Night Star

seventeen

“Thanks for all your help.” Jude tosses a damp dish towel over his shoulder and leans against the ancient refrigerator that’s nothing like Damen’s or Sabine’s—not stainless, not the size of a walk-in closet—just old and green, with a fondness for making loud, strange, gurgling noises. His thumbs hitched in his empty belt loops, legs casually crossed at the ankle, watching as I load the last of the cups and glasses into the dishwasher, before closing the door and pressing the start button.

I reach up, removing the elastic band from my hair, allowing the waves to spill down my back, stopping just shy of my waist, while trying to ignore Jude’s intense stare. The way his eyes narrow, drinking me in, hungrily following the trail of my hands as I smooth them over the front of my dress and lift a fallen strap. His gaze lingering for so long, I know I have to break it, find a way to distract him.

“It was a nice memorial.” I meet his eyes briefly before looking away. Busying myself with tidying up the tiled counters, the white porcelain sink. “I think she would’ve liked it.”

He smiles, wads up the towel and drops it on the counter, then heads into the den and sinks onto the old brown couch, just assuming I’ll follow, which, after a moment, I do.

“Actually, she did like it.” He kicks off his flip-flops, settles his feet onto the cushions.

“So, you saw her?” I drop onto the chair just opposite him, before propping my bare feet onto the old wooden door he uses as a coffee table.

He turns, slowly looking me over, spliced brow raised in surprise. “Yeah, I saw her. Why? Did you?”

I shake my head, quick to dispel it. Fingers playing with the cluster of crystals I wear at my neck, favoring the rough stones over the more polished ones. “Ava did.” I shrug, letting go of the amulet, allowing the stones to warm up my flesh. “I’m still unable to see Lina’s kind.”

“You still trying?” He squints, sitting up briefly, grasping a small pillow by his feet and placing it behind his head before lying back again.

“No.” I sigh, my voice wistful, gaze faraway. “Not anymore. I gave all that up a while ago.”

He nods, still looking at me, though in a more thoughtful, less intense way. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t seen her either. Riley, I mean. That is who we’re talking about here, right?”

I lean my head back against the cushion and close my eyes. Remembering my adorably feisty, pain-in-the-bum little sister with the penchant for wearing crazy costumes and wigs—and hoping that wherever she is, she’s having a truly awesome time.

Pulled away from my thoughts and back toward Jude when he says, “Ever, I was thinking—” He stares up at the wood-beamed ceiling. “Now that things are starting to settle around here, well, it’s probably a good time for you to start thinking about heading back to school.”

I stiffen, allowing for only the shallowest breath.

“Turns out Lina left it all to me—the house, the store—everything. And since all the paperwork seems to be in order, I figure I can just let the lawyer take over from here, which frees me up to get back to full-time. Not to mention Ava already offered to pick up any stray hours I’m unable to cover.”

I swallow hard, but I don’t say a word. His expression tells me it’s handled, arranged, he’s got it all figured out.

“As much as I appreciate your help, and I do—” He peers at me briefly, before returning to the ceiling again. “I think it’s probably best for you to—”

But I don’t even let him finish before I’m saying, “But, really—it’s no—” Biggie—I start to say it’s really no biggie. Start to explain the conclusion I’ve recently come to regarding school, the normal life path one’s expected to follow, and me—and how they no longer mix—no longer make the least bit of sense.

Though I don’t get very far before he waves his hand and says, “Ever, if you think for one moment that this is easy for me, well, think again.” He sighs and closes his eyes. “Trust me, there’s a big, loud, overwhelming part of me telling me to just shut up—to stop talking, and quit while I’ve got you right here in my house, well within my reach, and more than willing to spend your free time with me.” He stops, hands clenching, fingers fidgeting, a sign of the battle that rages within. “But there’s also another, far more rational part, that tells me to do just the opposite. And even though I’m probably crazy for saying this, I feel like I have to, so, I just…” He pauses, swallowing hard before he starts again, “I just think its for the best if you—”

I hold my breath, pretty sure that I don’t want to hear it, yet resigned to the fact that I will.

“I think you should sort of…just…stay away for a while, that’s all.”

He opens his eyes and looks right at me, allowing the sentence to hang there between us like a barrier that cannot be breached.

“Because as much as I love having you around, and I think you know by now that I do, if we have any hope of moving forward, if you have any hope of making a decision anytime soon regarding your future—or our future—whatever the case may be, well, then, you really need to get back out there. You have to stop—” He takes a deep breath and shifts uncomfortably, obviously having to force the words from his lips. “You have to stop hiding out at the store and deal with your life head-on.”

I sit there, speechless, stunned, and a little confused as to how I’m supposed to take that—much less respond to it.

Hiding?

Is that what he thinks I’ve been doing all week?

And, even worse, is there any chance that it’s true? That he’s onto something I’m totally unconscious of and worked extra hard to ignore?

I shake my head and drop my feet from the table to the floor. Slipping them back into my wedge-heeled sandals when I say, “I guess I didn’t realize…I—”

But before I can go any further, Jude abruptly sits up, shaking his head when he says, “Please, I meant nothing by it, I just want you to think about it, okay? Because, Ever—” He pushes his dreadlocks off his face so he can really see me. “I just don’t know how much longer I can sit on standby like this.”

He drops his hands to his lap, where they remain open, relaxed, like some kind of offering. Holding my gaze for so long my heart begins to race, my gut to dance, and I feel so light-headed it’s like all of the air has been sucked right out of the room.

The energy between us building and growing until it’s so palpable, so tactile, it’s like I can actually see it streaming from his body to mine. A thick, pulsating band of desire that expands and contracts, urging us to move closer, to merge as one.

And I’m not sure who’s responsible for it—him, or me, or maybe some sort of universal force. All I know is that the pull is so overwhelming, so broad and sweeping, I leap right out of my chair, slap my bag onto my shoulder, and say, “I should go.”

Already at the door, fingers twisting the handle when he calls, “Ever—we’re okay here, right?”

But I just keep going, wondering if he saw what I saw, felt what I felt, or if it was just some stupid thing I made up in my head.

Stepping outside and taking a long, deep breath—filling my lungs with warm salty air as I gaze up at a night sky filled with stars, one in particular that burns especially bright.

One single star that manages to outshine all the rest—as though it’s begging me to make a wish upon it.

So I do.

Gazing up at my very own night star, asking for guidance, direction, for some kind of help—and, failing that, to at least provide some kind of nudge that’ll push me toward the right one.