Heavenly Bodies

by Rochelle Allison

  “No way.” He looks at me like I’m nuts. “I’m tired as hell after that race.”

  “I got a lot of good shots today; I’ll have to show you.”

  “You brought them?’

  I shake my head. “My camera’s at home. I’ll email them.”

  He nods. “You want to go somewhere?”

  I still my hands, wishing I could still the flutters in my belly, too. “Is it close?”

  Backing up, he nods toward his truck. “You okay with leaving your car here a minute?"

  “Just a minute?”

  “Twenty minutes,” he amends, cocking his head. “Thirty.” He knows I’ll agree.

  And I do. Sliding off the trunk, I grab my bag and climb into the cab of Rigel's truck. It smells faintly of incense. A slim stack of books sits on the console, his phone on top. There's sand on the seats and a fishing rod in the back. Getting in beside me, Rigel reverses out, the music I’ve quietly obsessed over from afar booming to life with a flick of his wrist. We drive with the windows down, the salty sea breeze playing with our hair.

  He rides the way boys do, one arm framed in the window, the other resting on the steering wheel. I keep my eyes on the road but I feel everything he does, tensing every time he reaches over to switch gears. We ride along the main road for a few minutes before turning down into the rainforest, where the trees grow so thick they seem to close in. Verdant and lush, it’s noticeably cooler the deeper we go. After passing a couple of cars on the twisty road, Rigel pulls off, turning the music down.

  “This is Creque Dam. It’s pretty empty in the summer months, but come winter it'll be full of water.”

  “The rainy season, right?”

  “Yeah.” He gets out and I follow, swinging my purse over my shoulder. The dam’s spillway is a long, narrow walkway made of concrete. The right side is filled with overgrown brush and plants, but the other’s a sheer drop of bare concrete. It’s at least thirty or forty feet. “I hope you’re not afraid of heights,” Rigel calls over his shoulder.

  “Not really,” I say, supremely grateful for the rusty, metal handrail lining the walkway. I have good balance, and there’s enough room to walk safely, but it's still a little precarious feeling.

  Rigel walks slowly, leading me further along until he stops, sitting down. I sit beside him, and we dangle our feet over the edge.

  “This is amazing,” I whisper, compulsively snapping a couple of photos before putting my phone away. Straggles of sunlight shine weakly through the tangled canopy of trees, and with the exception of the occasional bird, it's still. Reverent.

  “We used to hang out here a lot...still do, sometimes,” Rigel says, looking up at the sky. “Mostly I come by myself, though. I like the quiet.”

  “We drove through a rainforest, but I don’t remember this.” Two of birds dart by, chasing each other up into the trees.

  “You probably came down Mahogany Road.”

  I look around, eyeing the dam. “So do people swim? When it’s full?”

  “No,” he laughs, wrinkling his nose. “Not up here. There are waterfalls further down; people swim in those. They’ll probably surge tonight with the all rain we’re going to get.”

  “Grandpa Harry said the storm got upgraded to a hurricane, but you’d never know it by this weather.” It’s still as a tomb, the leaves motionless.

  “It’s always like this right before,” says Rigel. “Wait until midnight. You’ll see some serious wind then.”

  We still in silence for awhile, soaking in the tranquility. “So, about today.”

  He smiles, staring out into the darkening wilderness.

  I narrow my eyes. “What?”

  Twisting around to face me, he throws one leg over and straddles the spillway. “I didn’t bring you here to talk about how stubborn you are”—I try to butt in, but he barrels right over me—“or to explain that I pushed you today because being afraid of touching the bottom is a hundred times worse than actually touching the bottom.”

  I feel convicted, called out. Seen. It doesn’t hurt like I thought it would, but it’s not pleasant, either. Swallowing past my thundering heart, I look away. “Then why did you bring me here?”

  “Because.” Rigel touches my chin with his thumb, tilting my face back to his. It’s different this time, slower. His hand is at the nape of my neck, fingers in my hair, and I lean in, high off the feeling of being wanted by someone I want so badly. He kisses me, parted lips and a tentative tongue. I close my eyes, giving it back to him a little deeper.

  “Come here,” he says, turning me to face him. Moving carefully, we arrange my legs over his, so that we’re sitting interlocked, and then he comes in for the deepest sort of kiss. There’s something raw and honest about Rigel, like he’s not afraid to show me that he wants me. I slide his hat off so I can touch his hair, tangling my fingers in his curls.

  “You’re a beautiful girl, Isla,” he whispers against my mouth. “That’s why.”

  He’s the beautiful one.

  It gets dark faster here, I’ve noticed, probably because we’re so far south.

  We get back to my car in a way different headspace than the one we left it in. I manage to wrench myself from the giddy pull of Rigel’s sideways glances and secret smiles long enough to send my mother a message. She’s texted twice, and though I know Grandpa Harry told her where I went, she’s pissed I'm still out.

  Her response comes a millisecond after I hit send: Just get home. Now.

  Cringing, I put my phone away. Rigel turns down the volume and looks my way. “Everything okay? She flipping out?”

  “Yeah. It’s the storm, I think.”

  “Can’t blame her, I guess.” He frowns, pulling up behind my car. “You guys gonna be okay tonight?”

  “I think so.” I pause, hand on the door handle. “Do you really think it’s going to be that bad? Jasmine said storms pass by every year, no big deal.”

  “That’s true, except for the times it is a big deal.”

  Nodding, I open the door. “I’d better get home, then.”

  “I’ll follow you.”

  Warmed, I smile at him through the open window. “Thanks.”

  His headlights keep me company until his turnoff, where they flash twice and disappear as I continue on home. My mother’s on the porch, arms crossed, when I pull up. Bracing for the storm, pun totally intended, I gather my things and get out.

  “It’s almost seven o’clock, Isla Grace. Even if there wasn’t a hurricane coming our way”—she glares at me—“it’s a school night!”

  “I know.” I hug my bag to my chest. It’s bad enough getting in trouble; knowing you deserve it is the worst. “I’m so, so sorry. I—”

  “It can be dangerous at night, especially on the beach,” she continues, turning to go back inside. “You still don’t know the island that well.”

  I follow, pulling the door shut behind me. “I know. I’m learning, though.”

  Alex races by, saying something about turtles.

  Mom eyes me, washing her hands. Dinner looks half made, like most of the prep work is done already. “That’s not the point,” she says. “I think I’ve been pretty lenient with you, letting you come and go as you please, but you need to respect the boundaries I’ve set, okay? Seven is too late. I didn’t think I’d have to give you a curfew during the week, but…”

  “No, I know. I’m really, really sorry. I totally lost track of time.”

  “Doing what? Taking pictures?” Arching an eyebrow, she looks skeptically from me to the window. “At this time?”

  Fighting the urge to be bratty, I decide to make my escape. “I’m going to go take a shower, okay?”

  “You should. The power will probably go out later and the water pump won’t work.”

  I’m halfway down the hall when she suddenly asks, “Who were you with tonight?”

  “A kid from school, Rigel.”

  “Rigel? The one teaching you to swim?” she says, closer than I realize when
she touches my hair. “You weren’t swimming tonight.”

  “No.” I rest my hand on the door to my room. “We were just hanging out.”

  “Hm.” She looks me up and down, pausing at my neck. “Go get cleaned up.”

  In the bathroom, I rest my warm cheek against the cool door. The mirror above the sink shows me a flushed girl with a shiny eyes and faint marks along her collarbone. Also? Her hair looks like she’s already been through a hurricane.

  No wonder Mom was giving me the serious side eye.

  We rush through dinner, eager to clean up in case we lose electricity. Grandpa Harry turns in soon after, tuckered out from his day. I spend the evening watching the Weather Channel with Mama and texting my friends. When Alex falls asleep beside me on the couch I carry him to bed, tucking him in and checking the windows. It’s ten thirty, and the wind is picking up. My phone vibrates with a message from my father.

  How’s my Isla-girl? I miss you too. Y’all doing ok with this hurricane?

  I think it’s a little one, don’t worry.

  Mama said that. Still wish I was with you.

  Me too :(

  Keep me updated. Mama’s not as quick with texting as you are.

  Haha. Will do.

  Made my reservation for Thanksgiving.

  My heart leaps. Really? How long?

  Four days. Mom and I are worked something out.

  My chest hurts. I hate not having Daddy around. I hate that some days pass where I don’t think of him at all. I hate that at a time where he and my mother should be leaning on each other they’re an ocean apart.

  Love you, Daddy.

  Love you too.

  “It’s like a freight train,” Mama says. Hurricane Carmen is passing over St. Croix, bestowing upon us howling wind and relentless rain. It’s two in the morning, and the power just went out. I’d just dozed off sometime around one only to have Alex climb into bed with me, frightened of the thunder and lightning...and that damn wind.

  Cocking my ear toward the window, I listen. “It is. It’s kind of eerie.”

  She nods, rubbing my brother’s back, though he’s long since fallen back asleep.

  Yawning, I pull my blanket up.

  “I’ll bring him to my bed,” Mama says, standing and stretching.

  “Just leave him,” I say. “I don’t mind.”

  Nodding, she leans to kiss me, covers Al with the blanket, and leaves. I settle back, closing my eyes. The storm is fierce, but I’m not afraid. Grandpa Harry’s house is a fortress.

  In the morning, I wake up sweaty. The power’s still out, so my fan’s at a standstill. Alex is already gone, his portion of the blanket crumpled on the floor. Climbing blearily out of bed, I peer out the window to a calm, grey morning. There’s debris in the yard, but it looks like mostly tree branches. Some of Grandpa’s plants have been destroyed, though.

  My phone still has some battery left, but there aren’t any new messages. I text both Camille and Rigel, letting them know we’re ok, asking how they fared, but neither of them respond.

  “Cell service might be down,” Mama says. “With everyone on the phone, calling the states…”

  Startled, I spin around to find her at the kitchen table. “Are you serious?”

  She smiles. “No electricty? No big deal. But no phone? Isla’s got problems.”

  “Haha,” I say, sticking out my tongue.

  “Best keep that thing in your mouth; you’re never too old for a spanking,” she says, Crucian accent making a comeback. Over the years, I only heard it when she spoke to Aunt Greta or someone from here, but it comes out more frequently now that she’s back.

  Moving from room to room, Mama and I open all of the louvers we cranked shut last night. Weak, watery sunlight and a gust of fresh air come in, making the mood a little less gloomy.

  “Charlene, the generator,” Grandpa Harry calls, shuffling into the living room. “Macho left it in the shed.”

  “Why didn’t he just bring it onto the porch?” Mama says, sucking her teeth. “That thing weighs a ton!”

  “Didn’t want it to get wet during the hurricane.”

  Mom stalks off to her bedroom, muttering.

  “I can help you carry it,” I offer.

  “Go put your shoes on,” she says. “God knows what’s in the yard today.”

  Minutes later, Alex and I trail dutifully after Mama through the saturated grass while Grandpa Harry yells directions from the porch. The shed’s not as much of a pig-sty as it was when we first got here, thanks to Mama’s diligence, but it’s still a little gross. Between the cobwebs and bugs, I generally steer clear of it. But today we have to lug Grandpa’s enormous generator out so we can set it up behind the house.

  Mom peeks through the shed’s tiny window. “You expecting someone?”

  My heart leaps, because if it’s who I hope it is, I can’t believe he’s here. Sure enough, Rigel’s truck is coming through the gate. He pulls up next to my car and gets out, adjusting his hat.

  “Hey! What are you doing here?” I go over to him, my sneakers squelching in the mud. “How’d you even know where I lived?”

  “My dad knows your grandparents, so he told me how to get here.” He glances at the house. “And you didn’t reply to my text, so I came to check.”

  I fumble for the phone in my back pocket. “You texted me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It didn’t come through,” I say. “My mama said cell service might be down, though.”

  “Probably.” He nods. “Is there anything I can do? Did you guys have any damage?”

  I fumble for words, still surprised he showed up. “I don’t think so, but you can help us with the generator.”

  Grandpa Harry’s suddenly nowhere to be found, but Mama comes out of the shed just then. Before she can embarrass me, I grab her arm. “Mama, this is Rigel. Rigel, my mother.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Kelly.” He extends his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Ah, Rigel,” she says. I cringe as they shake, hoping she doesn’t say anything weird and/or parental. “So you’re the one teaching Isla to swim.”

  “I’m trying,” he says, smirking at me.

  I oversleep the next morning, exhausted from the roughing it that is post-hurricane life. Rigel stayed for a little while yesterday, helping with the generator and some cleanup before returning home. In the end, we went to Camille’s for dinner. Uncle Isaac didn’t have much faith in the local power company to get its act together anytime soon, so he opted to grill most of the meat in his fridge before it could go bad.

  The lights came back on halfway through dinner. We now have enough steak and drumsticks to last the apocalypse.

  “Camille needs a ride,” Mama says, leaning in my doorway as I scramble into my favorite pair of Adidas. “Says her car’s acting up.”

  “Probably her battery again,” I say, standing. “Tell her to be outside. Please.”

  “Where’s your phone, Isla?” she asks.

  “Charging.”

  I slide silver hoops through my ears and grab my phone, shoving it into my bag. Camille picked a crappy day to need a last minute ride; I’m already behind. Grabbing a granola bar, I kiss my mother as she tucks two coffees into my hands. “Thank you! Love you!”

  “Drive carefully,” she yells as I rush out the door. “Don’t be crazy, Isla!”

  Camille’s waiting outside when I pull up, bless her.

  “You’re lucky I’m running late, otherwise I’d be gone already,” I say as we reverse out of her driveway.

  “Everyone’s late today,” she says. “There was a damn hurricane.”

  “Well, that’s true.” I gaze at the roadside as we fly past. Other than a few downed branches and a lot of water, St. Croix seems to have fared well. “Your mom went in already?”

  “The whole faculty went in early. They had meetings this morning about water damage and stuff.”

  I hand Cam a coffee. “Sounds fun.”

  “Speaking of mother
s, I love yours,” she says, a beatific smile gracing her lips as she sniffs her cup. “Her coffee is a God-send.”

  We drive in companionable silence, waking up to caffeine and good music. About five minutes from school, though, boy-related anxiety kicks in, making the last of my coffee taste like tar.

  “So I like Rigel.”

  “I know.”

  “I mean, I really like him.”

  “Oh, I know,” Camille says, turning the music down. “It’s all over your face whenever he’s around.”

  “Shush.” There’s no good parking left, so I head for the end of the lot. “He kissed me.”

  “What?” Gasping, she jabs at the radio until it’s off. “When? Isla!”

  I turn the a/c vent to cool my face. “I see him sometimes at Rainbow Beach. After school.”

  “Where he goes to train,” she murmurs, nodding. “How’d you find that out?”

  Bristling at the almost accusatory undertones of her voice, I pull into a spot. “It was by mistake. I started going there to take pictures the day I got my car, and we ran into each other.”

  “And every day after, huh?” she teases, poking my side.

  “There was only one day after that, and that’s when he kissed me.” I glance her. “And we went to the rainforest once.”

  “I thought it was kinda suspect he went by your house yesterday.” She sits back, a thoughtful look other face. “Maybe it really is over with Mia. They were on and off for so long, you know? Have you asked about her?”

  My stomach knots up at the thought of that conversation. “No.”

  Camille nods, shifting her eyes away.

  “Just...what?” I ask, exasperated by her weirdness. “Is there something you need to say?”

  “Look, I love Rigel. I really do. But be careful.”

  “Careful in what way?”

  “Just talk to him, okay? Get to know him for real.” She looks at me. “Because he knows he’s cute, and he definitely uses it.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “It means there’s a lot more to Rigel than what meets the eye.” She frowns thoughtfully.

  The anticipation that’s been bubbling all morning sours into anxiety. Turning the car off, I reach into the back seat and yank my backpack out. “Well, Camille, you know him better than I do.”