Until The Last Star Fades

by Jacquelyn Middleton

  She sniffed and wiped her nose. “Yeah, but I was afraid to admit it.”

  “At least you’re admitting it now, before it’s too late.” Fuck, should I…? Riles, give me a sign. His fingers gripped the leather bracelet on his wrist.

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling me—except Erika. She thinks I’m making a huge mistake. Mom was relieved more than anything, I think.”

  “Why?”

  “A bunch of reasons. She thinks I’m too young to get married, and Josh wasn’t the most supportive. Everything was his career, where he wanted to live…”

  “That sucks.” So does this. She took my stupid friends speech at face value. It’s out of my hands. She’s not interested in me. Dammit!

  “I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s so…stupid.” Riley scrunched up her face and swiped away stray tears. “Look, can we talk about something else? Sorry, it’s…”

  “Yep, absolutely! Fire away.” And shoot me now.

  “Tell me about England and Scotland.”

  “Oh, sure. What do you want to know?”

  “What’s Scotland like?” They shifted around a vendor’s table piled high with knockoff designer purses.

  “Beautiful. Old. Cold, but the people are warm. I don’t remember much about Edinburgh—we moved to England when I was six.” His eyes drifted to a cart selling hot dogs and large pretzels. “Oh, hang on. Sorry, still peckish.” He dug in his pocket for change and smiled at the seller. “Want one, Riles?”

  She shook her head.

  “A pretzel, please.”

  The vendor stared at him. “Five bucks.”

  “Five?! Nice try, buddy!” Riley glared. “Just because he’s got an accent! Ben, it’s two bucks.”

  “Shit, is it? I’ve paid five every time.” Ben exchanged money and snide looks with the vendor. He took his pretzel and they walked on, Central Park’s leafless trees poking the blue sky ahead.

  “When you moved, was it just you and your mom?”

  “Yeah, down to Slough. It’s west of London.”

  “Piper said you lived in Windsor…?”

  “Yeah, but later, briefly.” He offered the warm pretzel. “Salty goodness! Go on, have a bite!”

  She waved him off. “No, I’m good. So, why Slough?”

  “Mum heard Ben Sr. had quit drugs and moved there. She wanted me to have a relationship with him, so she packed us up and down we went.”

  “Based on what you said before, I guess it didn’t go well?”

  “Nope. He wasn’t easy to find, and when she finally did track him down, he was living with some woman and their kid. He was working at the Mars factory and I got really excited—free sweets!—but I never got a single Milky Way. He never came to see me.” Ben bit the pretzel and chewed quickly.

  “Did you ever meet your half—”

  “Brother.” He swallowed so he wouldn’t be talking with his mouth full. “No. He’s called Ben Jr. Nice, eh? I literally got replaced with a newer model.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Yep.” Reaching into the bag, the pretzel’s salt stung his finger. Ow! Papercut. “As if being a little kid with a weird Scottish burr in England couldn’t get any worse. I had no dad, couldn’t spell or read well—this was before my dyslexia was diagnosed. Kids picked on me.” He sucked on his finger, washing away the salt. “My no-name secondhand PE kit didn’t help me fit in either. In my school, if you weren’t sporty or didn’t have the latest Adidas trainers, forget it. Social Siberia.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  “Yeah. I’d hide behind the old church next door or in the library stacks, waiting for playtime to finish. A year or two on, things were still bad, so I changed what I could. I’d never own a pair of new Adidas or have a dad, but I could lose my Scottish accent. Took a while, but I did it.”

  “Oh, Ben. I can’t even imagine…”

  “Slough was more expensive than Edinburgh. Mum couldn’t afford a babysitter after school, but there was a widowed OAP—”

  “OAP?”

  Ben’s fingers broke up the pretzel into bite-sized pieces. “Sorry—old age pensioner, a senior citizen.”

  “Ah, okay.”

  “Mr. Chamberlain—he lived in the flat next door. His wife died three years before we moved in and he didn’t have family. He must’ve been lonely. Mum arranged for me to stay with him until she got home from work. We’d watch TV and Mr. C would peel apples for me to snack on. Mum’s cable was always on the blink and we’d usually end up watching her old VHS tapes, so telly at Mr. C’s was a treat. He liked game shows and we’d sit and watch old American series like Diff’rent Strokes, The A-Team—”

  “Mr. T!” Riley chuckled. “I pity the fool!” They both laughed.

  “Retro TV shows, gotta love ’em! Everything worked out well by the closing credits.”

  “Everyone’s happy, everyone’s loved. Imagine if real life were like that?” said Riley.

  “Yeah…” Ben sighed. “But my fave program was from the nineties, a cheaply-made British sci-fi show called Equinox Ten. Did you get that over here?”

  Riley shook her head.

  “Really low budget. It had spaceships made of tinfoil and cardboard, but I loved it! I would mimic their accents over and over again, copying the way they talked, and it kinda stuck. I sounded English, eventually.”

  “That’s so sad.” She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head. “I bet your kiddie Scottish accent was adorable.”

  You’re adorable. Ben wistfully smiled at her. “If only I had known you then. One friend would’ve made all the difference.” He dropped his eyes to his salty street treat and cleared his throat. “Actually, Mr. C was a good friend. Not like we’d ride bikes or play console games or anything, but he was super messy, which I thought was really cool. No one made him clean up his room! Looking back, he may have been a borderline hoarder, actually. He had piles of clothes, bags of empty takeaway containers, and stacks of dusty books. I’d flip through atlases, old books about space and stars, dreaming of big adventures…” He laughed. “Some things never change.”

  “He sounds like a really cool grandfather.”

  “Yeah, he was. I never knew my real granddad. Mum was adopted—”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, so Mr. C was the next best thing. I had a great time there. He always remembered my birthday. Every year he gave me something: a Slinky, a Rubik’s Cube, that old Operation game with the tweezers—all stuff he found buried in his flat then wrapped up.”

  Riley raised her eyebrows. “No kids…but he had children’s toys?”

  “Oh, he wasn’t some dodgy Child Catcher bloke! Him and his wife had been foster parents twenty years earlier and they never tossed anything. When I turned ten, he gave me an old telescope. I thought it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen.”

  “Are you still in touch with him?”

  He exhaled heavily. “He died a few months after that birthday.”

  “Aw, I’m sorry.”

  “I came home from school and he didn’t answer the door. It was weird because he was always there waiting for me. I sat outside, thinking he must’ve gone to the shops, but an hour later the cops came ’round, carrying his shopping bag full of apples and sweets. They were looking for next of kin. Mr. C had popped his clogs in the cleaning supplies aisle at Tesco—a heart attack.”

  “Oh no.” Riley’s shoulders drooped.

  Shit, you’ve made her sad again. Fix it, Fagan. “I mean, what was he doing there? In the four years we knew him, I never saw him dust or use a Hoover. His flat was choked with stuff. So, was it the thought of cleaning up all that crap that finished him off? We’ll never know.”

  Riley pushed him, stifling a laugh. “Ben!”

  “It’s true, though! I tell ya to this day, I can’t see a dustpan without getting the willies.”

  Riley couldn’t hold back and burst out laughing.

  Job done. “If you can’t laugh, right?” Ben winked and popped a piece of
pretzel between his lips.

  Thirty-Four

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Oh, bugger!” Ben hugged his knees and refused to look down from his perch on the huge black boulder rising from Heckscher Playground in Central Park.

  He’s such a joker. Riley dusted off her hands as several little kids, all giggles and dirty knees, scrambled past on the forty-by-fifteen-foot rock. “Isn’t it great? Don’t you feel invigorated, climbing up here?”

  “Invigorated—no. I think I might see that pretzel again.”

  “Ben!” She adjusted her sunglasses on top of her head. “Come on, the view is better higher up.”

  “Higher?” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “No, I’ll wait here, Hope.”

  “We’re barely off the ground. This is nothing compared to what I used to climb…”

  “Showoff.” His voice cracked.

  He’s not joking. Shit, he’s freaked out. “Aw, Ben, I’m SO sorry! If I had known…” She put her arm around his shoulders. “Look, we can go—”

  “Got ya!” He laughed, leaning into her. “I’m not scared of heights. Spiders? Hell, yes. Heights, nah!”

  “You goof!” Riley gave him a friendly shove.

  “See? I AM a great actor! I’ll be an Oscar winner in no time.”

  “I believe it.” She laughed, her eyes sweeping over the playground’s splash pad at the foot of the rock. “Ah, I have so many memories here.”

  “You really love this, eh?”

  “Yeah. I learned a lot climbing these rocks.”

  “What, like it hurts to hit the ground?”

  “Smartass!” She picked at the tear in the knee of her jeans. “When I was eleven, Mom and I came to Central Park for a free summer concert. Such a weird day. Dad was marrying Clarissa that afternoon, so Mom brought me here for hot dogs, the zoo, a boat ride. None of it cheered me up, though. I was angry…heartbroken, like why bother? We were headed toward the subway and I spied this big old guy, Rat Rock.” She patted the dark stone.

  “Rat Rock?” Ben’s eyes bulged. “Do I even want to know…”

  “Its official name is Umpire Rock, but climbers christened it Rat Rock because it used to be crawling—”

  “With rats. Ugh.” Ben cringed and closed his eyes. “Now I really do want down!”

  She squinted into the sun. “I hadn’t climbed for, jeez, maybe two years? Bouldering was something I did with Dad, but when we walked past, this crazy urge grabbed me. Mom paused to check her voicemail and I went for it, clawing my way up the steep north side. I’ve never seen her get off her phone so quick. God, she was mad—I guess it was a stupid thing to do. That side is like a wall, and I didn’t have chalk or a crash pad in case I fell.”

  Ben shook his head. “Chalk?”

  “Climbers use chalk to keep their hands dry, for a better grip. Mom was yelling at me—‘Get down here right, now!’—but I ignored her.” Her fingers traced the rock, the touch quickening her pulse. “It all came back to me—which creases were the right size for the toes of my sneakers, where to stick my fingers. I hoisted myself up halfway, a good five feet, then I slipped…”

  “Jesus, Riley!”

  “Mom freaked, people stared. I was dangling by one hand. I wasn’t scared, though—I just remember feeling angry—angry at Dad for hurting Mom, for leaving us both, for marrying that stupid woman. I think there was a moment where I wondered, What happens if I just let go right now?”

  Ben’s eyes widened.

  “And you know what I realized? I’d be letting him WIN. He threw us both away like we weren’t good enough, and if I let go, I’d be proving him right, proving I was a loser and didn’t have it in me to climb to the top without him there. So, just as some guys said they’d catch me, my adrenaline kicked in and I shouted at the top of my lungs, ‘FUCK YOU, DAD!’ I used every muscle I had to reach up and across, got my hand into a crevice, and then I got my feet back in place, made it all the way to the top.”

  Ben smiled. “I so wish we’d been friends as kids. We could’ve bonded, swearing about our shit dads.”

  “Oh, I didn’t get away with that. I was grounded for a month. Mom threatened to wash my mouth out with soap. Never did, though.”

  “So,” said Ben, patting the rock, “right here is where the feisty was born.”

  “Maybe, but sometimes I need a reminder.” She smiled softly. “Thanks for being a good sport, Ben, climbing up here.”

  “No probs. I think I’m gonna win our game of Never Dunnit—I deserve bonus points for risking life and limb today, just sayin’!”

  She laughed, noticing a loose shoelace. “I still don’t believe the eighties club was the first time you’ve ever snuck in somewhere without paying.”

  “Believe it. It’s true.”

  “So, was the climb up here your favorite part of our Central Park tour?”

  “Nope. That big lake with the turtles!” His playful grin was so infectious, Riley’s smile grew, too.

  Turtles? Aw, bonus points to the cute Brit for loving turtles.

  “And those arches with the tiled ceiling near the fountain. That was pretty cool.”

  “Bethesda Fountain?” She tied her lace. “Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

  “What’s your favorite?”

  “The walk along the Mall.” Her eyes jumped to his socks. A face was peeking out between his jeans and sneakers. Is that…Santa Claus? The smile on her face reached for her ears. “I love how the benches face each other under the canopy of trees. It’s so peaceful and calm—right in the middle of the city, you can just stroll, eat ice cream, check out the artists and street performers. I love it.”

  “Fancy an ice cream now?” Ben squinted into the sun. “I’d kill for an ice lolly.”

  “You just want down.”

  “No, don’t call the fire brigade yet. Give me twenty minutes, I might go full-on Spidey, clambering all the way up.”

  “Bravery, thy name is Benjamin!” Riley snickered. “Well, while you plan your ascent, I’ll go grab us ice cream. What do you want?”

  “Surprise me. Something silly.”

  “Oh, you’ll regret saying that!” Riley laughed and slid down the rock, joining a bunch of squealing kids at the bottom. I’m so glad we’re hanging out. She jogged over to the vendor’s cart, her wait a lengthy one if the messy line of excitable children and their parents was anything to go by. Pushing up her sleeves, she smiled at Ben and shouted, “Don’t go anywhere!”

  Watching her, he stretched out his legs and fished his phone from his front pocket, his Facebook app flagging a rare notification. With a finger tap, a post opened featuring a photo of Riley luminous in a sunny yellow dress. Her arms were full, hugging her mom and a retriever, its pink tongue lolling out the side of its mouth as it leaned against her. Below their loving embrace, a single sentence:

  Click here to support Help Maggie’s Cancer Fight, organized by Piper Paisley.

  Thirty-Five

  Cancer?! Riley’s mom has cancer?

  Ben’s stomach swirled with nausea. “Fuck no.” Brows peaked, his eyes dropped to the vendor’s cart. Still a dozen or so people ahead of her, Riley talked with a mom cradling a sleepy baby against her chest. With a heavy heart, he clicked on the link and read slowly and carefully.

  My friends, Maggie and Riley Hope, are facing the most difficult challenge of their lives, and they need our help. Less than 6 months ago, Riley’s mom, Maggie, was diagnosed with cancer for the third time in 5 years. Maggie is only 48.

  Oh, sweet girl. Oh, Riles… Ben’s lips pushed out in a reflective pout. I can’t believe…how…? He read on.

  In 2012, she was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Maggie underwent invasive surgery and multiple cycles of chemotherapy and radiation, putting cancer in its place. She enjoyed 4 happy and healthy years until the fall of 2016 when the cancer returned. This time, it was ovarian cancer. Another surgery followed along with more chemotherapy, and once again, Maggie showed cancer who was boss,
but the all-clear only lasted a few short months.

  Not satisfied with taking Maggie on twice, cancer came back for a third time 6 months ago in November 2017 as a recurrence of ovarian cancer—Stage 3. But in the months since then, it has progressed to metastasized ovarian cancer, Stage 4 involving the liver.

  Cancer—of the liver? Stage 4…oh no! Ben chased his breath. Can people survive that?

  A cheeky laugh caught his attention. Riley was sharing a joke with the ice cream vendor, their hilarity echoing across the playground. She glanced back up at him, sticking out her tongue.

  Um…wave at her! Pretend everything’s normal. He raised his hand and gave her a smile until she turned away. Read faster. I don’t think I was supposed to get this.

  Maggie is currently undergoing more chemo to shrink the cancer and hopefully halt its progress. Right now, no other organs are affected, and Maggie continues to lead a vibrant and active life, but she needs our help. Her health insurance doesn’t cover most of her costs and due to her multiple bouts with cancer, she’s been unable to work for almost 2 years. In the past 6 years, bills for scans, surgeries, insurance premiums, chemo and radiation treatments, pain medications, blood transfusions, ER visits, and transportation costs have continued to mount. She recently had to sell her car and most of her belongings in order to keep her apartment at a time when she needs comfort and compassion the most.

  A single mother to Riley, a senior in college, Maggie wants nothing more than to spend more time with her daughter, walking shelter dogs, baking, and reading.

  I have created this crowdfunding page to help Maggie achieve ‘third time lucky’ and beat cancer, once and for all. No donation is too small, and each one is greatly appreciated. Please help Maggie’s fight with a donation or by sharing this message with your friends and family. Thank you.

  Ben felt a wave of regret and sadness wash over him. His thoughts flashed back to just a few hours earlier, and their walk up Seventh Avenue. Were you trying to tell me? Fuck! You must feel so scared, lonely…that lost look in your eyes, talk of escaping—it all makes sense now.