Between Now and Forever

by Margaret Duarte

  There was no snow on Mount Hamilton (a miracle, since the year before it had experienced blizzard like conditions, with the biggest snowfall in twenty-five years), so the road, though strenuous, was open.

  Watching Codi, Tessa, Angelina, Luke, Jason, Shawn, and Ethan talk, laugh, and jostle in the seats behind me brought hot salty tears to my eyes. And when I caught the barely concealed smile on Jason’s face as he observed his father behind the wheel, I thought, Life is good.

  “This has got to be the crookedest road I’ve ever been on,” Codi said. “One more turn and I think I’ll puke.”

  Luke pressed his nose against the window in his eagerness to take in every twist and turn of the long and narrow route. “Three-hundred and sixty-five curves. Designed for horse-drawn wagons, not minibuses.”

  “Thank goodness, it’s covered in asphalt now,” I said. “Do you want us to stop for some fresh air?”

  Shawn dumped the contents of his lunch bag and handed it to Codi. “Barf in this.”

  “Gee, thanks.” She glowered at the flimsy brown bag as if doubting it would hold up under siege. “Guess I can hold out a little longer. Anyway, it’s freezing out there, and I don’t see any guardrails.”

  By the time we passed the Grant Ranch Park entrance, the mood in the minibus was electrifying.

  “I’ve been wanting to come here for a long time,” Ethan said.

  “Me, too,” Luke said.

  “Will we be tested on this later?” Jason asked.

  “Absolutely not. I want you to notice how the universe is not only a place, but a story you take part in, belong in, and out of which you arose,” I said, rephrasing Ron Ardis’s words in my classroom over three weeks before. “This trip is meant to be fun. We need to keep our brain cells fired up for all the other data bombarding us each day.”

  “Good thinking,” Codi said. “Like when we go to the Winchester Mystery House. Mrs. Winchester was crazy, you know, and her ghost haunts the place.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I warned as we pulled onto the observatory grounds. “We may not get this lucky twice.”

  Codi didn’t reply, her attention diverted by the scene outside. “Omigod.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  THEIR GIFTS WERE EXTRAORDINARY. But, as usual, it seemed my students had no clue what to do with them. “This isn’t what I expected,” Angelina said, her shoulders slumped. We were in the warm and well-lit control room next to the 3-m Shane Telescope, with its racks of electronic equipment and flocks of computer terminals. Quite a privilege since it wasn’t on public tour. “This place looks messy and old,” she said, “like the computers and monitors at recycling centers, and there are so many wires and dials and stuff.”

  Tessa echoed Angelina’s disappointment. “I thought we’d be able to see through the telescope, but it’s bigger than a dinosaur, and we can’t even get to it from here.”

  So much for my take on how the lesson should unfold.

  “When the universe arrives at a fork in the road,” Ron Ardis had said on our first meeting, “it transmutes into something new, teaching us to break apart aspects of ourselves for ongoing creativity to continue.” What aspect of ourselves did my students and I need to break apart for our creativity to continue?

  “If you’d done more research,” Luke said, “you’d know that almost all observation is done from here and through remote links from other locations.” He scoped the control room, otherwise known as the Readout Room, with camera-sharp focus as if documenting every nook and cranny for future reference. “It searches for planets and spectra of supernovae.”

  Codi was chewing gum, something I’d asked the students not to do on this trip. She worked the synthetic wad of rubber, her teeth, jaw, and tongue twisting, pulling, smack, smack, pop, pop. “Uh, for the sake of those less inclined” —she gestured toward Angelina and Tessa— “would you mind defining supernovae, please?”

  Luke paused from his fevered inspection of the room long enough to appeal to Ron Ardis for help. “Your call.”

  “I’m sure your definition would top mine,” Ron said, observing Luke with the pleasure of someone who’d recognized a like mind. “Want to give it a try?”

  Luke re-positioned his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Even you might find this interesting, Angelina.”

  She shrugged, gaze fixed on the floor. “I doubt it.”

  “A supernova is when a star dies.”

  Tessa wailed. “That’s awful.”

  Codi rolled her eyes. “Some scientist you’d make, Tessa.”

  “I don’t want to be a scientist which sort of makes this trip a waste for me.”

  Luke hurried on. “Just like with people, stars are born, live, and die, except a star’s death is faster, more violent, and more beautiful.”

  Another wail from Tessa. “Jeez, Luke. You call death beautiful?”

  “Consider it a form of recycling. We were born from all the explosive material that comes from supernovae.”

  Codi snorted. “Tessa was born because her mom and dad got it on, Luke. What’s the matter, you flunk Sex Ed?”

  Luke’s gaze darted to Ron Ardis, then to me. I shrugged, enjoying the show.

  “The elements Tessa and her parents are made up of were born from all that explosive material,” he said.

  “Oh, I get it.” Codi’s customary tortured look took on one of near pleasure. “You mean, even before we were sea creatures and creepy crawlers.”

  Luke closed his eyes and heaved a long sigh.

  “I knew you’d do fine without my input,” Ron said, his grin similar to that of his son.

  But Luke wasn’t ready to give up the floor. “Supernovae explosions are rare in our own galaxy. The last one exploded about four hundred years ago, but they’ve been seen in other galaxies, like the one in 1987.”

  Though aware of Luke’s capacity for processing incredible amounts of information, his grasp of the universe still amazed me.

  Angelina held up both hands, fingers spread, to inspect the glittery pink polish on her nails. “So, we’re made of stardust.”

  Luke’s glasses slid to the tip of his nose. “If you’re thinking of the fairy dust Tinker Bell spreads around, you better think again.”

  Tessa directed her attention to me. “Do we have to stay with the group, Ms. Veil, or can we go to the gift shop to browse?”

  “The gift shop is quite a distance from here,” I warned. “And it’s cold outside, so—”

  “Hey!” Codi jabbed a finger at Luke. “Just because these dinosaur telescopes don’t turn Angelina and Tessa on, doesn’t mean they’re stupid little girls.”

  Angelina brightened at the compliment. I, on the other hand, felt stunned. I hadn’t pictured Codi as a defender of her own sex.

  “Tell them, Angelina,” Codi said.

  I didn’t expect Angelina to comply but was again surprised. “I want to study ways to cure illness and disease, so don’t think I’m a starry-eyed fool.”

  Jason laughed so hard I thought he would lose his footing, while Luke looked like he might implode. Ethan and Shawn said nothing, only stared at Angelina as if she’d metamorphosed from angel to earthbound human in front of their eyes.

  “Off to the gift shop,” I said, nodding to Ron Ardis. “Anyone besides Angelina and Tessa want to come along? It’s at least a ten-minute walk…”

  “I’m good,” Codi said. “I like this place.”

  I liked the place, too, but my job was to allow each student to follow his or her own motivation—minus the gum. I pointed at Codi’s mouth and held out my hand. Our eyes locked. Then she did something she hadn’t done since my first day subbing in Ms. Goldsberry’s class—tweeted my brain. Gum rules suck and you know it.

  I tweeted back. Humor me.

  Ms. Veil, I really, really need something to chew on. For stress.

  I hesitated. Gum was a better tension reliever than many other choices availabl
e to her. Was she truly stressed or just using that as a rule-breaking excuse?

  Before I could decide yea or nay, she moved deeper into my head and provided me with a little demo of the mood she was in. Sadness struck with such force that my first thought was to curl into a ball and cry. That not being an option, I craved another form of relief, anything to remove this dizzying, dark weight of despair. Afraid to close my eyes, afraid of what I might see, I refocused on Codi through my tears. I’m so very sorry.

  She wadded up her gum and dropped it into my hand. It wasn’t helping much, anyway.

  The sadness evaporated, and I nearly cried out in relief. Is there anything I can do?

  She smiled. It helps that you know.

  I wanted to cradle her in my arms, rock her, comfort her.

  She took a step back. Thanks, but no thanks.

  While processing my new respect for this brave, stoic girl, I pressed her gum into a piece of paper from inside my leather pouch and gestured for Angelina and Tessa to follow me to the door.

  Luke turned to Ron Ardis with a question about black holes. No doubt, they’d soon be discussing parallel universes and the harmonic relationships between planets.

  “The stars and planets are all so far away,” Angelina said in her defense as we headed for the exit of the domed building housing the Shane telescope.

  Once again, I recalled something Ron Ardis’s had said the day he’d visited my classroom. “Newton and Darwin’s cosmic perspective sounds meaningless, blind, and purposeless. We have to believe there’s more.”

  The intensity of Angelina’s sigh revealed deep emotion. “The observatory makes me wonder about God and about where we go after we die. And I just don’t want to think about that right now.”

  “I read that they buried James Lick at the base of the Great Lick Refractor,” Tessa said, following Angelina like a shadow.

  Angelina halted, and Tessa nearly collided into her. “You mean, the refractor in the main observatory where we’re headed?”

  Before Tessa could answer, Angelina dashed out the door.

  “Me and my big mouth,” Tessa said before hurrying after her.

  I quickened my pace and followed the girls. It was freezing outside at 4,200 feet. Windy. Nasty. The dome emitted an eerie groan as it rotated to keep its opening centered above the slowly moving telescope inside.

  “Angelina,” I called, trying to divert her attention from James Lick’s gravesite. “I’m sure there are some really cool things in the gift shop.”

  She continued as though running a marathon, with me following, huffing and puffing like an old lady with limited heart and lung capacity.

  She and Tessa reached the main observatory before I did, but waited long enough to hold the door for me before sprinting through the center hall into the east vestibule and veering to the right. I followed at a more leisurely pace, noting the observatory office next to the center hall before following the two budding athletes into the long southern corridor. We passed celestial pictures on the walls and a series of interconnecting doorways before reaching the south dome. Angelina signaled for me to follow, then tripped lightly down a staircase leading to a basement. She’d definitely done her floor-plan research before our trip.

  When I finally caught up to my charges, they stood in front of a placard that read: Here lies the body of James Lick. A soft light shone from above, with a bouquet of fresh flowers underneath. I experienced a moment of vertigo as I stared at the inscription, hoping Angelina would tire soon and concede to our original plan.

  Instead, she began to shake.

  “Oh, oh,” Tessa said. “She’s tuning in.”

  I nodded, knowing what Tessa meant. I’d been there myself, encountering a reality only a thin veil beyond our own. But it felt weird standing on the outside looking in.

  “So far in life, I have borne my yoke patiently,” Angelina said in a voice that sounded strange, as if she were playacting on stage, “and I will not shirk my duty now.”

  “She’s quoting James Lick,” Tessa said.

  “She probably looked it up on the Internet.”

  “Nope. She hears him.”

  The surrounding space turned refrigerator cold, and I shivered. Angelina would need my support when she re-entered the world of the ordinary, currently a dreary place, over the bones of the observatory’s dead benefactor.

  I will not shirk my duty now. A good reminder that I was responsible for the well-being and safety of the students I had accompanied here.

  I waited for Angelina to turn for my help in case of dizziness or confusion. Instead, she slumped at our feet.

  “Damn.” I dropped to my knees and reached for her wrist to check her pulse.

  Tessa blocked my hand. “Not yet.”

  She turned Angelina onto her back and knelt next to her, then floated her hands over her friend’s throat, chest, and belly, pausing a few seconds after each position change.

  Taut with uncertainty, I reined in my urge to react in some way. It was my job, not Tessa’s, to keep Angelina safe. Yet here I sat, butt on heels, hands on thighs, allowing a thirteen-year-old to take charge.

  “Don’t worry,” Tessa whispered. “She’s going to be okay.”

  I couldn’t decide if responding with calm instead of reacting out of fear was the best way to go, or just a plain cop-out. My gut told me to have faith in Tessa, my mind told me otherwise. The option that made most sense was to call 911 from the observatory office. I stood. Dear God, what if they didn’t have ambulance service way up here? Even so, with narrow and twisty Mt. Hamilton Road, it could take hours for the responders to arrive. Maybe they had on-site emergency staff.

  “Ms. Veil,” Tessa said.

  Figuring it was okay to touch Angelina now, I bent down to check her pulse and breathing. Both seemed normal.

  “Ms. Veil,” Tessa repeated.

  I looked at her, eyes blurred with worry. “Yes.”

  “If you’re serious about us believing in ourselves and applying what we know, you have to believe in us, too.”

  Damn. Another student reminding me to practice what I preached. “Jason said Angelina was” —I halted as if voicing the word dying would make it true. “This could be a medical emergency, Tessa. We can’t treat it as a minor incident unless we’re certain there’s no underlying cause.”

  “Does that mean you don’t trust me, Ms. Veil?”

  Trust? I was beginning to hate that word. It was one thing to entrust the students with tasks and responsibilities that had minimal consequences, quite another when it came to the big stuff. Dared I have faith in Tessa’s assessment that Angelina would be okay? Dared I believe that somehow this thirteen-year-old could channel energy into her friend by touch and activate some kind of natural healing? How could I practice and inspire trust while focused on its limitations? How could I find the right balance?

  “Do you trust Maya?” Tessa asked.

  “What?”

  “Maya says Angelina will be okay.”

  Maya? The mention of my sister’s name caused my breathing to became labored. Mucus built up in my nose and throat, making it hard to swallow. “I tried to trust Maya. I tried to believe she’d do the right thing. And you know what? She died. Instead of listening to me, she died.”

  “Angelina fainted because of overstimulation and dehydration,” Tessa said. “Look, she’s coming to.”

  “Thank God.”

  Tessa helped Angelina rise into a sitting position, then asked, “Do you mind if I head for the gift shop?”

  I shook my head, wondering why she was abandoning us.

  Until I saw her tears.

  “I’ll buy Angelina some bottled water,” she said. Then before heading for the stairs to the long hall, she added, “Maya’s life wasn’t yours to live.”

  No sooner had Tessa disappeared than Angelina asked, “What happened?”

  “You passed out.”

  She rubbed her fo
rehead and shivered.

  “Are you okay to stand?”

  She gave me a faraway look as if caught between worlds. “I went to the stars, Ms. Veil. They were inside of me, and I was inside of them, glowing in billions of galaxies. It was better than seeing them through a telescope. Much better. I didn’t want to come back, but Tessa…” She looked around and blinked, then reached for my hand.

  With more effort on my part than hers, she rose to her feet. “Do you feel well enough to make it to the gift shop?” I asked. “Tessa went to buy you some water.”

  “We never die,” she said.

  I hugged her. It was time to face an uncomfortable truth. Trust would cost my gifted students and me in unforeseen ways. But without it, we’d continue to avoid risks and question our decisions. We had to accept our fallibility and the fallibility of others, which meant letting go of control and allowing for mistakes.

  Trust is a journey. It doesn’t come easily. And it doesn’t come free.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  BY THE TIME RON Ardis, Codi, and the boys met us at the gift shop, Angelina had made what appeared to be a full recovery from her fainting spell. Hydrated by the bottle of water Tessa had provided, her face glowed and her eyes sparkled. Only Shawn, who’d been markedly quiet during the trip, looked at Angelina with a frown. She giggled and held up a T-shirt with an imprint of the Lick Observatory on front. “This would be perfect for Luke, don’t you think?” Shawn glanced at me and gave a slight nod. He knew something was up. Of course, he did.

  Meanwhile, Codi, Luke, and Ethan were inundating Tessa with information about the Shane telescope she’d missed due to her early departure.

  “It’s a reflector, not a refractor,” Codi snapped during Ethan’s animated discourse about how the Shane telescope helped discover planets outside our solar system.

  “Yeah,” Ethan said, nodding like a bobble-head doll.

  In the seconds it took Tessa to puff air through her lips as if to say, No one gets that I don’t care, Ethan’s attention switched to an assortment of astronomical photographs stacked on a table nearby. He picked up a picture of a supernova and checked the back for a price.