From a Distant Star (16 page)

“It sounds like a good system,” I admitted. “If we could do that here, everyone would probably get along better. Of course, we couldn’t do it that way because we’re not highly evolved enough.” I glanced over to see if he’d nod, but Scout wasn’t taking the bait. Apparently, diplomacy was part of their advanced state. “So do you have a family, like we do here? Parents, brothers and sisters?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head bob. “Each person comes from two older beings much like your parents. The two older ones, like your mother and father, contribute genetic material to make offspring. It is not dissimilar. I have twenty-two siblings, but I don’t know them all very well. As soon as we are independent, we leave to contribute and work for the good of everyone.”

“Twenty-two, wow.” I put on my turn signal and got into the left lane to go around a semi. Even though I’d been driving for the
last year, it was mostly on the roads near my house—and in a very different car. I didn’t go on the expressway all that much and, right now, the speed combined with the big trucks made me clench my teeth. I breathed a sigh of relief when I made it all the way around the truck and switched back into the right lane. I couldn’t believe I had signed up for ten hours of this.

Scout interrupted my thoughts. “I have an Emma too.”

“What?”

“On my planet. I have an Emma.”

“A girlfriend?” I glanced over to see his lips draw up in a slight smile.

“Yes, if you want to use that word.”

“Really?” For some reason, the idea of Scout having a girlfriend surprised and delighted me. “What’s her name?”

“I cannot say it in your language, but I have decided that her earth name is Regina.”

“You decided that, huh?” I felt a smirk coming on. “Why Regina? Why that particular name?”

“There is a Regina George in one of Eric’s movies that is very much like her,” he said. “She has a very strong personality.”

“Strong personality, huh? What else can you tell me about her?”

His fist went to his mouth, thinking. After a moment, he said, “You know the way you feel about Lucas?”

“Yes.”

“I feel the same things about her. She is everything to me.”

Was I imagining it, or had his voice gotten softer? I turned to look at him. “You must miss her very much.”

“Very much,” he repeated and I heard sadness in his voice.

So we had something in common: both of us were without the love of our life. This sucked. A dark storm cloud seemed to form above our moving car, like in cartoons. To lighten the mood,
I decided to put on some music, something upbeat and easy to sing to.

“Okay, listen up, this is what Lucas and I always used to do in the car,” I said. “Whenever a good song would come on, we’d sing and do hand movements together. Car dancing, Lucas called it. It’s really fun.”

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice telling me he really didn’t want to do this. “I don’t know dancing.”

“What’s the matter? You don’t have music on your planet?”

“Oh yes,” Scout said, very enthusiastically. “We have music that can touch your soul. It can motivate those who hear it to try harder or think more deeply. We don’t just hear it; it goes throughout our entire being, penetrating every cell.”

“Yes, I get it. Our music doesn’t compare well.” I sighed. “Sorry. It doesn’t penetrate every cell. We just listen with our ears.”

“No, I . . .” He exhaled and it came out in a huff. “I don’t know how to do this car dancing you speak of.”

“Not to worry. I’m a most excellent teacher. Can you get my backpack? It’s on the floor behind you.” Scout reached back and got the backpack, which he then set on his lap. I gave him directions and he unzipped the front pocket and found the iPod right where I’d left it. He handed it to me and, even though I was driving seventy miles per hour, I was able to plug it into the dash and find the perfect song with ease. “Okay,” I said before the song even began. “This is what you need to remember: ‘Hate to leave you, Emily.’ Can you say it?”

He repeated. “Hate to leave you, Emily.” His brow furrowed, confused. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just for fun. Lucas and I would always pick the oldest, cheesiest songs on purpose.” I sung the sentence for him. “Can you make your voice sound like that?” Lucas had a decent singing voice. I was curious to see what Scout would do with the same instrument.

He opened his mouth and sang, “Hate to leave you, Emily.” It wasn’t Lucas quality, but it wasn’t terrible either.

“Okay,” I said. “Now we begin.”

I tapped out the first few notes on the steering wheel. “I’ll sing the beginning and when I point to you, you sing your part. Okay?”

Scout looked a little nervous, but he nodded. Honestly, he was taking this way too seriously. I knew this song backward and forward. It was an old 80s tune that my mom always turned up when it came on the radio in the car. When I was little, I thought the “Emily” referred to me, Emma Leigh Garson. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized the name in the song was actually “Emily,’” not “Emma Leigh.” A little disappointing at the time. Now I belted out the lyrics, not caring that Scout was looking at me with open-mouthed wonder, and when his part came, I bounced in my seat and pointed, no small thing considering a semi zoomed past us at the same time. He sang, “Hate to leave you, Emily,” and looked pretty pleased when his words matched the recording.

We got all the way through the song, him singing the one line and me doing the rest. When it finished, I took it back to the beginning.

“We’re going to do it again and add some moves,” I told him. Lucas and I had perfected synchronizing our hand movements, pointing out the front window during a climactic moment, pumping our fists in the air, or doing the hand jive in rhythm with the chorus. I knew we looked incredibly stupid, especially when we pulled up to a stoplight and other people could see, but we didn’t care. If anyone frowned at us from another car, I figured they were jealous that we were young and happy and in love. When Lucas was sick, I missed these times, the times when we didn’t have to think about treatments and pain and death. When we could just be in the here and now, living life together, being carefree.

I knew Scout was just standing in for Lucas, but for a few minutes, it was like old times. I restarted the song and we ran through
it again. He loosened up after the first time, enthusiastically belting out his line and trying to copy my moves. I was a little proud, like I’d volunteered for the Big Brothers/Big Sisters organization and introduced my kid to something he wouldn’t have experienced otherwise.

“Sing it, Scout,” I called out, right before his part.

By the time we finished, both of us were giddy, something I hadn’t experienced for a long time. “That was fun,” I said, catching my breath.

“That’s what fun is?” he asked.

“Pretty much. Fun is doing something just because it makes you happy.”

“You and Lucas had fun?”

“All the time. How about you and your Emma?”

He shook his head. “There is nothing compared to fun where I come from. We are happy and we are content. We celebrate big occasions, but we don’t do fun for no reason.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. Finally, I’d found one thing we did better.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Scout sometimes had trouble processing the intensity of the emotions on this planet. The inhabitants had so many feelings, and they swung back and forth so quickly. Anything—bad news, the weather, music—could affect their moods. A rain shower made one human happy and another sad. A certain song could move one human to tears while another barely noticed it. And none of it was predictable, as far as he could tell.

It was only midday and already Emma had been worried, excited, compassionate, and now, with the car dancing, happy. More than happy. He puzzled over her feelings and decided she was “jubilant.” Overflowing with joy. And he wasn’t sure why. He had tried to figure out the point of the car dancing and decided there was no point. It was, as she said, just for fun. How odd it was that these people did things that didn’t contribute to something else. Not for the greater good, anyway. The people just did things to make themselves feel good. So primitive, and yet, he liked it.

He tried to think of how he could explain this concept to Regina, but he knew she’d have trouble understanding. She took charge and was a doer, always setting goals and accomplishing them in short order. Regina would probably make the point that the selfishness of the individuals on Earth was the reason the planet was so backward. Still, he wanted to try sharing this idea
with her, to show her how each inhabitant could find happiness from within and share it with others. It was too good a feeling not to want to recreate on his home planet.

Yes, if he ever made it home, that is what he would do.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Many songs later, daylight broke and I didn’t need headlights to see the road anymore. Around the same time the sun made its full entrance, my stomach started to growl. The cup of coffee and granola bar I’d had right before heading out the door didn’t have the lasting power I’d hoped for. When I noticed a sign for a pancake house at an upcoming exit, I asked Scout, “Are you hungry? I’m thinking we should stop for breakfast.”

“I could eat something,” he said. I recognized the words and intonation. That was exactly how Eric always answered that very same question. No wonder Mrs. Walker didn’t see anything wrong with her older son. Scout had borrowed expressions from close to home. Even though his speech was awkward, the words were familiar.

Two exits later, I got off the expressway and spotted the restaurant from the end of the ramp. In a few minutes, we were sitting in a booth, looking at a glossy menu. Our waitress took our drink order as she escorted us to our table. Apparently, it was a very efficient pancake house. Scout scanned the menu and something else occurred to me. “Can you read?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yes. It was easy to match the sounds to the symbols.”

Impressive that he taught himself. Maybe he had a right to feel superior after all. “Okay, well, if you need any help, let me know.”

“I do not think that will be necessary,” Scout said, tapping a finger on a photo.

I looked around the restaurant, glad to see it was about half full. We weren’t doing anything wrong, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were desperadoes, the equivalent of bank robbers on the run. I didn’t want to stand out too much. Our waitress came with our drinks: orange juice for Scout, coffee for me. She looked to be in her early thirties, with cropped brown hair tucked behind her ears. Earlier that morning, I’d looked in the mirror and thought I’d looked tired, but compared to this woman (Amy, according to her name tag) I had nothing to worry about. Her eyes were etched with exhaustion and she seemed preoccupied, darting a look back at the counter even as she set down our drinks. I followed her gaze to see a little girl about six years old, coloring on a paper placemat. She was by herself, and had a scarf wrapped around her head. Almost as if she felt me looking at her, the girl turned her head and smiled, and my heart instantly melted right before breaking into a million pieces. I knew this girl. Well, I didn’t know
her
exactly, but I’d seen her before in the faces of all the kids in the pediatric oncology unit when I was visiting Lucas. And then I realized she wasn’t smiling at me, but at the waitress, Amy. The girl held up her picture and called out, “Look, Mommy, I made this for you.”

Amy turned and said, “That’s beautiful, baby. I’ll be right there after I take this order.” She pulled a pad and pen out of her pocket and addressed her next words to us: “The babysitter was sick.” She shrugged like,
what are you gonna do?
“Are you ready to order?”

I wanted to cry, but instead I ordered a number six with a side of hash browns. Scout said, “I will have the same thing.”

After the waitress gathered up the menus and walked away, I leaned across the table and whispered, “I think her daughter has cancer like Lucas had. So sad.”

Scout took a sip of his orange juice. Lucas was never real big on fruits and vegetables, but I’d noticed that Scout gravitated toward them. He said, “The cancer is in her blood and the middle of her bones.”

I asked, “How do you know that?”

“We went past her when we walked in.” He said it nonchalantly as if this explained everything.

“Wait a minute,” I said, lowering my voice again. “You can tell what kind of cancer she has just by being near her?”

“Well, yes,” he said, a puzzled look on his face. “Is that unusual?”

“Hell, yeah.” It had taken the doctors a million tests to narrow down exactly what Lucas had. “How can you do that?”

Scout said, “Cell empathy.”

“What’s that?” I glanced over at the little girl, her legs dangling off the edge of the stool. At this age, she shouldn’t have a care in the world and here she had cancer. So unfair.

“I can tell the health of her cells.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “How can you see colors or taste food? You just can. You have that ability because it’s how you are made.”

“But you’re inside Lucas’s body,” I pointed out. “And Lucas could never do that.”

“My essence is what is driving the body. And so I have retained many of my own abilities.” He spoke the words slowly, reminding me once again that English wasn’t his first language.

“Like, what else? What other abilities?”

“Just other abilities.” He took the wrapper off his straw and stuck it in the juice, then stirred the pulp around.

His answer seemed cagey to me. Why wouldn’t he say? “Wait a minute. Can you read people’s minds? Do you know what I’m thinking?”

“Not exactly.” He had that look on his face again, the guilty look, like he knew he was in trouble. “The little girl’s name is Chloe,” he said brightly.

“How do you know that?”

“I heard her mother say her name.”

It did not escape me that he hadn’t answered my question about mind reading. How disturbing would it be if he’d known everything I’d been thinking this whole time? His head was down now, his attention back to stirring his juice. If he thought I was going to let this go, he had another thing coming. In my mind, I yelled,
Scout, look at me. Right now! Lift your head and look at me!
Startled, he let go of the straw and met my eyes. A chill rose up my spine. He’d reacted as if I’d shouted at him. He’d heard what I was thinking.