As Far as the Stars

by Virginia MacGregor

  I wait for him to explain but he simply keeps staring at the sky, like he did on the summit of Deer Ridge. I realise he must be thinking about how if something has happened to his dad, he won’t ever be able to look at the sky again without thinking about what he’s lost.

  He still hasn’t explained why he brought me up here though so, eventually, I ask him. We don’t have much time before his bus and if I have a chance of getting to the wedding on time, I have to get back on the road.

  ‘So, what are we doing up here?’

  He looks back at me.

  ‘Dress rehearsal.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  He hands me the eggplant.

  Yeah, he’s totally lost it. I guess it was going to happen. Those calm, quiet, keep it all inside types end up flipping sooner or later.

  ‘You need to practise,’ he says.

  ‘Practise what?’

  ‘Blake’s song.’

  Oh God.

  ‘The song you’re going to sing at the wedding?’

  Yeah, I’m going to sing it. But I’ve been trying not to think about it. Because, barring my solo performances in the shower, I don’t do singing. And I don’t do audiences, not when they’re looking at me.

  I pull at the collar of my dress. Already, the day’s getting hot.

  ‘You know the words, right?’

  I nod and gulp and hope to God that he isn’t going to make me do this.

  He sweeps his hands across the roof.

  ‘The wedding’s taking place on the rooftop of a hotel in Nashville – that’s what you said.’

  I nod.

  ‘Well…’ He keeps sweeping his hands in the air. ‘Imagine you’re there.’

  Except I’m not there. I’m standing here, with Christopher, on the roof of a diner – a horrible roof, patched and grey and tinny. Holding an eggplant.

  I feel like a total idiot: standing up here in my blue-meringue dress.

  And then I look down at the parking lot and notice Blake’s car. His yellow Buick that, when I was a kid, seemed like the biggest, brightest, most exciting thing in the world – like an extension of Blake himself. And then he taught me to drive. And gave me a set of keys. Because he trusted me with the things he loved.

  I look back at Christopher.

  ‘Okay,’ I say.

  He nods. ‘Good. Now stand up straighter.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re slouching.’

  ‘You’re telling me off for slouching?’

  ‘Yeah. If you slouch, the sound won’t come out. If you want to project your voice, you need to open up your lungs.’

  He puts his hand on his stomach and says: ‘Breathe in.’

  I’m beginning to wonder whether Suzy slipped something in his coffee.

  ‘What do you know about singing?’

  The tops of his cheeks go pink. ‘Dad made me take singing lessons.’

  ‘I thought you were home-schooled?’

  ‘Yeah. One of his flight attendants used to be a singing teacher.’ He pauses. ‘And when I went to boarding school, Dad made me join the choir.’

  I look at Christopher and think about all the things about him I don’t know. Things I’ll never know.

  ‘So, you can sing – I mean, really sing?’

  ‘Sort of. Now stand straight, hold your head up, and breathe.’

  Weirdly (I make a point of not taking instructions from guys my age), I straighten my spine. And it does feel better.

  Then I take a few breaths.

  And then I break down. Again. Tears and snot start coming out and I can’t stop them. I grab one of the ruffled layers from the skirt of the dress, pull it up and wipe my face.

  From the edge of the roof, Leda looks back round at me and lets out a whine, like she’s joining in, and that makes me want to cry even more.

  ‘I can’t, I just can’t,’ I stutter.

  ‘You can.’

  I shake my head. ‘I’m totally going to ruin it. They’re expecting to hear Blake. That low, crooning voice of his. No one will want to listen to me.’

  I think about what Mom said about the special stool she found for Blake. I picture him placing his hand on it, slipping onto it, leaning towards the audience, getting off again – every move perfectly choreographed.

  Christopher steps towards me.

  ‘You’re not going mess up it. But even if you do, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t matter. This isn’t about you, Air. It’s not even about the song.’ He looks me right in the eye. ‘It’s about your family. You’re doing this for them.’ He pauses. ‘And for Blake.’

  ‘For Blake?’

  ‘Because he wanted to be there.’

  ‘If he wants to be there, he’ll be there.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he says.

  And the way he says it makes my breath catch.

  ‘Anyway, the song’s bigger than you,’ he goes on. ‘Or your ability to sing it. Right?’

  I don’t answer.

  ‘Right?’ he says again, his voice so loud and sure that, without even thinking about it, I nod.

  ‘Right,’ I say.

  He steps back again and pats his thigh. ‘Come on, Leda – this is your cue. Go sit with Air.’

  Leda runs over and sits at Christopher’s feet.

  ‘Not me, silly – Air.’ He laughs and drags her over to me.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

  ‘Leda will be with you while you’re singing, right? And it’ll help, having her there. It means you won’t be alone.’

  I shake my head. ‘She won’t be.’

  ‘Won’t be what?’

  ‘With me. Mom’s built Leda a kennel, so she doesn’t upset people.’

  ‘A kennel? Wow.’ He scratches his head. ‘Look at the sky, then.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look at the sky – that’ll still be there, right?’

  I nod.

  ‘And it’ll make you feel better.’

  I nod again. And then I look up at the bright blue sky, at the pale sun, at the thin clouds shifting overhead.

  And then I take a long breath.

  And I start singing.

  ‘Louder!’ Christopher says, walking away from me.

  I take another breath and push the words out.

  ‘From the first time we met to the last breath we take…’

  I stop singing and curse Blake in my head. And I think back to the argument we had about the song when I told him it was too cheesy. The thing is, however crummy the words, Blake would make them sound good, because he’s Blake. Because he could make the phone directory sound like a Johnny Cash classic. All I’ve got are a bunch of crummy words and a crap voice.

  ‘Keep going!’ Christopher says.

  ‘I can’t do this.’

  ‘You’ve got to do this.’

  ‘He’ll probably show up.’

  Christopher hesitates. Then he says. ‘You want to be prepared though, right?’

  I don’t know what I want anymore. All this is so messed up.

  ‘And anyway, I want to hear it,’ he says.

  I look up at him. He gives me a small smile. Kind of crooked. Kind of cute.

  ‘As I won’t be at the wedding, I won’t get to hear the song. I want my own personal performance.’

  Ever since we had our fight and Christopher got back in the car, he’s been acting more confident. Talking more. Talking louder. Talking like he believes he’s got something to say that’s important. I’m not sure whether I like the old or the new Christopher better.

  ‘Your own personal performance, really?’

  He smiles.

  ‘Really.’

  I roll my eyes but then, for some reason, I go with it. I take a breath and open my mouth:

  ‘From the first beat of my heart to your last embrace…’

  Christopher folds his arms across his chest. He nods as I sing and his hair falls in his eyes. As I
push through each verse, a smile spreads across his face.

  When I stop singing, I feel the words vibrating in the air around me.

  And, for a second, I understand – the feeling Blake has when he sings, how it’s like the whole world has whooshed through your body.

  Then I hear clapping coming from somewhere below us. I look down and see Suzy standing on the porch of the diner. She must have heard me singing and come out. I wonder what she thinks I’m doing, standing up here, singing, with this guy she’s never seen before.

  I hold out the eggplant, my fingers shaking.

  Christopher takes it.

  ‘You’re going to be fine,’ he says.

  I look at him. ‘I wish you could be there.’

  He nods. ‘So do I.’

  ‘Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood,’ Blake’s voice comes into my head again. ‘You’re the one that I need.’

  I realise that, right now, Christopher’s the most solid thing in my life.

  But I know he has to go to see his mom. And that I have to face Mom and Dad and Jude and Stephen and all the other guests at the wedding.

  ‘Are you going to be okay?’ I ask. ‘With your mom and everything?’

  He shrugs. ‘I guess I’ll see.’

  I wonder whether it’s easier for me: having the wedding, the song to focus on, the day to get through.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘For bringing me up here.’

  ‘I’m forgiven, then?’ he asks. That small, wonky smile again.

  ‘Yeah, you’re forgiven.’

  We walk back down the fire escape, through the kitchen and into the diner, Leda weaving between our legs.

  Suzy’s putting those sun-filter glasses on all the tables for her customers to use when the solar eclipse starts.

  I sit down in the booth and my body crumples into itself. I feel like I’ve run a marathon.

  ‘Got any more coffee, Suzy?’ I call over.

  ‘Sure,’ Suzy says and goes off to the kitchen.

  I expect Christopher to come and sit in front of me in the booth but instead he kneels down, takes Leda’s face between his hands and kisses the spot between her ears. He stays there for what feels like ages and when he stands up again, he picks up his backpack and hitches it up onto his shoulders.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I ask.

  ‘I think I’ll walk to the bus.’

  ‘But – I can take you—’

  He shakes his head. ‘It’s not far. You pointed the stop out to me on the way into town. It’ll be good to stretch my legs for a bit before the long bus trip.’

  I hadn’t prepared myself to say goodbye to him, not yet.

  ‘But—’

  All this feels too fast.

  ‘I hate goodbyes,’ he says quickly.

  Then he leans over his shoulder and pulls something out of one of the side pockets of his backpack and places it in front of me on the table.

  ‘For you,’ he says.

  It’s a star. A tiny paper star attached to a piece of string. The star looks like it has a thousand folded angles. It’s beautiful. Maybe as beautiful as an actual star.

  His words come back to me:

  I make them small so they don’t break.

  And he’s right. Although the star is made of paper, the folds are so tight, so precise, that it looks strong.

  ‘When did you make this?’ I ask.

  He looks at me through his glasses, his eyes huge.

  ‘While you were sleeping.’

  I think back to those hours before the diner when we were both in the car. How good it felt to fall asleep and let my mind and body go to a different place, knowing that he was there, beside me.

  ‘You could wear it,’ he goes on. ‘Like a necklace or something. And when you get scared again, about what you have to do, it can remind you to keep going.’

  I pick up the paper star on the piece of string and put it over my head and then tuck the star under my dress. The sharp edges push into my skin, but it feels good, to have a piece of Christopher so close.

  Then I stand up and put my arms around his neck and hold him really tight for a second. His body goes stiff like he doesn’t know what to do and then he puts his arms around me too, very lightly.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘Thanks for everything.’

  We hold onto each other for another second and then he pulls away, hitches his backpack onto his shoulders. He leans under the table and gives Leda a final stroke.

  ‘Good luck, buddy,’ he says.

  ‘What does that mean?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh, you know. The wedding. The kennel.’

  ‘Right, the kennel.’

  Leda lets out a small yelp, and I know that she wants him to stay.

  I don’t know what I’d imagined our goodbye would be like, but it wasn’t like this: walking away from each other, as though we’d only met for a few seconds. As though saying goodbye was nothing.

  As I watch him walk away I whisper in my head: Please turn around one more time, please…

  But he doesn’t. He just keeps walking.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  09.15 CDT

  Through the window, next to the booth, I watch Christopher walk down the road, his massive backpack full of ironed clothes and tiny paper models bouncing up and down on his shoulders.

  I never thought I could miss someone I’ve known for less than two days but I do. I miss him already. And I’m not sure how I’m going to get back in the car by myself.

  Leda’s got her paws up on the windowsill and is whining. It makes me realise how she hasn’t whined in a really long time. Not like this. Christopher made her feel better about Blake not being here. He made me feel better too.

  Suzy comes up to the booth, puts a hand on my shoulder and follows my gaze out through the window.

  ‘He was cute,’ she says. ‘In his way.’

  In his way. I smile. Yeah, he was cute in his way.

  I keep watching as Christopher’s body gets smaller and smaller. Until he’s gone altogether.

  ‘Air?’

  I look up at her.

  ‘You think Blake would approve?’ Suzy asks.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s protective – and you’re his little sis’.’

  Although I’m the one who spends all my time looking out for Blake, Suzy’s right, he would never let anything happen to me. Especially when it came to guys. He warned me about the total losers he came across who treated girls like crap. Not that he needed to worry. Between studying, being his PA, keeping peace between Mom and Jude, and doing all the other family stuff that my parents were into, there wasn’t really time for getting into trouble. And I’d never met a guy I liked. Not before yesterday. And Christopher’s not exactly the bad boy type Blake had in mind when he warned me off guys. And anyway, he’s gone now.

  ‘I mean,’ Suzy goes on, ‘you hooking up with that guy and showing up at the crack of dawn – wearing his clothes.’ She pauses for dramatic effect. ‘You thought I didn’t notice when you came in?’

  Yeah. Of course she noticed. Crap liar. Crap actor.

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ I say.

  She smiles. ‘Like what?’

  She thinks I spent the night with him. That he’s my boyfriend. Or worse: a one-night stand.

  ‘I was just giving him a lift,’ I say.

  She puts her hands on her hips and laughs. ‘Oh, just a lift – in your brother’s car, in the middle of the night, miles away from your home?’

  ‘Yeah, just a lift.’

  ‘And the clothes?’

  I look at Christopher’s clothes folded up on the table and think about how good it felt to put them on after the swim. And how I wish I was wearing them now rather than this frilly bridesmaid’s dress.

  ‘And what was with the singing? Planning to join Blake in the music business?’

  ‘The music business? No. Never. I can’t sing.’

  ‘Sounded pretty good up there.’

  �
�Thanks. But no.’

  She smiles. ‘Still planning to take a rocket to the stars?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What’s going on, then? Why are you here?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Right.’ She winks. ‘It always is.’

  And then I realise that I’ve got to tell her about Blake. Perhaps she knows something – that would be Blake all over: swinging by the diner, telling Suzy about some crazy plan he has which will provide a totally logical explanation for why he hasn’t shown up yet. Maybe he told her about whatever surprise it is he had in store for the wedding. Maybe she’s even helped him. She’s like that: the kind of best friend sidekick in films that gets taken for granted by the hero.

  ‘Could you talk for a bit?’ I ask.

  She looks around the diner. There’s only one other customer.

  ‘Sure, honey.’ She sits down.

  I know what she’s thinking: that I’ve decided to give her the gossip about whatever it is that happened last night.

  ‘It’s about Blake.’

  She smiles and opens her mouth and I know that she’s going make some kind of a joke about my brother, something that’s going to make it even harder for me to say anything.

  ‘He’s missing.’

  She rolls her eyes. ‘What’s new? If only that brother of yours could stay in one place long enough, one of us girls might have a chance—’

  ‘No – this is different. He was meant to get a plane into Nashville from London. I booked the flight for him. Told him to make sure he checked the details. And he got things mixed up and the last I heard was that he was getting a plane to Dulles and he’s not answering his phone—’

  ‘Sure sounds like Blake.’

  For a second, it feels good talking to Suzy. Someone who knows how crazy and impulsive and infuriating Blake is.

  But then she scrunches up her brow. ‘You said the plane to Dulles?’

  ‘Yeah, I drove all the way back to DC to pick him up but it turned out he wasn’t on that plane either.’

  ‘Oh, Air.’ She swallows hard. Her hand flutters to her throat. ‘You don’t mean the plane to Dulles. The one from London that’s been all over the news?’

  Very slowly, I nod. ‘Yeah, that one.’

  Suzy looks past me at the TV screen behind the counter. I follow her gaze. The picture of guy in a UKFlyer uniform fills the screen. Curly, dark hair trapped under his cap. Every button sparkling.