Chasing Stardust: A Novel By Erica Lucke Dean - 21

Jump They Say

“Where is that?” Dash peers over my shoulder at Mom’s picture, taped to the page.

“I’m not sure, but it doesn’t look like Boston Harbor.”

His chin brushes my shoulder. Even after hours of being cooped up in the car, he still smells like fresh laundry and rosemary. “Why is she soaking wet and holding balloons and a charred muffin?”

I burst out laughing. “I have no idea why she’s wet, but I’m pretty sure that’s a lit match in a Little Debbie cupcake.”

“That’s weird.”

The air in my lungs freezes as I zero in on the date scrawled on the photo. Just a few days from now.

“It was her nineteenth birthday.” My throat squeezes shut. She won’t be here to celebrate this year.

Dash reaches across the console, his warm fingers prying mine from the loose threads on my tattered shorts.

According to her diary, they hit all the cliché tourist attractions—the Harbor, the Freedom Trail, Faneuil Hall. Mom even dragged G-Lo to a museum and a Shakespeare festival. But before they headed to Detroit, they met up with some locals and went hiking, and . . .

“Holy shit! Listen to this!

“July 8

“ For my birthday, Mom decided to get high with a few of the locals. This guy Shane and his girlfriend Kim talked me into taking a hit off their joint, ‘since you only turn nineteen once.’ Their logic was flawed, but what the hell, I did it. I figured, even with all the shit she smokes, Mom’s still alive. Though I’ll be shocked if she makes it to forty with enough brain cells left to count that high. Officially my first time doing drugs—not counting the time I accidentally took too much cough syrup and passed out in the backyard. I swore I’d never do that again after getting the worst sunburn of my life. And yet, there I was, high as a cat in a sycamore tree, walking through the woods, following a set of railroad tracks on some old patriot trail, like a scene straight out of a horror movie. We hiked for what felt like an eternity before coming to a huge lake and a rusty old trestle on concrete pillars. Not even the pair of No Trespassing signs stopped Shane, Kim, and their drunk-ass friends from walking across the narrow bridge. I inched my way behind them, careful not to trip over the train tracks or fall through the wide cracks where the boards didn’t meet, until we reached the center of the bridge. Being up there felt a lot like playing the game Perfection, with the train whistle blowing in the distance taking the place of the ticking timer counting down. While Shane and Kim helped Mom scramble over the side and down a ladder to the top of the concrete pillar directly below us, the rest of us waited our turns, hoping like hell the time wouldn’t run out and send our pieces scattering through the air. The old boards beneath my feet rattled as the train got closer, and I screamed so loud, my ears may never stop ringing. This cute guy, Ryan, helped me, and we barely made it over the side before the train came flying overhead, blasting its whistle as it screeched along the tracks. The sound was deafening, and the bridge shook so hard I thought I’d fall headfirst into the lake. Even with Ryan holding my hand, I’d never been so scared in my entire life. Until the moment I jumped . . . Shane went first, then Kim, then Mom and this guy everyone called Scooter. I didn’t catch all their names as they dropped like stones from the pillar into the dark water below. When it was my turn, I closed my eyes. With my heart clawing a hole in my chest, I pushed off the side. Then my chest went cold as I fell for what felt like forever . . . ”

Dash’s mouth drops open. “She jumped?”

“She freaking jumped.” I wipe my slick palms on my shorts. My risk-averse mother had jumped. I would’ve never believed it, had I not read the words, written in her own hand.

“From a train trestle? With a train on the tracks?”

I nod, my pulse rocketing through my veins. “ That’s where I need to spread her ashes.”

“How will we even find it?” Dash eyes the open diary as if searching for the answer, buried somewhere between the lines.

“I don’t know, but we have to try.” Thoughts racing, I skim the pages again, looking for clues. Anything that might point me in the right direction.

Swapping the diary for my phone, I search for patriot trails and railroad tracks running through the woods outside Boston . And come up blank.

“I think it’s time to call my grandma.”

Despite Mom’s prediction, G-Lo had plenty of brain cells left to tell me how to find the patriot trail and the train tracks. Bright and early the next morning, Dash and I set out to test her memory, skipping all the other Boston attractions listed in the diary to focus on the only one calling to me.

Of all the places I’ve scattered Mom’s ashes, this is the spot that weighs heaviest on my mind. Jumping from the bridge had been an actual turning point, not just for Mom’s trip, but for her life. She’d gone from visiting David Bowie concert stops to taking a literal leap of faith into adulthood.

“You okay?” Dash’s brows furrow as he pushes thick brambles out of my way.

The deeper into the woods we trek, the harder it is to follow the overgrown trail, as if no one has come this way in a long time.

“A little anxious.” I drag my tote higher on my shoulder. We have to be getting close by now. We’ve been walking for almost forty minutes.

His muscles bunch as he untangles a thick vine blocking the path. “Unless your grandma’s directions were totally off, we should be almost there.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Dash stops walking and tilts his head to the side. “Do you hear that?”

Blocking out the buzzing cicadas in the trees, I listen for whatever has Dash so excited. A low honk in the distance catches my attention, and my gaze snaps to his. “Geese?”

He grins. “We must be close to water.”

“Come on.” I grab his hand, towing him through the thick underbrush. Sharp vines claw at my bare legs as we sprint through the thicket, in search of the elusive train tracks.

We reach a break in the trees, and I slow to a brisk walk as I catch the first glimpse of the rusted trestle jutting into the horizon. Sunlight glints off the lake, stopping me in my tracks. The closer I get to the massive structure, the more space I see between the long, narrow bridge and the water below. My heart leaps into my throat. My imagination hasn’t done it justice. Neither had Mom’s description.

“She jumped from that ?” The words rip from my throat as I cautiously make my way forward, swatting gnats from my sweaty face. My thoughts race to keep up with my pulse, the scent of musty earth and humid air so thick, I can taste it.

“Hey.” Dash grabs my arm. “Be careful. Don’t get too close to the edge.”

Because we both know the fall could damn well kill me. That jumping off a freaking bridge is beyond reckless.

I tug my arm free as my conflicting emotions wage war. This whole trip was supposed to be about getting to know my mother all over again through her diary. But standing less than fifty feet from where she stood—where she jumped —has me questioning everything I thought I knew about her.

“Zoey?”

I angrily swipe a tear from my cheek. “My whole childhood was one big lesson on how reckless my grandmother was. Every time we rode off without our bike helmets, played too rough, or laughed too loud, we got the ‘don’t be like your G-Lo’ speech. When Jeanie got caught smoking pot junior year, Mom flipped. She ranted for hours about Jeanie ruining her life the same way our grandmother had.”

I knew Mom loved G-Lo, but I also sensed the unspoken tension between them.

“Jeanie idolized G-Lo and rebelled against Mom. And what happened to her? Nothing. She smoked pot and partied hard. But she still graduated college with decent grades and landed a six-figure job. She didn’t waste four years with a stupid boyfriend who controlled her every move. But me?” Tears clog my throat, and I swallow, struggling to hold them back. “I was supposed to be the good, responsible daughter. Just like Mom.”

But she wasn’t responsible, was she? Not always. Not this one time, at least.

I swallow again, losing the battle with my emotions. How many new firsts did I waste on Damian because I was following the path I thought she wanted for me?

“Zoey . . .” Dash reaches for my hand.

Instead of accepting it, I take a step toward the bridge. I swipe at another tear, angry that she hid so much of herself from us—from me . Furious that I never got the chance to confront her about it. “This bridge represents the lie my mom perpetuated my whole life. Because at least once , she was as reckless as her mother. She got to experience that terrifying rush of adrenaline she so desperately fought to keep from us. And it’s not fair that she’s gone now, and I can’t tell her how mad I am that she kept this from me.”

Dash inches forward, his gaze locked on mine. “Maybe she never got the chance. Maybe that’s why she sent you on the trip. So you could experience this with her in the only way she knew how.”

“By spreading her ashes over a damn lake?” I stare down at the water, strangely jealous of what it represents.

“And going to all the places she went. Maybe this was her way of sharing that with you.”

His theory—his wonderfully plausible theory—chips away at my anger. It would be just like Mom to send me on this epic quest to get to know her, to understand the parts of her she couldn’t explain. If the trip—specifically this bridge—meant so much to her life, I can only wonder what it might mean for mine .

Shoving my anger aside, I pull Mom’s urn from my tote, setting the bag on the ground beside the bridge.

Dash goes rigid beside me. “You’re only spreading ashes, right?”

“Yes,” I breathe—a cross between a sob and a laugh. “You didn’t think I was gonna jump, did you? I’m enjoying this adventure a little too much to off myself.”

He rolls his eyes at my weak attempt at humor.

Eyeing the rotting boards, I thrust the silver urn into Dash’s hands. “Hold this. I don’t want to carry the damn thing all the way out there.”

His brows furrow. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” I unscrew the lid and plunge my hand inside. Coarse sand spills through my fingers as I pull out a fistful of ashes. It doesn’t escape me that only a few days ago, the mere thought had horrified me. Now I’m practically playing in it like a kid in a sandbox. I fill one pocket, then go back in for another handful and fill the other one.

“You want me to . . . ?” Dash nods toward the bridge.

“No.” I force a smile. “I need a minute. Alone, if you don’t mind.”

Still clutching Mom’s urn, he presses a quick kiss to my temple. “Be careful.”

“I will,” I promise as I take my first step onto the old boards.

Mom was right. The thick planks don’t meet, giving me a peek at the shimmering water below through the gaps. It reminds me of something straight out of an amusement park, but there’d be absolutely nothing amusing about falling through.

Once I reach the center, I gaze out at the lake. It must be at least fifty feet to the surface. How did they survive that fall? With a shudder, I peer over the side and search for the ladder Mom wrote about. The rusty rungs don’t look like they’d hold half my weight these days.

“Okay, Mom. I’m here.”

I wipe my slick palms on my shorts, then fish into my left pocket and scoop as much of the sand as I can into my hand, memorizing the rough texture of the grains against my skin. Murmuring a silent, “I love you,” I toss the ashes into the air, where they catch a light gust and drift across the lake.

The boards beneath my feet vibrate and I freeze, scanning the horizon in both directions.

“Everything okay?” Dash shouts.

“For a second I thought—” Laughing, I shake my head. “It’s nothing. I’m imagining things. I’m almost done.” I drag the second handful from my pocket and raise my fist in the air. A whistle blows in the distance, and I go rigid.

The train.

Air rushes from my lungs as Mom’s ashes slip through my fingers, creating a dust cloud around me.

Dash shouts at me. “Zoey, get off the bridge!”

Paralyzed with fear, I stand in the center of the bridge, unsure of which direction to go. “Where is it?”

“Run!” Even from fifty feet away, terror shines in Dash’s eyes.

“Which way?” The boards tremble, rattling hard enough to shake dust into the air. Nervous laughter rolls up my throat. Not dust. Mom. The whistle blows again, louder this time, and my thoughts scatter. The memories from her trip stitch themselves into the fabric of my mind until I replay her last moments on this very bridge in real time.

Ignoring Dash’s frantic cries, I scramble over the side and cling to the rusted rungs of the ladder, my breath coming out in sharp bursts. Terror races through my veins as I release the bottom rung and land on top of the concrete pillar alongside decades of graffiti and fresh bird poop.

Not even Mom’s memories prepare me for the train hitting the tracks above like a sledgehammer to my skull. My bones vibrate until I’m certain I’ll break into a million tiny pieces and blow away like Mom’s ashes.

I gape into the rippling water below, the concrete shuddering beneath my feet. And that’s when it hits me . . . Mom stood right here.

A million questions swirl through my brain like fish in a bowl. What was she thinking at that exact moment? Was she scared? Was Dash right? Did she mean for me to find this place? My last thought replays inside my head, and suddenly I know.

This is why I’m here.

With Dash somewhere above me, screaming my name over and over, I squeeze my eyes shut and tuck my arms tightly to my sides. Then, inhaling one last deep breath, I point my toes and leap.

After falling through the warm air for what seems like hours, I slice through the icy water like a knife. The murky lake presses in on all sides, and regret hits me almost immediately. Jumping into a lake from a bridge is nothing like diving into the pool at the Y. Instead of resurfacing right away, I keep going down . . . down . . . down, until I’m sure I’ll hit the muddy bottom. But the lake must be a hundred feet deep, because I keep sinking. My lungs burn and my skull threatens to cave in. But still, I keep sinking. The farther down I go, the colder and darker the water is. I’m going to die down here without ever having sex with Dash.

Oh God . . . Dash.

My heart hammers in my ears, the bridge a blur above me as I reach for the surface. Stroke after stroke, I drag my arms through the dark water, my lungs screaming for air. As soon as my head breaks the surface, I suck in a breath, then another, bobbing in the water while I find my bearings. My pulse races like the world’s worst caffeine and sugar high, and I know the eventual crash won’t be pleasant.

“Jesus, Zoey, are you okay?” Dash’s voice cracks as he shouts from the shallows, wading in up to his ankles, gripping his hair in both hands.

Arms trembling from the effort, I swim toward him. “It was touch and go for a minute, but I’m alive.”

“When you jumped . . . my heart damn near stopped.” He meets me knee deep in the lake and drags me from the water. “I thought I lost you.”

I barely find my footing before his mouth closes over mine and he’s kissing me senseless. This time when my lungs scream for mercy, I don’t complain. I’d gladly drown in his kisses. At least I’d die happy.