Chasing the Milky Way (19 page)

W
E SAIL DOWN THE HALL, WHEELS
sliding and squeaking as we make the turn toward the elevator. Cam gets out in front, skids toward the doors, and slams the button hard. I slide my feet to a halt in front of it.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” I say. Cam's fingers match my words, hitting the down arrow over and over again.

“There they are!” I hear to my right. I glance down the hall. Yep, it's Ms. Linda and Officer Doogan at the far end.

“Stop right there!” Doogan says, but he's not pulling out his gun, so I figure we're good to go.

“What do you think you're doing?” Ms. Linda says. They both begin running toward us. The elevator chimes and I push hard, sliding in. Cam slams the door-close button. The footsteps thunder closer. The doors begin to slide closed. Slowly, so slowly, too slowly. I jump up and down.

“Stop!” I hear. “Security!”

Izzy shrieks, her hands going into the air. Then Doogan and Ms. Linda appear and then disappear as the doors slide shut. We begin to drop.

“And we have liftoff!” Cam shouts.

The elevator buttons light up as we reach floor 3, 2, 1, lobby. I shake out my hands the whole way. And Izzy jabbers to Mama about our adventure. Mama holds on to Izzy and her journal, running her fingers over the foil.

“C'mon, c'mon, c'mon.” I adjust the bed so I can angle it out the door. Just as I get the corner in line we jolt to a halt and the door dings and slides open.

A lady at the check-in looks over at us, her eyes begging for a distraction, and right away, I see why. It's D-Wayne, leaning up against her desk.

“Oh boy,” I say. Cam jams himself between the bed and the door and D-Wayne turns. When he sees us, he stands up and his unshaven face spreads into a grin.

“My boy,” he says. “You owe me money and a bike helmet, son!” He twirls a toothpick in his mouth. Cam rights himself, steps out into the lobby, and waves me on.

“Cam?” I say, as I swing the bed around to the right, toward a ramp that leads to the door. “What are you thinking?”

“What are you wearing?” I hear D-Wayne say.

“You go!” Cam shouts.

“You have to come, too!” I slide the bed to the top of the ramp

“I'll be right behind you!” Cam says. “I'm much faster than him, remember?”

“You're not going anywhere. It's time you come home to your ma,” D-Wayne tells him.

One heave onto the ramp and we have gravity on our side. We pick up speed as we head for the sliding door. Cam skips backward alongside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see D-Wayne fly toward us. The lady at check-in is grabbing for the phone. We hit the bottom of the ramp and D-Wayne leverages himself over the railing with his hand. At the same time, Cam grabs a chair from the entryway, picks it up, and swings into motion. Then all I here is a crash and a “gogoGO!” and an “ooophhffff.”

We sail out of the sliding door.

“You're going to pay for that!” D-Wayne says in a strained voice, but Cam is there beside me now, and we're gone. Onto the sidewalk. The ocean beats against the shore in the distance, calling us:
Runrunrunrun.

“Warp speed, Cap'n!” Cam says. We move together as fast as we can. Mama's laugh bubbles up and it flies my heart toward the moon.

“Stop right where you are!” Ms. Linda shouts behind us. I hear her high heels clip along the sidewalk, then stagger. Cam grabs one side of the bed, and I grab the other and we push, shoulder to shoulder. Stride in stride. Down Ocean Avenue. I don't care who's after us. I don't care what happens next. All I want is now. This feeling. Running out in front of everyone. In control of our next steps and our last memories. We roll across an intersection. A car skids, slamming on its brakes. And we bob and careen up onto the sidewalk.

BEACH,
a sign points north. I follow the arrow.

“Feel the breeze, Mama?!” I shout.

She raises her hands straight up into the air and Izzy's mirror hers. Mama's dark curls blow out behind her as we slide into the sand. I push us as far as I can, but we sink and the bed rolls to a stop. I run around to the side, pick up Izzy, and lift her onto the ground. Mama holds on to her journal and I prop my shoulder underneath her arm and help her to her feet. Izzy runs and puts her toes in the water. Cam gets under Mama's other side and I look to the water and the stars. Walk toward the Milky Way, stepping over moon shells. The wind beats off the ocean. Tugs at our shoulders. Tells us there is a heartbeat beyond our skin. Me and Mama and Cam. Izzy's running like a little girl should, blasting the waves into pieces.

I hear the crinkle of foil and see Mama looking down at her hand, at the journal she's been holding. Like she's finding it for the first time in a long time. A crinkled scrap flits in the wind, and she pulls it from between the pages. I see her trying to recollect what it is.

“It's Robert Frost, Mama, you love him, remember?” I say. I lean into her and we look at the poem together. “Remember? You love reading poetry to the moon. ‘I have been one acquainted with the night'?”

The breeze licks the page, but I can still read the words.

I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.

Mama looks up from the paper, to me. Questions in her eyes. And I wonder if she gets it. If she sees I have a debt to repay. A promise I'm still doing my best to keep. She curls her fingers over the blanket, hugging it around her, then she spreads it out, like wings. And we huddle. Izzy runs in from the water and we curl together, the blanket flapping around us.

“‘I have looked down the saddest city lane,'” Mama says, tilting her cheek onto my head. She knows this poem by heart.

A tear slips from her eye and rolls down her cheek. I feel it flit against my forehead.

I have passed by the watchman on his beat

And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I hear the footsteps thunder their way down the sidewalk to us. But I plant my feet in the sand and watch the waves roll into the bay. I raise my arms to the sky just like Mama does.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet

When far away an interrupted cry

Came over houses from another street,

I peer over my left shoulder to see Ms. Linda and Officer Doogan in the sand. And Ms. Linda puts her hand on Doogan's arm.

“Give them a minute,” she says quietly. “They're not going anywhere.”

“That's true,” Cam says, hearing her, too.

Mama's whispers flit out over the sound of ocean waves. “‘But not to call me back or say good-bye.'”

I shout with her.

And further still at an unearthly height,

One luminary clock against the sky

And I watch the path along the surface of the water as it moves and shimmers. A landing strip to space. And I look up and see the Milky Way. A long dusty path that I'd like to skip down. The poem slips out of Mama's hand and skitters across the waves. Dips and twirls. And catches flight.

She sends it off with a shudder and a tear. “‘Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.'”

I look at Cam and Izzy and remember the last line, just like the first.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

We stare up at the stars. The bright constellations. And when I look, I see tears on Mama's cheeks, and I see tears on Cam's cheeks, and I feel them drip down mine. But we're smiling, too.

The sirens sound and my hands find moon shells, right in front of me, blue-soaked edges. I pick one up and curl it into Mama's hand. Wanting, wanting so bad, to believe in the magic. She wraps her fist around it and we sit together in a heap. I breathe the fresh salt sea air. And I memorize this moment.

“They're coming for us, Juniper Ray,” Cam says. He moves from Mama's other side over to mine and I wrap my arm around his waist. And we hold on. Because right here, we're perfect. Because for one more second, no one has us. For one more second, Cam is free, and Izzy and I aren't in the system, and Mama isn't in Kensington or the psych ward. For one more second, we're out in front, making the world wonder which way we're going to go. One more second, out of the black hole. One millisecond out of the void. Taking care of each other. Before the darkness comes for us all, I look up, taste the sweetness of the Milky Way, and surrender.

I
PUT MY SUITCASE DOWN AS
we walk into the living room. It's our first night back at Sunnyside since we went to live with Mr. and Mrs. Benko. That's our foster mom and dad. They were really nice. I was surprised how nice. Mama has been here with her caseworker and I've been here with Izzy and mine. Between us, we got the trailer cleaned up pretty good. Mostly Mama did all the work. Izzy steps around me with the vase of flowers while I pull a loaf of bread from a paper bag and set it across the pretty checkered tablecloth that decorates the dining room table. Everything seems brighter in here now.

“I think Mama's going to like that,” Izzy says.

I pull her in next to me. “Me too.”

“Why don't you put your bags into your room and start unpacking,” Mrs. Dockett says. Mrs. Dockett is our Vermont caseworker. She's sort of like Ms. Linda.

I walk through the living room. Past Mama's desk. Three Robert Frost books are in a neat pile. There are no stacks around our feet, just books lined up row upon row in the shelf. I think it would look real nice with one of the flowers perched on her desk, waiting for her arrival, so I usher Izzy on and return to the kitchen. I select one brown-eyed Susan.

“Can I put one of these on Mama's desk?” I ask as Mrs. Dockett looks at me out of the corner of her eye.

“I think that's a lovely idea,” she says, pulling a glass from the cupboard. I take it from her and fill it with water. Then hurry back to the desk, put it on the upper right corner. It catches the sun, making a little yellow glow over the books and notebook.

I step into our bedroom. Izzy is sitting on the edge of her bed. I drop my suitcase on mine and start pulling out all my pants first. Cam's head pops up in the window. He grins from ear to ear. I scan his face from the top of his hairline to his shoulders and take a deep sigh of relief. Genuine smile. No bruises.

He pushes himself up on the window frame and executes a perfect somersault onto the bed. Then jumps up and wraps me in a hug.

“Never thought I'd say this, but it's good to have you back in Sunnyside.” I feel his heart beat against my chest. I squeeze him extra hard.

“It's good to be back,” I say.

“Is it true that D-Wayne is gone?” Izzy asks from behind us.

Cam pulls away from me and bounces back onto the bed. “Yeah, the court told Mom to lose him or lose us. He's court-ordered to stay away from here. And Mom's doing good, too. She even works an extra shift at the grocery now. And I got”—he reaches into his back pocket and digs out a card, holding it out to us—“this!”

“You got your YMCA membership?” I say, picking up a pile of clothes and sliding them into the bottom drawer of my dresser.

“Yeah, it's pretty great,” he says, punching the air three times. “Coach Truman says I got a real knack.”

“Of course you do,” I say.

“I wanna go to the pool,” Izzy says. I look over to see a small pile of crumpled clothes on her pillow.

“Try to put those in your drawers,” I say. I pull out the bottom drawer of her dresser hoping it will prompt action.

Mrs. Dockett comes in, takes one look at Izzy's pile and tsk-tsks. She goes over to the pillow. Before she leans down to help she pauses like she is remembering something. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a bundle of envelopes.

“The mail,” she says, handing it to me. I take it and drop it onto the bedcover. The envelopes cascade off the pillow onto the blanket. As it spills, I see one with the familiar BotBlock colors in the upper left-hand corner.

“You coming over for dinner?” I say to Cam, who has gone to the edge of the bed and is doing push-ups against the rail.

“You sure it's okay?” he asks, puffing between each pump.

I pull the envelope from the pile.

“Mama said she wanted you to come,” I tell him.

“Then I'll be here.” Cam grins.

I flip the envelope over and peel the top. Then I pull the letter out. I fold it open and scan the page.

Corporate Headquarters . . .

Your story . . .

We would like to count your registration toward next year's BotBlock competition . . .

Three categories of your choosing . . .

“Cam,” I say, waving the letter. “Stop what you're doing and come look at this!”

He pushes himself off the edge of the bed and comes to look over my shoulder.

“They want us to compete this year,” I say, showing him the letter.

He reads through. “Well, I guess we have some work to do. A new mission.”

“That's right,” I say. My mind starts working on the possibilities. I've been helping Mrs. Shareze run the robot club at school to pay her back for the laptops I lost and destroyed. I'm betting she might let me borrow one if I show her the letter. I start looking around the room for a pencil when I hear tires on the driveway.

I put the letter down on top of my suitcase and me and Cam and Izzy go through the living room and into the kitchen. Mrs. Dockett comes, too, but she hangs back just a bit. Mama walks in through the front door and I hold my breath. She looks from me to Izzy to Cam. Her eyes clear and shining. She kneels down.

“My, it's good to be here,” she says, holding her arms out. We rush in for a hug. Dr. Vincent says that Mama is doing real well for the moment. It'll never be easy, but it may get easier as we go, as Mama learns more and more about what she needs to do to keep her illness at bay. To recognize the signs and symptoms.

“Who wants homemade macaroni and cheese?” Mama says.

“I do,” Izzy shouts. Mama and Izzy pull the noodles from the cupboard and cheese from the fully stocked fridge.

Cam and I set the table. And we talk and catch up while we're at it. Mama said she nailed an interview with the University of Cleary in the Northeast Kingdom as tenure-track professor of English.

“So, we'll see,” Mama says. “There's a lot to be said for keeping busy, challenging your mind.”

As the sun starts to set, Sunnyside Trailer Park turns orange under the glow. Mrs. Dockett says good night. “I'll look forward to seeing all of you on Thursday.” She opens the door.

“Four o'clock,” Mama says, looking at the calendar. “We'll be there.”

Mrs. Dockett closes the door and Mama pulls a steaming pan of mac and cheese from the oven. I dish up a scoop for each of us and Cam and I tell Mama about the BotBlock Challenge. Mama looks a little nervous when we mention BotBlock, but then she relaxes as we talk more about what we might do for a design.

“Well, sounds like you kids have quite a project,” Mama says as she and Cam clear the plates from the table. As the last dish goes into the strainer, I see Mama looks real tired.

“You should go in the living room and rest,” I say.

Mama grabs a dish towel from the handle on the fridge and wipes her hands. “I may do a little bit of writing before bed.”

“Is it Mission Control time?” Izzy asks, turning to me.

“Yeah, we could do that,” I say. “That okay, Mama?”

“Of course it is,” Mama says. The dish towel swings as she places it back around the handle of the fridge. “You kids go ahead.”

We make our way through the door of the living room and Mama comes in, stopping as she sees the flower on the corner of her desk. With the setting sun, it's lit up like it's from another planet. Like it was picked from the red soil of Mars. Mama goes over to it and places her hands on her desk like she is greeting an old friend. I wonder, for just a second, if she is happier to see those dusty books than she is to see me and Izzy. But then I see her dig something out of her pocket. It's the moon shell I gave her. She sets it carefully next to the flower, angling it just right.

“Lucy? Can I talk to you for a second?” Mama says. I stop, but Cam ushers Izzy through our bedroom door and out the window.

“I . . .” Mama slides a drawer open on her desk and pulls out a card. “I wanted to give you this.” She presses the card between her fingers. I recognize it. The card I found on my birthday night. “I know it's late, but—it got lost in the chaos.”

I step toward her, take the card in my hand. I slide my finger underneath the seal.

I skip the Hallmark mumbo jumbo and go to Mama's real handwriting.

Happy birthday, baby girl. You're a miracle. I hope that 12 treats you well. I'll do everything I can to make sure it does. Gram would be so proud.

Love,
Mama

She reaches over and pushes a piece of hair behind my ear. She smells like vanilla. “I'm going to do the best I can. I want you to know I'm going to try very hard. I have a new plan.” She pulls out her notebook. There isn't any foil on it. She opens it to a marked page and tears it out. Puts it on her corkboard near her desk. It's a checklist.

Reminders for Every Day

Time with Lucy and Izzy

Exercise

Write

Dr. Vincent

Critique Group

Medication

Tea with friends

“Dr. Vincent says a lot of it is about staying engaged.”

It looks just like Mission Control. She checks off several of the reminders, then turns to me. She squeezes me tight. “I love you. That's the only thing that comes easy.”

I lean in to her then. Mama, fully here. Just as she is, just as she should be. And I'm the happiest to have her back. We just stay, holding each other, like if one of us moves, the other will go crashing down.

“Lucy?” Izzy calls from the carport. Mama leans back and squeezes my shoulders with her hands. She gives me a kiss on the forehead.

“You go play. Have fun. Be a kid.”

“Love you,” I say, turning toward my door.

“Love you, too,” she says.

I climb out the window and duck underneath the tarp into the carport. It's more crooked than it was when we left. Resurrecting it wasn't too bad, though, since it's mostly just poles and plastic. Mr. Blinks had most of it back up by the time we arrived.

I meet Cam and Izzy over at the desk. Then I flick the light on and open the Mission Control notebook to the next empty page. I grab a fresh glue stick, run the glue across the paper, and paste the card down on it. Then I flip to the Protocol for Optimum Achievement. Look at the last two unfinished tasks on our list.

Go to BotBlock (and win)
Make dreams come true

The Mustang is no longer in the middle of the floor and Cam uses the space to kick and punch and swing. Izzy pulls a wire from a bucket and starts to fashion a crown. And I flip the page and rewrite those two goals up at the top.

“What are you doing, Cap'n?” Cam says as he comes over.

I turn the page toward him. “I'm reworking our protocol for optimum achievement.” I hit the page with the eraser. “Just seems like a good place to start. Less obstacles this time. Less to do, means maybe we'll make it a little farther next time.”

He reads it and then nods. “Yeah, it does. But it's not going to be easy.”

I glance to the page and think about Mama's plan, too, and think maybe between all of us, we could make it happen. Maybe between all of us, we have a chance.

I raise my hand to my mouth like I'm holding up a walkie-talkie.

“Mighty Hawk, this is Captain Juniper Ray of the Vintage Carrier twenty-five, twenty-five.”

Cam stands up straight, with soldier shoulders.

“Are you . . . afraid?” I say.

“I'm not afraid, Cap'n.” Izzy comes over with her crown on and stands next to Cam.

“Fall in,” I say, pulling PingPing from underneath the desk. I slide him next to Izzy.

“And if we're to fly out into the void and become live bait for aliens, will you be afraid?” I say, clasping my hands behind my back and walking to the right and then to the left.

“I will not be afraid, sir,” Izzy says, giving me a sharp salute.

“And if we run out of fuel and have to walk through the stars until our feet bleed, will you be afraid?” I shout. Cam shakes his head.

“I will not know the name of fear, sir,” Izzy shouts.

“And if we're taken down by space police and thrown into a jail to be put to death by a laser-beam firing squad, will you stand with fear?” I shout.

Cam jumps back and takes the position of shooting laser beams to the right and then to the left.

“Fear will not cross my mind nor enter my heart, Cap'n,” Izzy says.

“Well,” I say, closing the Mission Control notebook for another day, “then I suppose we're ready for anything.”

As I place the notebook back on my desk, I look at the picture of Gram, returned to its position in the corner. She wasn't right about foster care stealing your dreams. And she wasn't right about me being all Mama and Izzy have left. They have each other. And I have them, too. And together with Cam, I know we can all make things happen. If we get more momentum on the ground, if we run as hard as we can and stick together, someday, we're going take right off and land in the nearby stars.