A Sky Full of Stars

by Melissa Josias

  “We closed ten minutes ago.” He says.

  I nod, acknowledging his statement.

  “Now, are you feeling alright? You look a little pale.” I’d managed to avoid the mirror while I was in the bathroom, so I take his word for it. He leans against the counter and studies me. “Can I get you anything?”

  I shake my head, trying to avoid eye contact.

  “I’m going to be here for another half hour cleaning up. You can stay until I close up, if you like.”

  I can’t move from this spot. My body feels like it’s giving up. I’m not prepared to tell him, though, so I find my voice to say something else.

  “It’s okay if I stay?”

  He smiles. “Sure.”

  “Thank you.”

  He moves around the bar, busying himself with something I can’t see. I keep my eyes low, to my hands on the counter where they are shaking a bit. I ball them into fists again, trying to steady them. The barista turns back to me again, and slides a plate with a slice of cake in front of me. I look up at him.

  “It’s a salted blueberry and dark chocolate brownie. An in-house specialty.”

  I look down at the plate, and find myself salivating. My forearms tingle, and I realize for the first time that I have not eaten today.

  “I’m not exactly sure what it is I see on your face, but it looks like something may have destroyed you.” He says, looking at me, looking into me. “I know it can’t fix everything, but I’ve never met a girl that didn’t feel better after eating chocolate.” He slides a fork on a napkin toward me. “It’s on the house. Enjoy.”

  I watch him as he walks away, disappearing into a backroom I hadn’t noticed. I pick up the fork and cut a piece off the brownie. It’s so dark that it’s almost black, with the deep indigo of the blueberries. The first bite is rich and moist and intensely satisfying. I have never in my life tasted anything this good.

  I finish it in about twenty seconds, and the second it’s done I want more, but it might be rude to ask. I can still hear the barista rattling things in the backroom, cleaning or setting things right or whatever it is that he’s doing. I push the plate away from me, picking up a final crumb with my finger. I stand, searching for money in my pocket that will cover the bill, and stick it under the plate.

  The barista comes out of the backroom, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. He smiles when he sees me, now alert and standing.

  “All done?”

  I nod.

  “Was it any good?” He asks, indicating toward the empty plate. He takes the money from underneath it and enters it into the cash register.

  I can still taste the chocolate at the base of my tongue. Not bad for a last meal. “It was exceptional.”

  He raises his eyebrows at me. “Really? Well, I’ll be sure to tell your waitress when I see her tomorrow. She sort of dabbles in baking for the shop. She doesn’t believe she’s any good.”

  I remember the girl with the cherry-red lips.

  “You have a lovely accent.” He says, which catches me off guard. “Is it Australian?”

  I laugh softly to myself. “No. I’m from South Africa. Cape Town, specifically.”

  “Wow.” He says, etching a little closer to me, his right arm resting on the counter. “You’re a very long way from home. What brings you to LA?”

  I scratch the back of my neck. “I came here to rest.”

  “That’s a strange way of saying you’re on vacation.”

  “I’m not on vacation.”

  He tilts his head and narrows his eyes at me. I step aside before he can say anything. “Well, thank you very much for the brownie. It was delicious. And also, for letting me sit here for a while.”

  “Sure.” His brown eyes are beautiful. I find myself staring a little, then look away.

  “So, um...this might be a strange question, but do you know of any buildings that have roof access this time of night?”

  He frowns, and thinks about it for a second. “I’m not entirely sure. It’s a bit late.”

  I nod, as if I’d been expecting this answer.

  He smirks at me. “Why are you looking for roof access?”

  “Just need a good place to leap from.”

  His smile vanishes instantly. He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t ask if I’m serious.

  I’m mortified. I don’t know why I’ve just told him. Neither of us says anything for a few seconds. The air stills. My heart thunders in my ears.

  “I’m joking,” I say a little too late, plastering a fake smile onto my mouth.

  “No, you’re not,” he says.

  The way he’s so sure of himself makes me certain that he believes me. I need him not to. I’d been careful not to tell anyone because I didn’t want to be stopped. I didn’t want to be comforted. I didn’t want to be dissuaded.

  Shit.

  “I should go. It’s late.”

  I move past him, but he reaches out and grabs a hold of my arm. “Hold on a second. I can’t let you leave.”

  Heat travels up my neck. “I’m sorry?”

  “I can’t just let you go.”

  “Are you going to stop me?” I don’t mean for it to sound confrontational, but he seems to take it that way.

  “I’m sure as hell going to try.” He lets go of my arm and we stand there, facing each other. I fold my arms across my chest, feigning impatience. “What’s your name?”

  I am reluctant to tell him, to do anything. “Abernathy. Everyone calls me Abby.”

  He holds out his hand to me: a truce. “Abby, I’m Eric.” I stare at his hand. There is a small burn mark on the inside of his wrist. His veins are blue and green and travel up his arm like rivers and lakes on maps.

  I shake his hand. It’s warm and soft, his handshake strong. My fingertips tremble when he lets my hand go.

  “It would seem that we have quite a predicament here.”

  “It doesn’t have to be. You can just let me walk out of here. Pretend like I never said a word.”

  He nods. “I could. But what type of person would I be if I let a stranger walk out of here knowing that she’s about to throw herself off a building?”

  “I told you I wasn’t serious.”

  “And I told you that I didn’t believe you.”

  My shoulder blades begin to ache. The base of my skull becomes impossibly heavy. I run my fingers over my eyes, along the line of my nose. I give a heavy sigh.

  “Please just let me go.”

  “Okay.” Eric says, removing the apron from around his waist. “I have two solutions. I can either call the police, or you can walk with me to my car while I think of other ways to stall you.”

  I think I know what would happen if he got the police involved. I’d get locked up in a room and get pumped full of medication and be forced to talk about my feelings. All the things that I don’t want, can’t handle.

  “Please don’t call the police. I don’t want any trouble. I just...”

  “You just want to die.”

  I look down at our shoes. Mine are black leather ankle boots, and his are black and white Chucks. “You make it sound so awful.” I wait a breath, and then look up to meet his eyes. “I didn’t mean to get you into this, so if you could just walk away that would be perfect.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because out of all the places in the world, you came to California. And out of all the coffee shops in LA, you walked into the one where I was working the late shift. And not only did I see you the minute you walked in,” I frown at this, unaware of this fact, “but I prepared your first order, and your second, and I was the person you told that you wanted to end it all, even if you didn’t mean to. Now I don’t know about you, but I don’t think that’s a coincidence at all.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Except I didn’t come here for you to save me.”

  Something flickers across his face. I think I’ve offended him. “No,” he tells me, reaching for something below the counter.
The music stops abruptly. “But maybe you came here so that I can convince you to save yourself.”

  He disappears into the back room for a millisecond, returning with his jacket and keys in hand. He walks to the front door of the cafe, flicking off the lights, one at a time, darkening the shop from the back forward. He leaves the last light on, right where we are standing, like a spotlight.

  Eric looks at me like he’s waiting for something. For me to move, to leave with him, to make my decision. For a long moment, I stand by the bar, watching him with a hole in my chest, trying to decide what to do.

  My heart is beating so hard I can feel it in the back of my throat. Thump. Thump. Trying to convince me to stay. My brain is telling me to run. To get out of here fast, to not look back.

  In the end, my exhaustion wins. My convictions falter. I give up on wanting to fight. I tell myself that I can try again tomorrow.

  I give Eric a half-shrug and move toward him. He switches off the last light, plunging us into darkness, and together we step out into the soft, ocean-scented night.

  Chapter Two

  After he locks up the cafe, Eric and I slowly walk to his car. I keep a moderate amount of space between us, contemplating the strange man who’s broken my plans to finally get rid of the hole in my chest. He is quiet for the first few minutes, probably trying to figure out what to say to get me to stay. I can feel him sneaking glances at me, but I can’t bring myself to meet his eye.

  “Hey, are you hungry? I could definitely eat,” he says suddenly. I press my lips together, looking past his shoulder. He checks his watch. “My favourite food truck should still be open. Do you like tacos?”

  “You fed me already,” I say, thinking fondly of the brownie I’d finished only minutes earlier.

  “Right,” Eric says. “Oh. Well, I could rustle up something at home, I guess.” We walk a few feet. I bite the inside of my cheek. “Where have you been staying anyway?”

  I mention the motel, gesturing arbitrarily off into the distance in front of us.

  “Oh, yeah. I know that one. It’s just up the street.”

  I nod.

  “I’ll drop you off.”

  “You don’t have to do this. It’s not far. I’ll just walk.”

  “I think by now you should now that arguing with me is futile.”

  Eric drives an old, dark blue Jeep Liberty that smells like seawater when he opens the door. The backseat is a mess of clothing and beach towels. He tells me that sometimes his neighbour’s cat sleeps somewhere in the pile of junk too, and not to be surprised if something moves back there.

  I hesitate at the passenger door for a few moments. Even though it’s late, the streets are still filled with people. The air is warm. Everything feels alive. Eric gets in and starts his car. I follow without a word.

  We drive slowly. Eric turns on the car radio, and music I don’t recognize fills the silence between us. The streetlights reflect off the windscreen; light falls onto our laps and disappears again, doing the same dance over and over.

  “How long have you been in town?”

  Eric isn’t looking at me, just straight out onto the road.

  “Um...two days?” It’s more of a question than an answer. I’ve lost track of how many days have passed since stepping of the airplane.

  “Why did you choose tonight to jump off a building?”

  His question catches me off guard. I don’t know how to answer him.

  He looks over at me quickly, and then turns back to the road. “You don’t have to answer that. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  I look away from him and stare out of the window until we reach the motel. Eric pulls into the parking lot in one swift movement. He kills the engine, and the night hums around us. I get out without saying anything. Eric follows. I feel him mimic my footsteps, aware of his essence behind me, tangible. I spot Hadley at the service desk as we pass. He’s engrossed in some TV drama and doesn’t see us walk by.

  The key to my room is still in my pocket so I fish it out and unlock the door. The room smells musty as I step inside, and everything is still displayed the same way when I flick on the lights.

  Eric peeks inside, half of his body through the doorway. He gives the room a once-over, nodding as he does so.

  “Yeah, this place is a dump,” he says, which offends me because for the last few days this is what I have called home. I shoot him a look. “I’m not letting you stay here.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You can stay at my place tonight. I think we will both think a little better and clearer after we get some sleep.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to say anything, but strides into the room to pick up my suitcase. He grabs my passport and hands it to me.

  “Until when did you pay to stay here?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Perfect. You should drop the key at reception.” He moves toward the door without saying anything else.

  “Eric, wait.”

  He turns back to me. “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong? You just expect me to go with you? I don’t even know you.”

  Eric looks toward the door, and then back at me. “Well, I don’t expect you to do anything.” He sets the suitcase on the floor. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean for it to seem like I’m forcing you into anything. It’s just...” He sighs heavily and runs his hand over his face. “Would you please stay with me tonight? I am exhausted and I am worried about you. I know that’s silly because, like you said, we don’t know each other. I don’t even know what my plan is yet, but I’m not going to let you stay in a crappy motel room by yourself with thoughts of suicide running through your head.”

  Up until this moment, I didn’t notice how striking his eyes are. They are the colour of caramel. His words circle around me like a whirlwind, dropping onto my shoulders and the concaves of my collarbones. I look at him, and he looks back, and time suspends for a fraction of a second before I lose my nerve. I don’t know who this man is, and I have no idea how this is going to play out, but I know we can’t keep looking at each other like it’s the only way to solve all of our problems.

  “Are you going to rape me when we get to your place?”

  Eric’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “What?”

  “Do you have some sadistic plan to torture me and cut me into little pieces so no one will find me?”

  “Jesus,” Eric says, but then laughs, a sound I love instantly. “Abby, I am not a serial killer. I am not any kind of killer, to be honest.”

  “As if you’d tell me.”

  “You’re right. I wouldn’t.” He shrugs. “But for all I know, you could be the dangerous one. I guess we just need to take a chance on each other.”

  The air between us lightens, and it gets easier to breathe around him. I make my decision carelessly. I nod, and make my way out of the room. I lock the door once he exits and together we walk back to the car, wordless. I drop the key with Hadley, offering no explanation as to why I’m leaving when I can still stay the night. He says goodbye, eyeing Eric suspiciously as he signs me out. Hadley wishes me well, and watches us go.

  I watch as Eric swings my suitcase into the back seat, thinking that this is the most unlikely thing I’d have thought would happen tonight. Here is a man roughly the same age as me, strong-willed and persuasive, elongating my life by a few hours, if not one more night. The uncertainty of whatever is about to happen stretches out before us like routes on a map, breaking off into places I can’t readily follow.

  Eric drives for about twenty minutes, through streets that are lit up with neon signs and restaurants that are still open, late-night chatter from night dwellers drifting by us. Most of the stores are closed, but backlit, waiting for morning. The air rushing through the open windows feels cool and warm at the same time. I don’t speak, and Eric stays silent for the most part, sighing softly here and there, like it’s his normal way of breathing. I sneak glances across the car at him, watching his face morph with the passing light
s.

  By the time we pull into a street, wide and flanked with palm trees, we’ve made it to a residential area. The neighbourhood is quiet, unlike the bustling ambience we’ve left in our wake. Most of the houses are already dark, soft light casting out into the shadows here and there. The streetlights are a dim orange, like the earliest hours of dawn. Somewhere, a dog barks, the sound echoing alongside the backs of the houses. The air is thick, tangible, the way mornings in Cape Town feel in the middle of summer.

  Eric parks alongside the pavement, in front of an old building I didn’t expect to see among the myriad of family homes. I can partially make out the name of the building in the dark, but most of it is hidden by the trees near the entrance. Eric switches off the Jeep. The engine ticks and clicks as it cools.

  I wait for him to do something, to make the first move. I watch him from the passenger seat, listening to him breathing in the quiet of his car. His shoulders are suddenly slumped forward, and his back is curved like he is about to fall asleep on the steering wheel.

  Watching him, exhaustion radiates throughout my entire body.

  “Is this the part where you tell me you live in your car?”

  Eric snorts, turning to face me. “You know, Abernathy, you have a very strange sense of humour.”

  I shrug. “I’ve been told.”

  Suddenly, something moves in the backseat. The hairs on the back of neck stand on end. “Oh, my God. What the hell is that?”

  Eric laughs, the sound like pebbles falling into water. He exits the Jeep and opens the back door, while I turn in my seat and watch. “Don’t worry. It’s only Mimi.” He says, reaching into the mess on the back seat and pulling out a white cat. “She belongs to April, my neighbour. She likes to hitch a ride with me sometimes.”

  “I thought you were joking about the cat.”

  Mimi meows in protest, but Eric snuggles her into his arm and she seems placated.

  “Can you grab your suitcase? I need to get a few things from the car.”

  We get all that we need from the Jeep, and traipse toward the front doors of the apartment building. I lug my suitcase with me while Eric manages to carry the cat, a small duffel bag and some of his dirty clothes all at the same time. He drops the cat when we are inside the foyer, and she disappears around the corner in a white blur.