Heavenly Bodies Read online

  “Did you go in the water?”

  “No.”

  She glances back, a small, sleepy smile on her lips. “You will. Eventually.”

  “I know.” Peeking at myself once more, I stifle a yawn and turn to go. “Thanks for setting my room up, Mama.”

  I returned from the beach to find my bed made and clothes put away. The louvered windows had been treated to sheer, white curtains, and there were hibiscus in a jelly jar beside the bed. It made everything feel more real, more permanent, but not in a bad way. If anything, it made me look forward to getting the rest of our boxes so I could finish what my mother started.

  “Sure.” She shrugs, squeezing water over Alex’s head. He grabs at the sponge, chortling as sudsy drops hit him in the face. “It was the least I could do.”

  I lean against the wall, a bit contrite. This move ranks up there with Worse Times in My Life, but it’s probably been just as bad for my mother. She’s practically a single parent down here, and, even though they’re dealing with his drinking and their seperation, I know she really misses Daddy. Alex finally got that our father wasn’t going to be around and he’s become uncharacteristically clingy, begging Mom or even me to stay with him until he falls asleep at night.

  None of us want to be here, not really. Not like this.

  “Well, thank you,” I say. “I appreciate it. A lot.”

  “Let me see your room,” Sage says, stirring a spoon around her bowl of yogurt.

  “I will, once it’s fixed up a little.” I pause, watching her add walnuts. Now I’m hungry. “My new bed’s really pretty. It’s an antique four poster.”

  She beams. “You could totally do that canopy we saw!”

  “I was thinking that.” I love that, even with an ocean between us, Sage and I are on the same page.

  I adjust my pillows so I’m lying flat. We’re on FaceTime, and it’s so late I can’t stop yawning.

  “I’m getting you those lights we saw at IKEA,” she continues. “For now you can use normal Christmas lights, though, the white ones…and that white gauzy material. Ya know.”

  Eyes closed, I smile. I can see the bed she’s describing in my mind’s eye. “I love that stuff. It’s so pretty.”

  “Speaking of pretty.” She clears her throat and my eyes pop open. “Your tan is incredible. I hate you.”

  “I went to the beach with my cousin today.”

  “Oh, Isla. Was it so blue? Was it beautiful? Was it paradisiacal?”

  “Yeah.” I laugh. “It was all of that.”

  “Pictures, girl. Pictures. I can't believe you didn’t Snapchat me right from the beach.”

  “I’ll send you some. Listen, I’m like, falling asleep. Talk tomorrow?”

  “Okay.” Sage pouts, blowing me a kiss. “Love you.”

  “Love you too.” I blow a kiss and disconnect, making sure to text several beach photos her way. I feel warmer after talking to her, like I always do, but a little sad, too. She’s looking forward to homecoming, maybe going with Gregory Hernandez—which I did not see coming—and pumpkin spice lattes, and back to school shopping at the Mall of Georgia. That’s always been our thing, but she and Morgan went this year.

  I fall asleep wondering how I can get back for Spring Break.

  My mother fusses into my room around eight. Swear to God, I’m never going to sleep in again at this rate.

  “Isla, I’m headed to the hospital now to pick up Grandpa Harry.”

  Sitting up, I run my hand over my face and stifle a yawn. “Okay. Should I—”

  “Just stay here with Al. It’ll be easier. Call me if you need anything.” She takes a deep breath and nods once. “Okay. I’ll be back.”

  “I’ll make breakfast,” I say, relieved I don’t have to go.

  “Alex ate already,” she calls, halfway down the hall. “Cereal.”

  Stretching, I ease out of bed. Might as well take a shower and get ready, because there’s no telling what’ll be expected of me once Grandpa’s home.

  Alex is in his room, zoning out with Mom’s iPad. I watch him for a moment. “You okay, buddy?”

  “Uh huh.” He presses something, smiling faintly.

  “I’m gonna take a shower. Come get me if you need me,” I say. “Okay?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Alex.”

  He looks up, blinking.

  “I’m taking a shower. Come get me if you need me. Okay?”

  “‘Kay.”

  Rushing through a shower, I dress and do a quick check of the house, making sure nothing needs to be done. Seems as though Mama’s already done that, though. Sheets have been changed, floors mopped, fresh coffee brewed; she must have been up with the sun. My heart squeezes with the knowledge of it. She wants so badly for this to work out.

  I’m standing at the counter, browsing Tumblr from my phone and eating toast, when I hear the Explorer rumble back into the yard. Wiping my hands on my shorts, I call for Alex and we make our way to the front porch together.

  “Isla,” Alex says, patting my thigh. “That’s my grandpa.”

  He’s never actually met Grandpa Harry, but we’ve been talking about him nonstop.

  “Yeah, it is, buddy. You want to go say hi?”

  Frowning, Alex shakes his head but then steps forward anyway, regarding Grandpa Harry with no small amount of suspicion.

  Our grandfather looks nothing like I remember. He seems smaller, his stature compromised by significant weight loss and a stoop. Mom helps him step down the passenger side, placing his cane in one hand as she holds on to him.

  “Hi, Grandpa Harry,” I say, coming forward hesitantly.

  He looks up, squints and then smiles. “Isla. Hello, little girl.”

  The endearment coaxes a smile, and I close the distance between us, kissing his smooth, dark cheek. He’s got freckles across his nose like Mama and me, barely visible. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Well, I doubt that,” he gripes, shuffling along, “but it is certainly good to see you. And this fine young man here.” He pauses, looking over Alex. “He needs a haircut.”

  “Dad.” Mama sighs, rolling her eyes, and for a second she reminds me of me. Smothering back a smile, I scoop Alex up and sort of present him.

  “Oh, no, his hair is pretty awesome, Grandpa Harry.”

  “Yes, well. Good morning, Alexander.”

  I pinch Alex’s butt, making him jump. “Mornin’, Grandpa.”

  “How you do?” he asks, accent coloring his words.

  Alex looks askance at him. “How I do what?”

  “He means, how are you,” Mama says.

  “Oh. I’m good.”

  “Good.” Grandpa nods briskly. “Let’s get inside. Between meh knees and meh back I don’t know how you expect me to stay standing.”

  Putting Alex down, I grab Grandpa Harry’s bags from the backseat and shut the doors. Larry, who I assumed was decrepit due to his general state of lethargy, bounds joyfully down from the porch. Grandpa chuckles, bending carefully to pet him before continuing on, Larry trotting dutifully along as his side.

  Mama’s been so worried about Grandpa Harry, about his health and her ability to take care of him, about his pride and stubbornness, that no one’s surprised when he retires to his bedroom after only an hour of dinner and conversation.

  “The worst place to get rest is the hospital,” he says, sitting on the side of his bed. Mom helps him ease against the pillows while I shut his blinds. “I’ll be right as rain in the morning.”

  I’m in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, when Mama joins me. She sets Grandpa’s tea cup down and pauses, leaning against the sink.

  “Well…that went well,” I say, making space in the top rack for the tea cup. “I mean, he’s feisty but not incorrigible.”

  She nods, still standing at the sink, eyes trained on the window.

  “Are you okay?” I ask after a moment.

  Her cheeks are wet with tears. Closing the dishwasher, I dry my hands and hug her,
really hug her properly, for the first time in weeks.

  “I’m fine,” she whispers, shaking her head. “Just a little overwhelmed. I’m okay.”

  “I’m here.”

  “I know you are, baby.”

  The first of our boxes arrive two days later. There are seven—four of which are mine. They’re too heavy to carry, so I slide them across the tile, down the hall and into my room. I’ve got the box cutter in hand, but I hesitate, knowing stuff from back home is going to make me emotional.

  I’m eager to finish my room though, too, so after a minute I go for it and rip the packing tape, cutting through the seams holding each box together. There’s clothing and books, photos and knickknacks. These are the things I deemed too precious to donate or sell or throw away, the things I spent years looking at. One of my daddy’s football blankets is at the bottom of the last box. I don’t remember packing it, which means he probably did. Lump in my throat, I close my eyes and touch my nose to the fabric, inhaling the scent of home.

  And then I text him.

  Just got the boxes. Thx for the blanket. It smells like you. Miss you so much.

  His response is instant.

  miss you too, Isla girl. more than you can even imagine. take care of your mama.

  My friends in Inman Park have already gone back to Grady. Curled up in bed late at night, I pore over their social media feeds, stomach in knots at everything I’m missing. That used to be me, and now it’s an empty space they probably don’t even notice.

  “Everyone notices, Isla,” Sage says. “It sucks.”

  “I miss you guys.”

  “I know.” She sighs. “I already asked my mom about Spring Break. She said she’ll think about it.”

  “Really?” I sit up, excited. “I was thinking about Spring Break too, but it might be even cooler if you came here…”

  “Yeah. I asked about Thanksgiving but she shot that down pretty fast.” She snickers. “But whatever. We’ll have Spring Break and then we’ll have college. You’re still applying to Agnes Scott, right?”

  “Are you really asking me that?” I huff, making a face at the screen. Agnes Scott College is my mother’s alma mater. I’ve wanted to go there my entire life.

  “Well, yeah!” Sage sticks her tongue out. “I don’t know…it seems like it’ll be all expensive now that you’re out of state.”

  “It was expensive even when I was in state, Sage. Only way I have a chance is with lots of financial aid. And a scholarship or two.” I lean back, taking my phone with me.

  “And anyway, there’s always Georgia State,” she says. “Half our class is applying there.”

  “Maybe I’ll catch up with Benny then,” I joke. “How’s he been?”

  “You guys really haven’t been talking, huh?” Sage asks, examining her nails.

  “Nope.” Actually, we texted twice—my first couple of days on St. Croix. Part of me is bummed out about that, but if I’m being honest with myself, we were hardly together. No matter how much I liked him.

  “He’s taking Stella Conti to homecoming,” she blurts.

  “You’re not serious.” That girl’s wanted Benny his whole life, bless her heart. Guess the shiny red hair and big boobs finally lured him in.

  “Yeah, girl,” Sage says, disapproval flickering across her face. “Apparently they hooked up at a party Friday.”

  My stomach knots up. It shouldn’t matter, but it totally does—I had no idea I was so amazingly replaceable. “That was fast.”

  “No kidding.” Her eyes soften in sympathy, and in this moment I despise the miles between us, the fact that I’m alone in my bedroom with nothing but a phone to link me to the people I love the most. “I wanted to tell you before you saw it on Instagram or something.”

  Mom appears in the doorway, knocking gently.

  “Hold on, Sage.” I set my phone down, swinging my legs off the bed. “What’s up? Is Grandpa sleeping?”

  “He’s fine.” She nods to my phone. “But you should call it a night. Big day tomorrow.”

  She’s right, but still. All I’ve had lately are big days.

  I wake up before my alarm, rolling over in the dark to preemptively turn it off. Giving myself a minute, I lie still and let my eyes adjust. I try to let my heart adjust, too: I’ve never been the new kid before, not since kindergarten. I have no idea what the day will bring.

  I also have no idea how the kids here dress. After a shower, hair and makeup, I go with jeans and a printed, sleeveless blouse Mama got me before we left Atlanta.

  The morning is sweet and cool, the sun only beginning to burn the dew from the grass.

  A glance in the Explorer’s side mirror shows me, to my dismay, that my hair is already getting frizzy. Regretting the time I wasted straightening it, I salvage my look by weaving it into a side braid.

  Alex trots out, climbing into the backseat. “Can I hear my song, Isla?” he asks, barely understandable through the muffin he’s crammed into his mouth.

  “Yeah…which one?” The Explorer’s old enough that I can’t plug my phone in for music, and I don’t own any CDs.

  “The song. Mama’s song.”

  I frown, securing him into his car seat with a little kiss. “I don’t know what you mean, buddy.”

  “He means this,” Mama says, popping a Bob Marley CD in. Three Little Birds comes on as I slide into my seat, filling the car with timeless good vibes.

  “Ah, okay.” I glance back at Alex, whose face is split into a smile bright enough to rival the sun. “You have good taste, brother man.”

  We ride quietly for a moment, enjoying the music, our coffee, and the banana muffins we made yesterday.

  “Is it far?” I ask, gazing at the endless stretch of trees along the main road.

  “About ten minutes. It’s mid-island.”

  “So…I was on the Palm’s website again last night, and…” I pause, placing my empty travel mug into the cup holder. “How exactly can we afford this?”

  “We can’t, really.” We shudder to a stop at a red light. “But you qualified for a partial scholarship, and Aunt Greta used her clout to have most of the fees waived,” she says, referencing my Aunt’s twenty years of teaching at the Palms. “Grandpa Harry took care of the rest.”

  I had a feeling. We don’t have the funds for private school, especially not one like the Palms. “Grandpa’s paying for this?”

  “It was part of the deal.”

  “The deal, huh?” I stare blindly out the window, wondering how long this move was in the works before I found out about it.

  “Yes, the deal. He could have hired someone else, but good help is hard to find. And anyway, this killed two birds with one stone: he got his nurse, and I got a job.”

  “Perfect.”

  Mom sighs. We seem have this discussion at least once a day. Still. “It’s not perfect, but it is the best option for now. Okay? Can you at least...try?”

  I nod, crumpling my napkin and shoving it into the cup holder.

  “Grandpa wants to do this for you,” she continues. “Education’s important to him.”

  My mother’s family isn’t wealthy, but they always worked hard and made a name for themselves on island. Grandpa Harry retired as a highly decorated colonel back in the early nineties. Grammie worked as a seamstress from home, specializing in wedding dresses. Self-sufficient and disciplined, they weathered rough times and shaky economies through hard work and thrift. That they managed to send two children to private school, and then to college stateside, says a lot about their values.

  Sometimes I wonder what Grandpa really thinks about us being here now. I know he’s glad for the help and the company—he never really got over Grammie—but how much does he know about my parent’s separation?

  Then again, how much do I know?

  The Palms is set way back from the main road. If it wasn’t for the intentionally rustic sign, and my mother, I would have missed it completely. Flamboyant trees line the narrow, paved road which opens
suddenly into a sprawling campus. There’s a soccer field to our left and several parking lots up ahead. Mama pulls into a space near the office, twisting around to release Alex from his car seat.

  Private and non-parochial, the Palms begins in preschool and goes up to twelfth. Yet, it doesn’t feel that big. In fact, there’s something low-key about it. I find myself fascinated by the mildly chaotic yet comfortable routines happening all around me. Back at Grady, car loop and bus drop off were handled with almost military precision. Here it looks pretty relaxed, parents and kids and cars and buses all coming and going fluidly.

  I peek at my mother, wondering what campus was like when she attended in the late eighties and early nineties. She grabs a folder from the backseat and grins overtop of the Explorer. “Ready?”

  Looping my backpack through my arms, I slam the door and give her what I hope is a convincing smile. “Yep.”

  Inside the office, the scene is as crazy as any on the first day of school. There’s a small line of people at the receptionist’s desk. Several students sit on leather couches, their conversations blending into a loud hum.

  Alex zeroes in on a child-sized table and chair in the corner. It has blocks and books, and he yanks his hand from Mama’s grasp with relish, hurrying over. I sit beside him on the couch, fiddling with the zipper on my bag, resisting the urge to comfort-text Sage. One by one, the students around me filter out until it’s just us.

  “Good morning! How can I help you?” The receptionist, whose name tag reads Margot Blackwood, looks expectantly at us. I urge Alex away from the blocks, promising we’ll build a Lego city later, at home.

  “Good morning.” Mama smiles and brings me closer. “This is my daughter, Isla Kelly. She’s a new senior.”

  “Wonderful! Hello, Isla.” Ms. Blackwood smiles warmly. She has feathers for earrings. “Welcome to the Palms. Let me get your file.”

  The bell rings, startling Alex. He squeaks, laughing, and hides between Mama’s legs. I give his hair a playful tug, half envious he gets to go back home with her after this.

  “Don’t even worry about the bell for today,” Ms. Blackwood says, standing. “Things are always crazy the first few days of school.” She opens a manila folder and scans the contents, plucking a thin packet of paperwork which she hands to me. “Here’s your schedule, with a school map and a few other resources. I trust you were able to get everything else completed online?”