Across the Western Sky

by S. C. Armstrong

  “Oneness,” Hannah finished, twirling a lock of her blonde hair. “That’s how the scriptures describe it.”

  Curt nodded. “That’s a good way to put it.” He shrugged. “But there are a lot of ways it can go wrong. If you’re with the wrong person, and you feel like they reject you, that can leave scars.”

  The wrong person. Everything about Hannah’s first eighteen years of life suggested Curt was the wrong person, based on one essential ingredient: he didn’t share her faith and probably never would. But at that moment, after he had jumped in as people assaulted her faith—the same faith he also disagreed with? No one had ever felt so right. She found her body creeping even closer to his.

  “Since we’re asking personal questions that cross boundaries, can I ask you something?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “How do you deal with it?”

  “With what?”

  “Not having sex. You must get…” He looked at the ground as if searching for a more delicate way to put it.

  “Horny?” Hannah ventured, her voice nearly trembling.

  “Uh, well, I wasn’t going to say it like that. I’ve never liked that word. Makes me feel like some kind of lizard or something. But yeah. What do you do when you feel like that?”

  “I guess I try to see the big picture. Remember why I’m doing this.”

  More than that, moments like this one, where Hannah was alone with a boy, had been few and far between. The watchful eye of her father and brother had prevented such interactions in the past.

  “That’s what I tried to do Wednesday.” Her voice faltered and she struggled to maintain eye contact with Curt. “Because I really wanted you to kiss me.”

  Curt locked eyes with her and stroked her cheek. Hannah’s level of desire skyrocketed. Breathing had become difficult. Was she holding her breath? She couldn’t even tell. Closing her eyes, Hannah’s lips drifted toward Curt’s. A few more inches and they would meet.

  His other hand landed on her right cheek. Then he kissed her forehead. She opened her eyes.

  Curt smiled at her. “It’s possible I’ve never wanted anything before as much as this. But I don’t want to be your regret. Now, you change your mind in the future and decide you’re not waiting to get married to kiss someone, then I’ll kiss you. So, did you change your mind?”

  Hannah paused as if searching her feelings. “I don’t know.”

  “So we should wait.” He dropped his hand from her cheek to her back. “But I would like to hold you. Would that be okay?”

  She nodded and Curt enveloped her in his arms. For a second, she heard her father’s voice as he cradled her: Be careful. That boy is dangerous. But her father’s protests felt silly because she’d never felt so safe before. Hannah closed her eyes and let the full weight of her body lean back against Curt, almost wishing he’d never let go.

  24

  Asking Permission

  The scene in Hannah’s living room stopped her cold.

  She’d just floated through the front door, despite the fact that it was now dark, and she’d have to explain her absence to her father. Hannah hadn’t even begun to concoct a cover-up story yet. Curt had walked her home. Most of the way. They’d parted before turning onto Hannah’s block to escape the watchful eyes of her family. Even that had been risky. When they said goodnight, there was no kiss, just a lingering embrace and smattering of conversation. Hannah couldn’t remember what they’d said, just that she giggled. Had she not been in such a euphoric state, she would’ve been self-conscious about sounding like a little girl at recess.

  That brought Hannah to her living room, where her father and Jake sat, leaning toward one another as if they’d been having a heart to heart discussion about some weighty issue. Her father smiled, a sharp contrast to the reaction she expected from him and the dour countenance he had displayed of late.

  “Hi, honey,” he said. “Jake and I were just having a talk.”

  Hannah remained speechless, her eyes shifting from her father to Jake, who also wore a self-satisfied grin.

  “I’m very supportive of your relationship,” he said, patting Jake on the shoulder. “Jake is a fine and godly man.”

  “Our relationship?” stammered Hannah, suffering from the distinct fear that her hand had just been promised in marriage.

  “Of course, I’ll want to make sure your relationship follows the proper protocols, in order to safeguard against the appearance of unrighteousness,” the reverend added.

  Ah yes, the proper protocols. No unchaperoned dates. There should always be someone nearby them, to reduce sexual temptation and gossip. None of this was particularly strange in their church. Potential suitors often approached the father first. And fathers played the role of watchdog, protecting their daughter’s virginity. But she always assumed that the girl in question had consented to the relationship, which Hannah had never formally done with Jake. “I’ll think about it” was not the same thing as “Yes, please go talk to my father”.

  Hannah weighed her options. Admitting that she’d just spent the better part of two hours resting in the arms of another man—a heathen atheist, at that—would have effectively detonated the situation. So would saying she didn’t want a relationship with Jake. Both of these responses would have been incredibly awkward and sparked more intense conflicts, though.

  “I have to go upstairs,” Hannah said as both pairs of eyes waited for her reaction. “I’m really tired right now. Goodnight.”

  This was not the most mature or emphatic declaration, but it did extricate her from the situation. Hannah bolted up the stairs and closed the door behind her. For good measure, Hannah turned off the lights so it would actually appear that she’d gone to bed.

  Her heart beat fast as her mind struggled to reconcile the day’s events. If today was confusing, the next few days promised the same ambiguity. Jake wasn’t going away. Neither was Curt. And she didn’t want him to.

  About half an hour later, voices in the hallway drew Hannah to her door. She’d left her door cracked the slightest inch, which offered a limited vantage point to watch the proceedings from. Jake and Samuel were standing in front of his room, talking softly.

  “How’d it go with my dad?” Samuel asked.

  “Good, good. Your dad is definitely in my corner.”

  “What about Hannah?”

  Jake scrunched his mouth together. “She doesn’t seem there yet. But she’ll come around.”

  Samuel leaned against his doorframe. “I hope so. I don’t know what’s going through her mind lately.”

  Hannah guessed this kind of scene played out frequently: two people discussing another that one of the people was interested in romantically. Jake hadn’t said anything inflammatory about her. And his general confidence that Hannah would one day reciprocate his advances didn’t constitute arrogance. Even still, the scene bothered Hannah, as if she had no ultimate agency of her own.

  “Is she asleep?” Jake asked, nodding toward her room.

  Hannah ducked away from the door as both Samuel and Jake looked her way.

  “She doesn’t usually go to bed this early, but the light’s off, so I guess so.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do if I catch her with that Curt McDonald kid again. I don’t trust him. He just wants to use her.” Jake’s voice became lower. “You’ll help keep a lookout for me, right?”

  “Yeah, of course. I already warned her about spending time with him. I don’t see the attraction.”

  Perhaps this was merely idle talk about a rival suitor. But it made Hannah nervous. Jake had already demonstrated physical hostility toward Curt. Crossing that line again or doing worse certainly wasn’t a stretch.

  “We might have other problems right now,” Samuel said. “Robert Johnson was telling my dad that support for the Ten Commandments monument is weakening.”

  Robert Johnson was the member of the council who’d first proposed the Ten Commandments monument. Since then, he’d worked closely with Re
verend Wilson and his congregation and other like-minded churches in the community to make the monument a reality.

  “Aren’t they voting for it on Monday?” Jake asked.

  “That’s the plan. And it’s not looking good right now. The stuff that happened to my dad didn’t help,” Samuel said.

  “Those people did that to your father, didn’t they?”

  Hannah was pretty sure who Jake meant by ‘those people’.

  “Most likely.”

  Hannah peeked out the door as Jake paced down the hallway. He turned and walked toward Samuel again.

  “It’s like I don’t even recognize this town, anymore. Every day that goes by, things get worse and worse. What are we going to do if the monument doesn’t go through?”

  “I have some ideas,” Samuel said.

  “Let me know what you need. You know I’m good for it.”

  Again, there was something ominous about the conversation that exceeded the sum of the exact words Jake and Samuel had used. Sure, ‘some ideas’ might have meant an all-night prayer vigil or a peaceful protest in front of town hall. But Hannah suspected Samuel meant something far more aggressive.

  Jake left soon after and the house went silent. Hannah had settled into bed when a text arrived from Curt. He’d sent an animated GIF of a shooting star. Now you don’t have to wake up in the middle of the night to see one, he wrote. She smiled and considered her response. Ultimately, she opted for a simple Thank you and goodnight. That was a tad tepid, given the fact she’d spent the better part of the evening entangled in his arms. She added a smiling face emoji to garnish the short message with a breath of warmth.

  As Hannah watched the glowing stars on her ceiling, she imagined laying next to Curt on the ground in the post-midnight hours, his arm wrapped around her as they waited for meteors to streak across the sky.

  That would have been nice, she thought.

  25

  Weighing the Consequences

  “Where have you been?” his mom asked when Curt sauntered into their living a little past dusk. She was sitting on the couch, a gray afghan covering her legs as she read Catch-22, his father’s favorite book.

  Curt shrugged. “Out with friends.”

  The generic response would most likely pacify his mother, who tended to give Curt latitude to live his life. When a parent wasn’t afraid his or her kid would have sex, do drugs, or drink, it was amazing how much less fearful he or she was. At any rate, Curt didn’t want to talk about Hannah. Not that he was ashamed of being with her, but he’d already had that conversation with his mother. Twice.

  In case she was considering asking a more specific follow-up question, Curt changed the subject.

  “I was thinking about saying something at the town meeting on Monday.” He plopped down in the chair across the room from his mother. “What do you think about that?”

  She set the book on the cushion next to her. “Well, I suppose that depends on what you’re going to say. And your motivations for doing so.”

  “People don’t understand us.”

  “Who do you mean by us?”

  “I don’t know. Non-religious people. My generation. I want them to understand our perspective on the world. On morality. I think hearing from someone in my age bracket would help.”

  “It’s possible,” she said, sounding doubtful. Granted, she and his father had been through their fair share of public disputes about religion. Their opponents still straw-manned them.

  She adjusted the blanket and crossed her legs. “Your father wasn’t very popular around town. Are you prepared for the backlash?”

  “Ready? I thought I was unpopular already. I am my father’s son.”

  Opposition to his point of view was certainly nothing new to Curt. He had just been punched in a church, after all.

  She smiled, an expression that was both fond and sad. “Your father believed in speaking his convictions. He would have been proud of you. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re a safer bet than Justin. I trust you more. He’s too aggressive, too inflammatory.”

  Curt grinned. “I’m sure after I speak, the entire room will make a circle and break into song. What do you think would be an appropriate song to sing?”

  “I don’t know. Is there a song about asking the audience to stop throwing things? That might be appropriate.”

  Both of them laughed before settling into a quiet interlude. Curt studied his mother.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  Since he’d left the note under her door, he hadn’t heard her crying. He hoped she wasn’t repressing tears for his benefit.

  “I’m dealing. I made it through today. Mostly.” She manufactured a smile.

  Curt suspected the hardest part of the day still waited for his mother. He hung out in the living room a little longer. Eventually, his mother waved him off.

  “You don’t need to stay down here. Go on, do whatever it is you do at nine o’clock.”

  “Okay, goodnight,” he said after another moment of consternation over leaving his mother. Eventually, he obliged her, climbing the stairs so she could her return to Catch-22.

  While his mom wrestled with the melancholy, Curt was insulated by memories from his evening with Hannah. He replayed them all, particularly the moment where her lips came inches from his. He could’ve kissed her right there. But he’d chosen wisely. If Hannah acted outside her principles, she’d hold him responsible. It was better to play the long game, which was the perfect strategy for a summer fling that likely would never evolve legs of its own to stand on. In retrospect, maybe this relationship wasn’t such a good idea.

  He scrolled through his texts, hovering over the ones Alexis had sent while Hannah reclined against his chest. His failure to materialize at her locker had disappointed her. Perhaps Alexis had thought there was no conceivable way Curt would blow her off. Curt texted her back with the ambiguous excuse that something came up. He never mentioned Hannah. Admitting he was with her might have made trouble with Alexis. Maybe he simply wanted to keep his options open.

  Curt and Hannah were slated to hang out Saturday. When she was in his arms, that seemed like the perfect decision. Now, in the resulting vacuum of her presence, he worried how a day together would unfold. They’d never spent time together on purpose. All of their moments—save for the ill-fated trip to her church—happened sporadically, as external events propelled them toward one another.

  Even so, Curt sent Hannah a text. He found a shooting star GIF. That seemed to say something about their relationship. Then he waited for a response. Curt still wanted the relationship. It just seemed destined to perish in the light of day.

  Hannah responded. Thank you. Goodnight. Even the smiley face emoji couldn’t prevent the text from sounding a little underwhelming. Perhaps she was besieged by the same doubts. He glanced at Alexis’ text again. His ex seemed like a sure thing in comparison.

  The pessimistic, utilitarian part of Curt’s brain sought the ultimate point of pursuing Hannah. Sex seemed improbable unless she abandoned her principles, which Curt wasn’t even sure he wanted her to do. A summer of blue balls stretched before him in that scenario. Either his desire for Hannah would crest even further, making him miserable, or he’d lose interest. Neither scenario sounded attractive.

  Curt waded through these thoughts, eventually conjuring memories of Hannah once more. He remembered the way she felt in his arms, her little gasps when he pulled his arms tighter around her waist. These memories lulled Curt to sleep.

  26

  Tragic News

  The unencumbered, carefree day with Hannah never materialized. Curt awoke in the morning to find a text from Kate. Devastatingly simple, the message read, Tom died in a car crash last night.

  Curt sat up in bed and went numb. His mind pushed past Tom’s unfortunate fate to the night of his own accident and the chaotic moments when the EMTs extricated him from the car. He couldn’t reproduce the entire night; his memories didn’t flow linearly, instead fl
ashing in pulses like a strobe light. The tree and its branches falling everywhere. The mangled car. Bright lights from the ambulance. Rain falling on his face.

  Dazed and confused, Curt searched for his father but couldn’t see him.

  “Where’s my father?” he asked the EMT worker, who hovered over Curt, checking his vitals.

  “In the car still. We’re going to get him out.”

  “Is he okay?”

  The EMT’s face remained grim. “We’re doing everything we can.”

  Curt should’ve known his father’s prognosis right there. Later, he would discover that his dad was already dead when the EMTs arrived. They never even had a chance to save him.

  But this text wasn’t about his father. It was about Tom. His classmate and friend. Tom had been stitched into the fabric of Curt’s adolescence. Now he was gone. Tom had committed to attend Hofstra in the fall. No one would ever know him there. A thousand possibilities had been snuffed out when Tom’s car collided with whatever had killed him.

  Kate’s text was also about death, a reminder that nothing lasted forever. No matter how young or healthy anyone was, death lurked in the background of their lives, threatening to consume them without a moment’s notice.

  Curt texted Kate back, searching for details. She responded almost instantly. The crash happened after midnight. Authorities suspected speed was involved. The previous night’s rain hadn’t helped, either. Perhaps drugs and alcohol were in play. Tom sometimes drank and got high.

  According to Kate, people were gathering at the accident site—located on the outskirts of town—a little later in the day. Nothing formal had been organized. Curt resolved on the spot to join them.