The Stars Will Shine (2 page)

Everybody always wants to figure me out.

I have a memory for faces, even ones only captured in a glimpse. And I remember things like conversations and events largely in facial expressions and body motions. Like the day my mom died. I was only six years old, but if I were an artist like she’d been, I could paint you the exact look on my father’s face when he told me. I don’t remember a damn thing he said to me, but his expression spoke in ways words never could. Heartbreak, like a dark curtain, had clothed his eyes and blocked out any light inside him; loss carved a deep wrinkle between his brows; pain turned the corners of his lips down. He hunched over me, one hand on my shoulder like maybe I could support him, but the fingers of his other hand barely skimmed between my shoulder blades, not quite able to grasp something solid. But then he pulled me to him in one heartbreaking motion of desperation and need for human connection, and tucked my head to his stomach. He shook, and I shook with him, heartrending sobs that still, after eleven years, haunt my dreams and echo even after I wake. My tears burned hot on his shirt, and his fell heavy, like the weight of the world, on me.

After ten minutes of pretending to be basking in the sun and taking in the wind, my eyes closed and fingers laced in my lap, I decide to ease my companions of the tension coming over us from the unanswered question they’ve been very deliberately not asking me: What the hell was I doing on the side of the road in the Salt River Canyon?

With a sigh, I open my eyes and shout out so they can all hear. “I got dumped. I know you’re all wondering.”

I shut my eyes again and hear a low whistle from the guy next to me. “Like a Stone” by Audioslave cuts to silence mid-chorus.

The driver clears his throat. “Literally dumped on the side of the road? Or dumped as in—”

My lackluster laugh cuts him off. “Dumped by my boyfriend Lyle. We were on our way to join his family at their cabin in Lakeside.”

Silence ensues. Then a comment from the other boy in the backseat. “Wow, Lyle’s a dick.”

I shrug and make a sound like I’m weighing two options. “Actually, he’s a pretty good guy for a seventeen-year-old. I’m the one that got out of his car. He tried to get me to stay so he could drive me home, but I refused.” I don’t add that the look on Lyle’s face—that look that people have when they’re struggling to do the thing that falls right in line with their morals, but some external force is flat-out preventing them from doing so—provided me some unwarranted pleasure. I squint in thought, wondering if I have some sadistic tendencies.

“I take it you took it pretty hard then?” the guy in the passenger seat says, but it doesn’t register with me right away—I’m still debating whether or not I’m a sadist. When I finally notice everyone staring at me, even the driver, who’s deep brown eyes try to decipher me through the rearview mirror, I lean back and laugh at his remark.

Shaking my head back and forth, I grin for a long moment then jab my finger through the air at him.

“You couldn’t be further from the truth.”

One of his eyebrows kicks up as his mouth turns down a little. The boys in the backseat with me fidget a bit. But I don’t give them anymore. I don’t want to explain to them how I am. How something inside me is broken. How I can see the connections people make with each other but how I can no longer make them. How it’s been four years since I last told my father and brother I love them. How I don’t even know if I do anymore.

“Hitchhiking is a dangerous activity, you know,” the guy goes on. “You’re lucky we picked you up and not some”—he waves his hand—“creeper man.”

“Or woman,” I point out. “But yeah, I know.” For all the careless acts I put on, the thought that these boys might pick me up, gang rape me, slice me up into little pieces and bury me in the desert was running my nerves insane up to this point. But I can tell now—that level of immorality isn’t in them.

“I’m Matt, by the way,” the guy next to me says, pointing to his chest. He gestures to the others, starting with the driver. “Simon, Flint, and Vince.” They each give a small nod when he introduces them.

“Delilah,” I offer in turn, to which Matt says, “That’s a pretty name.”

“Don’t be fooled. She was a traitor to love in the Bible.”

A soft laugh escapes him. “I never really liked the Bible.”

Sometime later, I start to feel noble, and I tell them, “I want to pay for gas…to thank you guys, you know, for not murdering me and all. Knock on wood.” They burst out laughing and the sound is a song of camaraderie carried on the wind. A pang in my chest strives to tell me I long to be a part of it.

“Don’t worry about it, Delilah,” Simon, the driver, says, turning the music down again. “We were going this way anyway. It was no trouble to pick you up, and it’ll be no trouble to drop you off. Just…” He watches me in that mirror for a moment, like he’s trying to see deeper into me, and I shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “How about you just pay us with a smile,” he finally says. “A genuine, beautiful smile. A Delilah smile.” His request sends my heart sinking, and I go cold, even under the hot desert sun. I meet his eyes, but my stare has turned into a wall that barricades myself from him. I know he’s studied me enough in that little mirror of his to see that beneath my skin I’m shattered, and I don’t need him trying to convince me otherwise.

“I can’t do that,” I say, quickly looking away. “It’d be a lie, and I don’t want to con you.”

“Delilah,” Simon begins, but I cut him off again.

“Just let me pay for the gas, okay?”

Simon only shakes his head and reaches for the volume knob on the stereo system. “I’ve told you what I want. I hope one day you can repay me.” The music comes back on and swallows the air around me.

The rest of the ride goes fine. No real awkwardness. But as much as it’s possible for me to enjoy their company—their immature jokes, their humorous college stories—there’s the constant knowledge in the back of my mind that happiness is only temporary. And that thought alone keeps me from wholly enjoying the short time I have with them. Simon watches me in the rearview mirror sometimes when we’re all laughing, but my smiles must not be convincing enough because he never once says my debt is paid off.

Once I have Simon exit the freeway, I give him directions to my house. If I weren’t so focused on how much I’m actually going to miss these four guys when we go our separate ways—sad, I know, considering I’ve only known them all of two hours—I’d have been smart enough to have Simon drop me off around the corner. Instead of right at my dad’s doorstep.

It’s like my dad has superhuman senses because the front door opens and he’s standing there, feet shoulder width apart and arms crossed over his large chest, glaring daggers at my male companions, before I can even make a move to get out of the car. I roll my eyes. Perfect.

“Jesus, Dad. Creepy much?” I give him a hard stare.

“Delilah, get inside.” He takes a step toward us, his eyes never leaving Simon—I guess because Simon’s the driver and, thus, the most to blame. Simon scratches his neck, and I can tell he’s annoyed with my dad’s authoritarian display. “Aren’t you boys a little old to be driving around town with a girl her age?”

“
God
, Dad, go back inside,” I say, finally getting out of the car and slamming the door behind me. But I don’t move forward, not yet. And then Simon says exactly what I don’t want him to say in this kind of situation: the truth.

“Not unless you would’ve preferred we left her where we found her—standing all alone on the side of the road in the Salt River Canyon.” I whip around to face him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.

“Shut. Up,” I hiss through gritted teeth.

My dad laughs darkly. “So, I’m supposed to believe that you four boys just picked her up and brought her home out of the goodness of your young male hearts?” He’s two steps away from the car now. “I’m not buying it.” His eyes burn with a wild fury. “If you touched her—”

“Dad! Jesus, c’mon! They didn’t do anything to me!”

“Why’d you
really
pick her up, son?”

I huff, throwing my arms down. “Freakin’ A, Dad, I practically ran in front of their car and—”

“She flashed us her tits,” Simon deadpans. “I thought it was a fair trade.”

My jaw drops. The other boys gape at him. Flint leans away, like he doesn’t want to be associated with the guy, and I don’t blame him. My dad’s face is on fire. Simon drills his gaze into my dad’s, and my dad’s arms grow so tense they begin to shake.

Thanks. A lot. Simon.

“Shit.” I rip out my hair tie and run my fingers through my hair so hard I tear some of it out. “Dad, he’s not serious.” I turn to Simon again. “Maybe you could’ve been a little heavier on the sarcasm at least?” I smack him upside the head. “Nice meeting you guys. Look for my obituary in the paper tomorrow.”

“See you, Delilah,” the other three boys mumble. Simon is still watching my dad, but then he drags his eyes away and focuses on me. His expression is still tight but noticeably softens.

“I’ll be waiting for that smile,” he says as he shifts the car into drive. I take a couple steps backward to get out of his way, and he takes off, zooming down the street. Matt slides back over to where I’d been sitting, and he turns to give me one last tiny, apologetic wave.

It’s unlikely I’ll ever see them again, so I’m not sure how Simon expects to get his “payment,” but for the time being, I’ve got bigger problems on my hands. Namely, my dad.

“What did that boy mean, ‘She flashed us her tits’?” my dad says, gripping my shoulders and burning a hole through my forehead with only his vision.

“He was just being a smartass, Dad. He didn’t like that you were accusing him of something he didn’t do. I didn’t like it either,” I add.

“It wasn’t funny,” he growls.

“Well, he’s an immature twenty-year-old,” I try to explain. “What do you expect?” This bit of wisdom coming from an immature seventeen-year-old.

“I thought you were supposed to be with Lyle…at his family’s cabin.”

“I decided not to be with him anymore. Or rather, he decided not to be with me.” I wave my hand dismissively. “But I decided to find my own way home.”

“Dammit, I’m going to kill that boy.” Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and I grimace.

“Don’t.” I push one of his hands off. “It wasn’t his fault. I would’ve screamed bloody murder had he tried to get me back into that car.”

“Delilah,” he starts, but his voice cracks. It’s then that I can’t look him in the eye, when that kind of emotion swells up in him. “What’s happened to you? How do I…” He shakes his head, defeated. “How do I help you? Over the past few years, you’ve just gotten…I can’t…”

I press my lips together, the sting of tears in my eyes, but I look away. “That’s right, you can’t,” I say.
I’m broken. I’m fucking broken, and I can’t be fixed.

I just want to scream at him, but I hold back.

Can’t you see that, Dad? It’s too late for you to be a good father. You can’t make up for it. You can’t protect me now.

I smear a fallen tear on my cheek and turn further away so he can’t see my face.

If you’d been there for me before, maybe I wouldn’t be this way. You could’ve told me that thirteen was too young to understand what being in love is like. You could’ve stopped him before he ever hurt me. And then you could’ve told me that I deserve more—that using guys and letting guys use me won’t numb the pain.

“This behavior, Delilah…It’s unacceptable,” Dad goes on. I swallow but end up making a sound partway between a gasp and a gulp. I wipe at my eyes again, which won’t stop watering. “I don’t know what to do with you. I don’t know how to handle this….I don’t think I ever did. Your mother—she would’ve known.”

My face furls tearfully. “Well, she’s dead, isn’t she?” Tears spray from my lips. “She’s not around to teach me anymore! It’s only
you
, Dad.”

His voice is strangled when he says, “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do it...” His words are almost a whisper, and his shoulders are sinking. My God, he’s really giving up on me. And he’s crying. I haven’t seen him cry like this since he told me my mom died. “You’re getting more and more out of control.” I know he expects me to beg him, to promise I’ll change my ways, to do anything to convince him not to give up on me. But I don’t. I just stand there, letting my own tears pour down, because he’s right—I’m a lost cause.

I bow my head, suddenly sobbing, and he pulls me into a hug.

“Your Aunt Miranda…” he says. “She’s offered to take you in for your senior year.” I feebly shake my head and pull away from him, gasping for breath now.

“I don’t—want—to live—with Aunt—Miranda,” I manage to get out between sobs. “She’s—so—uptight.”

Dad reaches for me again, but I pull farther away. “I think it will be good for you.” His expression, a blend of helplessness and regret, pleads with me.

“Why, Dad?” I whisper. I wait for him to meet my eyes. It takes him a while, and when he does, he flinches. This really is hard for him.

“I work so much, Delilah. I’m trying hard to be a good father, but I’m just not around enough to help you. Miranda—she will take good care of you. You haven’t seen your cousins in a while.”

We’re silent for a whole minute, me still staring at him, him still avoiding my eyes. By the end of that minute I’ve stopped crying, but my voice is small when I say, “I don’t want to move to California.”