away or a dimmer star closer up. And if it weren’t for supernovas, we’d never know.’

  ‘Exploding stars?’

  ‘Yeah. But not any supernovas. There’s this special type, called 1a supernovas. They’re the ones I’ve spent the summer researching. They’re the ones that everyone’s interested in. Well, everyone like me.’

  ‘What makes them special?’ he asks.

  ‘Unlike other stars, they’re a constant brightness, so we can work out the distance – and trust it. And this is the cool bit: we can work out whether they’re moving away from us.’

  ‘And are they?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And that’s important because?’

  ‘It basically gives us evidence for the Big Bang.’

  He whistles through his teeth. ‘Oh, only that, hey?’

  ‘An astronomer worked out that these supernovas – type 1a – are moving away from us, which suggests the universe is expanding.’

  ‘So, what you’re saying is that we’re going to go bang again?’

  ‘That’s what I want to find out. I mean, I want to be able to work out how far and how close each star is. But that just takes me to the next bit – which is even more important: finding out how fast the universe is expanding. The research suggests it’s been expanding faster and faster over time. That it’s pushing outward. There’s like this energy or force that’s pushing everything out – an energy created by space itself.’

  I look at his face in case he’s switched off. Loads of people switch off when I go on about space. Jude and Mom do. Blake’s half-listened, part of him thinking about how he can use what I’m saying as material for a song. But he switches off whenever I get too technical. The only one who really listens – who gets it – is Dad.

  Christopher doesn’t look bored, not even close.

  ‘After a while,’ I go on, ‘gravity will slow the expansion to a stop and then the universe will collapse in on itself – a Big Crunch to match the Big Bang.’

  ‘So, the universe is going to fold with everyone and everything in it?’

  ‘It’s still a way off, but yeah.’

  ‘And all this is because of some weird energy in space pushing everything away from itself and making everything expand?’

  ‘Yeah, dark energy,’ I say.

  It feels good. To be talking about this stuff. Stuff that I know about. Stuff that, on any other normal day, would occupy most of my waking thoughts.

  ‘Right, dark energy, I’ve heard of that.’

  ‘It’s an actual thing,’ I say. ‘And no one has a clue what it is. Not even the top astronomers.’

  ‘And you think you can work it out?’

  ‘I think that if I do some research, at college, NASA will take me seriously. And when I combine my research with an engineering MA at grad school, they’ll take me really seriously. It’ll make me stand out – the fact that I’m a researcher, an astronomer, and a technician. And if they’re impressed enough, they might let me onto their programme.’

  ‘To become an astronaut?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Sounds like hard work.’

  I nod. ‘And I have to work even harder.’

  ‘Harder than who?’

  ‘Guys. NASA took on its first female astronauts forty years ago. We’re still outnumbered: only eighteen per cent of active astronauts are women. The odds are against me, so yeah, I have to work harder.’

  ‘I get it,’ he says.

  And I think he does. More than most people, anyway.

  ‘It’s pretty amazing,’ he says. ‘Everything you’re willing to do – to get to where you want to be.’

  I shrug. ‘I guess so. But then I find studying – working hard and learning – easier than the other stuff.’

  ‘Other stuff?’

  ‘The stuff that Jude does.’

  ‘Getting married?’

  ‘And being really sociable and having all these friends to keep up with and yeah, getting married and having kids. And it’s easier than the stuff Blake does too.’

  ‘Understanding the universe is easier than singing?’

  ‘Singing is hard. Standing in front of all those people. Exposing yourself like that.’ My throat goes tight. ‘And making sure you don’t let anyone down, especially when you’re singing for a special occasion.’

  ‘Singing for a special occasion? Like at a wedding?’ Christopher asks.

  ‘Like a wedding.’

  He looks up. ‘You’ve heard it – the song Blake was meant to sing?’

  ‘A million times. I rehearsed with him before he left. I had to make sure it was perfect.’

  ‘Perfect? That’s tough,’ Christopher says.

  ‘If you meet Mom, you’ll understand.’

  And then I think about how he’ll probably never meet Mom – or Dad. And how that makes me kind of sad.

  ‘Mom’s got high standards,’ I explain. ‘And the song was a big deal. He was going to sing it during the eclipse.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Yeah, wow. And now that he might not make it, I’m trying to get my head around the fact that it’s me who’s going to have to do it. Or I at least have to prepare for it.’

  ‘In case he doesn’t make it?’ His tone has changed. All the lightness has gone.

  ‘Make it? Oh, he’ll make it. He might not make it on time. He might not make it until the whole damn wedding is over. But he’ll make it. Anyway, I know that me singing is a terrible idea—’

  ‘No, no it’s not.’ His voice is still serious.

  ‘You haven’t heard me sing.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. The fact that you’d do that – for your family – especially as you’re not into singing—’

  ‘Not into singing – I can barely hold a note.’

  He pauses. Then he says:

  ‘Showing up. That’s what matters, right?’

  I’d never thought about it like that. But I guess he’s right. Showing up is what matters. And I can do that.

  Again, it catches me off guard; how Christopher gets things on a deeper level than his clueless exterior suggests. The hard stuff.

  I stand up and brush down my shorts. ‘Well, if I’m going to show up, we’d better get going.’

  He nods. But he stays sitting, looking at the sky. And I can tell he’s still got the picture of those stars, up close, playing behind his eyelids.

  Chapter Fifteen

  23.15 CDT Cherokee National Forest, TN

  I glance at my phone and realise that it’s adjusted to the time difference – we gained an hour when we crossed the Tennessee border. I remember how magical I found that as a kid, that the clock went back because we passed a sign saying Tennessee Welcomes You. This time, there’s no magic, just relief that I’ve got one more hour to play with.

  Christopher’s asleep. After stopping for a break in the field, he relaxed a bit, quit all his phone scanning and knuckle cracking. Leda’s asleep too, her head on his lap.

  I don’t know whether what we’re doing is right – tearing across the country, me trying to make it to a wedding without a clue where Blake is; Christopher heading to a mom he barely knows. But for now, it doesn’t feel like there are any other options.

  In the last few hours, the landscape has changed. We’re surrounded by tall, dark pines now, and beyond them, the sky is darker and blacker than I’ve ever seen it – like it’s rehearsing for the ec
lipse tomorrow.

  If I weren’t trying to get to the wedding, I’d stop by the side of the road, take my telescope, run into the middle of one of these woods, find a clearing and stay there until dawn, looking up at the sky.

  If Blake were with me, that’s what we’d do.

  There’s always time, he says.

  As though time itself were there to accommodate him.

  The fact that Blake’s late for everything never seems to bother him. Nor does it bother those waiting for him. Mainly, because when he does show up, he does it in this big, dramatic, Blake-like way which makes people forget that he’s let them down and think, instead, that they’re lucky he showed up at all.

  Damn you, Blake, I whisper out at the night.

  Leda stirs on Christopher’s lap and looks up at me.

  And then I see it, the sign for Blue Springs.

  And Leda must have seen it too or heard the water or something, because she’s standing on Christopher’s lap, her head hanging out of the window.

  Without even thinking, I press on the brakes.

  The car slows.

  Christopher straightens up and rubs his eyes behind his glasses.

  ‘Where are we?’

  And him saying that makes me decide.

  I swerve off the road and into the clearing. The hidden entry point that Blake showed me when I was ten and he first took me to Nashville, the place he loved more than anywhere in the world.

  And yeah, I have to keep going for the wedding.

  And yeah, I know that seeing this place again, without Blake, is going to rattle me.

  But I can’t help looking at the picture of us taped to the dashboard, the one of ten-year-old me holding Blake’s hand before our jump. The first time he brought me here.

  And I can’t get his voice out of my head saying, There’s time, Air. There’s always time.

  Even when he was talking, Blake made things sound like a song.

  And it’s more than that too. A tiny part of me thinks that he’ll be here, waiting for me.

  ‘You coming?’ I call over my shoulder. I’m running. I can hear it, water crashing down rocks.

  Christopher’s still sitting in the car. He’s blinking and yawning and stretching.

  ‘We don’t have long,’ I yell, ‘come on!’

  ‘Come where? Where are we?’ He cranes his neck out of the window and looks around.

  ‘You’ll see,’ I say, like Blake said to me the first time he brought me and Jude here.

  Leda bounds over the seats and out through her door. She runs around in circles like a crazy thing and then wees against one of the pines.

  I hear Christopher unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out of the car.

  I breathe in deeply. It smells of earth and tree sap and pine needles.

  ‘Come on!’ I yell.

  Leda dashes past me. She knows the way.

  And then I hear him, his footsteps breaking into a run.

  Chapter Sixteen

  23.35 CDT

  ‘We often stopped here on our way to Nashville,’ I say. ‘Blake knew I’d like it. You can see the sky from the water – it’s the best sky in the world.’

  ‘The best sky?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  And then he stops walking.

  And so do I.

  It’s there.

  The pool, surrounded by high rocks. The water gushing down from a high waterfall, as thick and dark as the sky.

  As I look up, I see us there, holding hands, like in the photograph – and it’s like I’m looking at a hologram. How, any moment, the wind will shift and we’ll vanish.

  Because he’s not here. Of course he’s not here.

  I swallow hard.

  And then I realise that I’m standing where Jude must have stood, when she took the picture. I always forget that she was with us that day.

  Although Jude’s twenty-two and Blake twenty-one – barely a year between them – whereas I came along five years after Jude, the tag-along little sister, things didn’t pan out between us like you’d expect. Since I can remember, it’s been Blake and me on one side, doing the crazy stuff, and Jude on the other, telling us to be careful and taking the photos and trying to make everything look tidy and pretty and coordinated. And then acting pissed that she’s the odd one out, even though she put herself there by not going along with us.

  At least Jude’s got Stephen now. And the wedding will be her chance to be in the spotlight for once. The only silver lining to me singing Blake’s song instead of Blake singing Blake’s song is that he won’t detract attention away from her on her big day.

  A thought flits through my mind: has Blake done this on purpose – ducking out of the wedding at the last minute? Could it be the big suprise he went on about at the planetarium? Because he didn’t want to steal attention from Jude on her big day? Blake’s as self-centred as they come but sometimes, just sometimes, he’ll surprise you by how thoughtful he can be.

  I guess it’s a possibility. As much of a possibility as any of the other explanations for why Blake’s not here yet. But then I know that he wouldn’t miss it. He wouldn’t miss the biggest day in Jude’s life.

  Christopher looks at the pool and the waterfall and the patch of sky in the clearing.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ His voice is full of hushed awe.

  Leda sits beside him, thumping her tail. I can tell she’s dying to go in.

  ‘Yeah, it is,’ I say.

  ‘What’s this place called?’

  ‘Officially? Blue Springs. But Blake renamed it Leda Springs.’ I pick Leda up and hold her close. ‘We found her here, tied up to one of the trees. At first, we didn’t know that she’d been abandoned – we thought her owner must have come here to swim or something. But there was no one else at the swimming hole that day. And by the time we were ready to leave again, she was still there, waiting. So, Blake took her.’ I kiss the top of Leda’s nose, wondering whether she remembers that day. Then I put her down. ‘Plus, with her whole crazy jumping thing, we thought it worked: Leda Springs.’

  I remember how I sat with her in the back the whole way. Jude in front with Blake, complaining at her whining, and at her damp dog smell, and at the fact that she could have fleas or any number of contagious diseases. Jude still doesn’t pet Leda. Probably because Leda became the third part of mine and Blake’s gang which made her feel, again, like she was left out.

  Leda darts forward and puts her paws over the edge of the rock by the pool. She’s definitely wants to go in. And I want to go in too.

  I think about what I should do about clothes. If we didn’t have our swimming costumes, Blake and I would strip down to our underwear.

  But I’m not with Blake right now, I’m with Christopher.

  And no one besides my family has ever seen me without my clothes on.

  And then I think how stupid it is to even be thinking about all this stuff. It’s a warm night, my clothes will dry.

  So, fully dressed, I jump in.

  Leda jumps in beside me.

  Our bodies split the water into a thousand stars.

  It’s so cold, I go into a shock for a second, but then it feels good – like every one of my cells is coming back to life.

  I shake the water out of my hair and look over at Christopher.

  ‘You coming in?’ I ask.

  He looks over at me and I can tell he wants to, but that he doesn’t know what to do.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he says, sitting down on a rock. ‘I’ll wait for you here.’

  ‘Seriously, come in, it’s not that cold.’

  ‘I don’t have swimming trunks.’

  ‘Neither do I!’ I laugh. It’s good to laugh, despite everything that’s going on. ‘We’ll dry off in the car. And you have some spare clothes in that enormous backpack of yours, right?’

  He nods.

  ‘So come on in.’

  He still looks hesitant.

  ‘You only live once!’ I call out.


  And then my stomach flips again. None of the usual words fit. It’s like there’s a whole vocabulary we’re not allowed to use anymore.

  But it’s still true. And it’s still what Blake would have said if he were here with us. And anyway, it works, because the next thing I know, Christopher is standing on the edge and from the way he’s staring at the water, I know he’s going to do it.

  I splash him and he darts back.

  ‘Hey!’ he says.

  ‘You have to do it in one go, or you’ll chicken out.’

  He looks at me like he’s working out whether he can trust me. Then he takes off his glasses, places them on a rock – and jumps in.

  When he comes back up, he gasps and thrashes at the water with his limbs and I’m worried that I shouldn’t have asked him to come in, but then he laughs.

  ‘You said it wasn’t that cold,’ he splutters.

  ‘It’s not – not when you get used to it. Blake and I have swum here when it was basically winter.’

  He swims towards me and I notice goosebumps on his arms. His lips are a purpley-red. But he looks happy. Happier than I’ve seen him since he got into the Buick with me back in DC.

  I float on my back, looking up at the sky.

  ‘In just over twenty-four hours, it’s going to be dark, like this, in the middle of the day,’ I say. ‘Isn’t that amazing?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s amazing.’ He tries to float beside me but then he bumps into me and goes back to treading water. ‘Maybe the sun will decide not to come back,’ he says. ‘After the eclipse.’

  That’s the kind of thing Blake would have said: screwing around with science for the sake of poetry.

  ‘Oh, it’ll come back,’ I say.

  But what if it decides not to? I hear Blake saying.

  I went to a lecture once, a visiting speaker at school, on how, centuries ago, people attributed a consciousness to the stars and the moon and the planets. On how we’ve evolved since then – now that we understand more about the universe.

  Dad’s into that stuff – says the Greeks knew more about the heavens than we give them credit for. That it’s not just science, it’s philosophy too. I say that those same Greek philosophers thought the world was flat.

  Blake was on Dad’s side. One day we’ll evolve past science, he said once. And then we’ll understand that the things that really matter can’t be proved.