The Stars Will Shine
Read The Stars Will Shine Online
Authors: Eva Carrigan
The Stars Will Shine
Eva Carrigan
Copyright © 2015 Eva Carrigan
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except in the case of brief quotations for use in critical articles or reviews, without the prior written permission of its author, Eva Carrigan.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents portrayed in this book are entirely products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
To my fiance, who never doubted me.
Chapter One
The car lurches forward as Lyle presses his foot to the pedal. We’ve finally hit a passing lane, and he’s ready to leave this semi we’ve been following for the last fifteen minutes in the dust. The dashed white lines, signaling our way to freedom, turn into a blur as the car builds speed. My eyes snap with them, trying to follow a single one as we speed by, and for a fleeting moment they catch one, but then it’s gone. I let my head fall to the side as the wind whips my hair, and when a few strands get caught in my sunglasses, I untangle them with a tired sigh. I glance at Lyle to see if he hears, but we’re driving too fast, and the wind is a roar in our ears. My sigh gets swept away, left behind, and dissipates.
A few minutes later, Lyle fidgets in his seat.
He glances sideways at me, catching my eye, and says, “What’s with you lately?” It comes out more like an accusation than a question, and I turn away without a response. “I’ve done something wrong again, and I don’t know what,” he says, thumping his thumb on the steering wheel, but it isn’t an apology. He’s annoyed, and I don’t really blame him for it, but I’m not in the mood to fight with him again.
So I just don’t say anything.
To be honest, I have nothing to argue about, though I’m sure I could find something. I could latch onto some trivial thing he does and blow it way out of proportion if I want to. I don’t know. I’m just too tired right now.
“C’mon, Delilah, lighten up,” he says. “You’re so…depressing all the time.” His words don’t hurt me, and they’re not meant to. They’re not even half as bad as anything I’ve said to him. Besides, I don’t have the energy right now for feelings. It’s so much easier to feel numb.
He’s still waiting for my response. The car’s roof is down, but even the fresh air zooming through the space between us can’t break the tension. Lyle glances my way with a frown. When it’s clear from my idle gaze and my silence that I don’t intend to say anything to him, he turns back to the road and mutters, “Jesus.”
I feel him let off the gas; the car cruises to a stop at one of the pull-offs. To my right is a straight rocky drop of about a thousand feet. We’re in the Salt River Canyon of Arizona, and the river, full from the storm earlier this week, roars below us.
“Talk to me,” Lyle says, turning my way. I let him take my chin in his palm and lightly turn my head toward him, but I don’t meet his eyes. “Please.” He actually sounds like he means it, too. And that’s the thing I don’t quite get about him and maybe what irritates me the most. Why the hell does he want to be with me?
I’m a nightmare, I’ll admit it. More than half the time, I’m finding something to be pissed off at the world for, and the rest of the time I’m this miserable, detached soul. There were three times I nearly killed the both of us, too: once when I got behind the wheel drunk after we crashed a rich kid’s party in North Scottsdale, once when I yanked Lyle across a busy intersection and barely escaped an oncoming semi, and once before we started dating when some buff guy grabbed my ass and Lyle, bless him, thought he’d fight the guy to defend my honor. Only, at the time, he didn’t realize I have no honor to defend.
Lyle and I haven’t even exactly been exclusive. Or rather, I haven’t exactly been exclusive. But I’m pretty sure he knows it, considering I’ve slept with two of his friends. I should’ve slighted his flirtations from the start and explained to him that I’m just not worth it, that he could do better. But it’s so much easier to let my actions speak for themselves.
“What have I done wrong this time?” He drops his hand, and I swallow an irritated sigh. Anger rises in me fast, threatening to crack my surface. I want to shout,
You know what you’ve done wrong Lyle? It’s that you always think you’re the problem when the problem is me.
Instead, I don’t meet his eyes.
“Nothing.”
Lyle gives me a reproving look, and I see the bulge of his tongue in his cheek, his patience starting to wear thin. “Even if I was dimwitted enough not to know that when a girl says ‘nothing’ she very much means ‘something,’ I’d know from your tone of voice and the death glare you’re giving the dashboard that ‘something’ is clearly bothering you. Like ‘something’ has clearly been bothering you for the whole five weeks we’ve been dating. Even for as long as I’ve known you, come to think of it.” He rests his hand on his knee in a way that tries to exhibit composure, but to me, exaggerates the fact that he’s on the brink of giving up on me. Dark relief swells inside me.
“You got some beer?” I ask, dropping my gaze to pick at my nails. I hear a low groan, and he lays his head into the horn. The sound blasts into the breathtaking gap beside us and echoes off the canyon walls. Another car drives by; the teenage boys and girls inside stick their torsos out the window and give us a cheer as they pass, probably thinking the honk was for them. They seem drunk—a state I’d very much love to be in right now.
Lyle sucks in a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I think it’s time we break up,” he says, and I can tell it’s hard for him to get out. He’s the type of guy that’s probably always been on the receiving end of a breakup. I mean, it took him long enough with me, and even I know I’ve been Girlfriend from Hell.
“Yeah, okay.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and tug it off as I open the door.
“Wait,” Lyle says, reaching for me, his tone panicky. “What are you doing?” I slide out of the car, adjust my jean miniskirt, and walk to the edge of the pull-off so that I’m facing the canyon’s mouth.
“We broke up,” I say. “I’m letting you go.” What does he want me to do? Fight for something I don’t want anyway?
Lyle looks nervous, like maybe he thinks I’m about to jump. I kind of want to laugh, but I manage to smother the urge.
“I can’t—I can’t just leave you here in the middle of nowhere, Delilah. C’mon, get back in the car. I’ll take you home.” His eyes dart around the scene and settle back on me. I think about his offer—really, I do. But here’s the thing: home is about two hours away. Do I really want to be in the car with him for two hours while he awkwardly attempts post-breakup small talk?
“I’ll find a ride, Lyle. Have a nice life.” With a dismissive wave, I face the canyon again and breathe in, taking my time. I can smell the wind, and it smells like freedom.
“God, I’m a bitch,” I say to myself when he drives off. He’s rolling away slowly, as if waiting for me to shout for him to stop, that I was only joking about wanting him to ditch me there. He watches me in the rearview mirror, too, eyes wary, eyebrows pinched, so I salute him then start in the opposite direction, my steps a lazy march.
My dad is going to flip a shit when he finds out what I’ve done, that much I know. And he’ll probably murder me with his bare hands if he ever finds out what I intend to do next.
A car flies by after Lyle, and I wait patiently with arms crossed, peeking every so often across the canyon for cars coming my way. I see one approaching, this time in the direction I want, but as it gets closer, I see it’s an old station wagon in need of retirement. Sure enough, I can make out an elderly couple sitting in front. With a groan, I turn back to the canyon and pretend I’m just enjoying the scenic view. Sweet-looking couple, sure, but I’ll pass. I can imagine the kind of conversations I’d have to endure all the way home with them. The fussing, the unintentional judging, the unsolicited concern.
What’s a nice, young lady as yourself doing on the side of the road all alone?
My, how short skirts have become these days. I suppose at least they save money on material.
How about we contact your parents, dear? If we were them, we’d certainly want to know our daughter was in safe hands.
I walk farther up the road, kicking at rocks until I hear another car zooming in the near distance. It hasn’t come around the corner yet, but I can hear the hoots and hollers of young males enjoying their ride. Yeah, as long as their girlfriends aren’t with them, I’d say I’m probably in luck.
I scratch the dry patch on my elbow and position myself at the edge of the road, ready to get their attention. It’s hot out today, something like 105˚. I lift my dyed dark hair from the back of my neck, but a few strands stick there to beads of sweat. When the car is finally in sight, I let go, shift my sunglasses to the top of my head, place one hand on my hip like I don’t give a damn, and stick the other out in a fist with my thumb straight out. The guys are blasting some rock music—90’s grunge from the sound of it.
The first words reach me—
Come as you are…
I smile. Gotta love Nirvana.
The car is moving fast, and I’m suddenly nervous they might pass me up, so I drop the cool act and start waving my arms frantically, nearly tripping as I set my body into motion.
“Hey!” I try to shout over the music and the rush of their car on the move, but they don’t hear me. “Hey!” I leap forward and jump up and down a few more times, arms still flapping above my head. They’re driving a convertible, so all their hair is flying back as all four guys in the car sing along to the song, grins on their faces. And then, thank God, one of the boys in the backseat points to me, leans forward, and moves his mouth at the driver.
The driver turns and sees me. Immediately, the car slows, and he whips it across the other lane to swing right by me in the pull-off. He breaks to a speedy stop.
“Hey, Sugar!” the driver says, but he’s smiling like a friend, not a pervert. Still, you never know. He turns the music down a little but not much.
“Hey.”
“Where to?” he asks, motioning for me to get in. The boy in the backseat closest to me shifts to the middle so I don’t have to climb over him. The four of them look a few years older than me. Probably college guys. Praying I’m not hopping in with a bunch of frat boys, I cross myself even though I stopped being a practicing Catholic years ago.
That gets me a few chuckles.
I don’t meet their eyes, even though they all stare at me with some level of curiosity mixed with their amusement, probably waiting for an explanation.
The song goes on, and Kurt Cobain is now swearing that he doesn’t have a gun.
Taking it as a sign of reassurance, I settle into the car, tugging down my skirt when it hikes up a little, and cross my hands over my lap.
“Mesa,” I say, and the driver gives a curt nod as he shifts back into drive.
“No problemo. We’re headed back to Tempe ourselves.”
“ASU?”
He nods as he checks for oncoming traffic and eases us back onto the road.
“What year?” I ask.
“Juniors when school starts up again.”
“You guys in a frat?”
He scoffs as the car builds speed. “Hell, no.”
“Good.” I smile and sit back, a little more relaxed now. Not that I’m generalizing frat boys, but, you know, as a group they do have a reputation.
I push my hair back with my palms and pull it into a ponytail, briefly catching the eye of the guy sitting in the middle seat beside me, the guy that pointed me out to the driver. I quickly look away, tilt my head back, and close my eyes. His face, though, swims on the backs of my eyelids—his dark green eyes glimmering in a watery way, like after a morning storm in the White Mountains when the clouds have cleared and the raindrops cling to pine needles and capture, in shimmering beauty, both the resurfaced sun and the shades of green beneath them; his head tilted to the side, studying me; his lips curved into a soft, inquisitive smile like he wants to figure me out.
