Heavenly Bodies

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Acknowledgements

  Author Bio

  Copyright

  Dedicated to my father,

  who spent hours with me beneath the night sky.

  Thanks for introducing me to the stars, Dad,

  especially Rigel and Orion.

  In the fifth grade, Benson Reid stuck a glob of ABC (already been chewed) gum into my ponytail, resulting in a hideous haircut for me and detention for him. I hated his guts. In the seventh grade, he and Gregory Hernandez got suspended for setting off stink bombs in the boy’s bathroom during lunch. No one was surprised they were the culprits. They were usually the culprits, but Benny was clever and his good grades kept him in good graces.

  In the tenth grade, he came back after a summer in Florida with muscles and a tan. Now, instead of cooties, Benny had sex appeal. He joined student government and started running track. His glasses, which I’d secretly found cool, got tossed for contacts, and I realized his eyes weren’t just blue: they were the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.

  I realized, during Spanish class one day, that I liked him. And I found out, via the Grady High grapevine, that he liked me too. But for some reason, we always dated other people. We even kissed sometimes, like once during a movie in Greg’s basement, but nothing ever came of it.

  My best friend, Sage, has been saying forever that I should make the first official move. “This isn't the fifties, Isla.”

  On Fridays, a lot of kids go to the skate park around dusk. We’re sitting on the wall, discussing the merits of local fast food, when Benny and his friends show up.

  “I’m not saying Sonic isn’t good,” Sage says, frowning at her chipped nails. “I’m saying nothing’s better than Chick-Fil-A sauce. And you only get that at Chick-Fil-A.”

  “True, but you can always do what my mama does and take extras. She uses that sauce on everything,” I say, watching to see who Benny’s with. “And anything.”

  “So do I,” says Sage. “But…”

  Glancing over at me, eyes like cloudless skies, Benny gives me the confident little smile I’ve come to know so well. Returning it with a smile of my own, I wave back. And then Stella Conti materializes, shampoo commercial hair shimmering like an auburn waterfall.

  “Hey Benny,” I hear her coo, and just like that, he’s distracted.

  “Ugh. Never mind.” Rolling my eyes, I grab Sage’s arm and change directions. “Let’s go get some fries.”

  Now Sage is the one rolling her eyes. She squints across the park, where Benny and his friends are talking, Stella hovering nearby. “What, because of that skank? Go get your man, Isla.”

  “My man? Does he know that?” I sweep my thick, curly hair into a bun. It’s long overdue for a trim, the frizz made worse by Atlanta’s legendary summer heat.

  But Sage is already pulling me away, flagging down our friends. Peeking over my shoulder one last time, I catch Benny watching us leave. Our eyes meet and he smiles, lifting his hands: where ya going?

  Yeah. Maybe he is mine.

  There’s a free, end-of-summer music festival in Piedmont Park. I hear Benny and Greg will be there, but we'll see.

  “You're smiling,” says Sage, slicking lip gloss on. Smirking, I hold my hand out for the tube. She hands it over. “What, Isla? Damn.”

  “What do you mean, what? I’m thinking about popsicles. Haven’t had one in a while.”

  “Yeah, right.” She snorts. “You’re thinking about Benny.”

  “Maybe.” I glance at her as I switch lanes.

  Parking in downtown Atlanta is tricky on the best days. It’s especially obnoxious on the weekend, though, when kids are out of school and tourists are tourist-ing and entire families clog up the Beltline. Today the fates smile upon us: we snag a spot seconds after it’s vacated.

  “Benny’s here.” Morgan barrels into me, hugging me so hard I squeak. She’s tiny, her head fitting just under my chin. I squeeze her back, lifting her off the ground.

  “Already?” I look around as we start walking, scanning the crowd for a fresh undercut and a tall, lanky build. Half the crowd fits this description, unfortunately. It’s Atlanta.

  “Stella was trying to talk to him but he totally ignored her. I almost felt bad for her.” Morgan grins, tucking her bobbed hair behind her ears. “Almost.”

  Wandering through the crowded park, we find a popsicle stand and load up. Seems like everyone’s out, enjoying the last few nights of summer. After watching a set from some band Sage likes, we find a bunch of kids from Grady fooling around by the 10th Street entrance. Morgan takes our picture with her phone...and then Benny’s beside me, his arm around my shoulders.

  The way he smells make my nose tingle in the best way, green and outdoorsy, fresh air and just-cut grass.

  “Hey, Isla Grace,” he drawls, grinning down at me. He’s got pale, creamy skin, the type that burns before it tans.

  I slide my arm around his waist. “Hey, Benson.”

  He pulls me even closer and yells something to somebody passing by, and I think maybe—finally—we’ve turned that corner.

  The sun’s gone down, but it’s not quite night. Streetlights flicker on at random like firefly soldiers coming to attention in the dusk. A mosquito drones lazily by, fat off the sweet summer air. Swatting at it, I relax against the side of Benny’s car, watching him watch me as the rest of our friends chase each other up the street, voices rising and falling with the relentless energy of being seventeen.

  We’re parked a few blocks from my house, tucked into a wooded cul-de-sac that backs up into a park. I’ve always loved it here. If you’re quiet, you can hear the rush of the creek, which swells and recedes depending on how much rain we’ve had. Further inside, there are picnic tables and walking paths, and a playground we abandoned years ago when it became more fun to just hang out.

  Greg Hernandez struts by, doing a silly but uncanny impersonation of the way Sage walks, and she jumps on his back, covering his eyes. I can’t help but laugh as they stumble away, barreling into everyone else.

  Benny’s laughing, too, but it fades when our eyes meet. My stomach flips, and it has nothing to do with the milkshakes we had on the way home. Nervous energy crackles between us, more electric than it’s ever been.

  He comes closer, leaving just a breath between us. “You going to homecoming?”

  Most of Grady’s is going to homecoming, so I doubt that’s what he’s really asking. “Maybe.”

  “You wanna go with me?” He takes my hand, tangling our fingers.

  “Maybe,” I tease.

  He smirks, because he knows I’m full of it, and kisses me.

  My street is quiet and dark when Benny follows me home. Now that we’re finally together, the last thing I want is to go inside, but I can’t pull a Morgan and spend the last week of summer on lockdown.

  At my door, below the porch light and its flutter of moths, he takes my face in his h
ands. We kiss until my phone goes off, reminding me it’s nearly twelve. After he’s gone, and I’m safely inside, I’m physically incapable of normalcy. Grinning like a goon, I tiptoe to the kitchen and grab a glass of water while texting Sage, who responds with all of the appropriate emoji.

  I float upstairs, caught between memories of Benny’s kisses and fantasies of how great senior year will be. But when my mother meets me at the top of the stairs, I falter.

  The euphoria of the day drains out of me like a tired sigh. “Hey, Mama.”

  “Hi, baby.” She pats my arm. “Let’s talk.”

  “Right now?” I check my phone again, though I know exactly what time it is. “What’s wrong?”

  “Grandpa Harry’s not doing too well.”

  “What happened?”

  “Come.” With a jerk of her head, she retreats back down the hallway. I follow her into my parent’s room, where Daddy’s sitting on the bed. He’s disheveled and tired looking, and the old anxiety that accompanied his heavy drinking days bubbles in my gut. It’s like muscle memory. I lean against the dresser, careful not to upset the coterie of perfume bottles and makeup.

  “I spoke to Aunt Greta. They…think he might’ve had a minor stroke. He’s in the hospital for now, where he can be monitored, but he’ll have to go home soon. Isaac and Greta and the kids usually help out, but Greta’s going to be busy with school starting.” Mama sighs, pressing her fingers to her eyes. Her eyes are red; she’s been crying. “And he needs more than what they can give him, anyway. He needs a nurse, and he needs someone to help him take care of the house.”

  A fuzzy memory of my mother’s childhood home whispers through me: sitting on the floor in the kitchen, tiles cool against my skin, watching Grammie peel potatoes at the table. It was summertime, and we’d come to visit. Gran died a few years later, when I was thirteen. We went down for the funeral, but haven’t been back since.

  It has to be hard for Mama, watching Grandpa Harry get old like this.

  “Are you guys going to hire someone?” I ask.

  “It’s a possibility, but—”

  “We can’t just bring him up here for awhile?” Although, I doubt he’d come. He’s old school West Indian.

  She shakes her head. “He can’t travel, not at this point.”

  “So, then…”

  “The best option, at this point, is to go to him.”

  “To St. Croix?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re going to St. Croix?”

  “You and me,” she says. “And Alex.” She looks down at her lap, to her motionless hands. One thing about my mother: she’s calm. Always. It’s predictable and safe; it’s what makes her a good nurse. But I guess it can be frustrating, too, like right now when I want a reaction. Because right now, there are a hundred different emotions rippling through me, none of which are calm.

  I stand a little straighter, bracing myself. “For how long?”

  “For a while, honey.” It’s Daddy who speaks this time, and there couldn’t be more resignation in his voice—or his eyes—if he tried.

  I stare back at him, trying to wrap my mind around what my parents are saying. “Wait...we’re moving?”

  “In about a week,” Mama says, unable to meet my eye now. “Dad’s going to stay behind. For now.”

  Shocked, I shake my head. “But...what about school?”

  “We can enroll you…”

  Their words fade. I can barely even look at them. This is about more than just Grandpa Harry, that’s for damn sure. This is about my parents, too. I see them differently now, sitting stiffly on opposite ends of their own bed. Definitely not a team.

  Closing my eyes, I catalog the past few months. What else have they kept from me? What have I chosen not to see? “Are you getting a divorce?”

  “No,” Daddy says quickly.

  I look up in time to see them share a look. “What’re you going to do, then? If you’re not coming?”

  He shifts. “I’m gonna keep on working with John. Business has been good, so, there’s work for me.”

  “Why can’t you just do construction down there?”

  “Maybe I will at some point.” He nods slowly, patiently. They’ve gone over this a lot, I can tell. “But for now I need to stay and take care of things.”

  No, Mama needs him here so they can take a break. They don’t say it, but that’s what they mean. It’s been a threat for a long time, but I guess time has made me complacent. I thought we were past this, that we were okay, but I was wrong.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” Mama says in that infuriatingly calm voice.

  The weight of it comes down on me at once, and my chest tightens. Panicked, I shake my head. “This is not happening.”

  “Isla—”

  “You can’t be serious.” My voices quivers.

  “Isla—”

  “You can’t possibly think it’s okay to move now!” I cry. “Everything is here! My friends are here!” My mother opens her mouth, like she’s going to speak, but I steamroll right over her. “I only have one year left.”

  “Yes. The timing is awful,” she says. “But—”

  “I’ll stay here, with Daddy.” I don’t know if I even mean that, but I can’t leave. Not now.

  “You’re not staying here.”

  “Well, I’m not going.”

  She sighs, like this is such a hassle, and my God it really is. The biggest freaking hassle of my entire life. Overwhelmed, I go for the door.

  “Isla,” Mama says.

  “Can you just...leave me alone?” I bite viciously at my lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Please.”

  Daddy stands. “Isla girl.”

  “Isla girl what?” My vision blurs. “This sucks! What do you guys want me to say?”

  “It doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” Mama insists, pleading.

  Incredulous, I raise my eyes. “You’re kidding, right? You guys are basically splitting up. We’re moving, like, days before senior year…my life is shit.”

  “Isla Grace!” Daddy says. “I know you’re mad. I’m mad. Okay? But you can’t talk to us like that. Not now, not ever.”

  I know I can’t. I never do. But it doesn’t matter. Pushing past them both, I escape to the safety of my room, the room I’ll have to give up soon, and cry.

  Yawning, I snuggle deeper beneath the covers, staring at the moonlight shining through the divide in my curtains. The house is quiet, as it should be around three, but I can’t sleep.

  I guess I’m not the only one, because there’s a soft knock and then my door opens. “You up?” Daddy whispers.

  “Yep.”

  He comes in, sitting hesitantly on the edge of my bed. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I croak, picking at loose string on my blanket.

  We sit in the dark for a minute, and then I click on my lamp. My dad and I have the same grass-green eyes, the same nose. I see more of myself in him than I used to. When I was little, people thought I was a light skinned version of my mother. I have her full mouth, her smile, the same smattering of freckles across the bridge of my nose. I even got her booty, which is good because it would’ve been a travesty had I inherited Daddy’s. I mean, he's flat as a board back there.

  “Isla…”

  I list my head, letting him know I’m all ears.

  “Talk to me.”

  Shrugging, I swallow the thickness in my throat. I wish I was asleep, but the knots in my stomach won’t allow it. Reaching for my phone, I see several missed texts. Sage, probably. Maybe Benny.

  Daddy pries the phone from my fingers and sets it on the nightstand, exhaling. “I know this is hard. I know,” he insists, when it looks like I might speak. “I don’t want y’all to go.”

  “Then why are we going?”

  “To help your grandpa.”

  “I just don’t see why this is the only option. It’s crazy.”

  “It’s crazy, but life’s crazy sometimes.”

  Wrinkling my nose at his plati
tude, I lie back. “There’s got to be another way.”

  “Even if there is, this is probably best. Grandpa Harry gets a live in nurse and your Mama gets a job. And they get each other.” He pauses. “That’s important. We don’t know how much time he has left.”

  A stab of guilt pierces my anger, but I shove it away, irritated. “Sounds like a real win/win.”

  “You make it sound like we want to do this.You think we want to be apart right now? Make you start school someplace else?” Daddy stares at me, shaking his head. “Being an adult means making the right decisions, not the feel-good decisions.”

  My cheeks burn. I’m angry as hell, called out. But I’m right, too. “You’ve always said to exhaust every option.”

  “We have, Isla.”

  “And you can’t come along because...” I know it’s fruitless. When parents decide stuff like this, that’s it. There’s no discussion, really.

  “Because your mama has a job there, and I have one here.” Daddy squeezes my shoulder. “It’s a rough time, I know it, but we’ll get through. We always have.”

  I don’t know that there’s ever been anything quite like this, but I keep that to myself. My father’s hurting enough as it is. Thing is, I’m hurting too, and it’s making me less than charitable.

  We look at each other and the urge to cry comes back with the force of a tsunami. My face crumples as I lean into him, and he holds me tight.

  “I'll come to see you guys for Thanksgiving," he promises, and that just makes me cry harder. I hadn't even considered the holidays. What's it going to be like in a place where it doesn’t even get cold? Any romantic notions I’ve ever had of this tropical paradise are evaporating in the face of actually living in it.

  Grabbing a tissue from beside my bed, I blow my nose. “Can’t I just live with you?”

  “Even if you could, would you really want that?” he asks, regarding me seriously. “To leave Alex? To leave your mama alone?”

  “She’ll have Grandpa —”

  “No, Grandpa will have her. She won’t have anybody to lean on. I’m trusting you to help out.”

  “Why can’t you help out?” I hear the words as they leave my mouth, unfair and unyielding, but I can’t stop. “Isn't that what marriage is all about?”