Chasing Stardust: A Novel By Erica Lucke Dean - 27

Sound and Vision

With Dash’s betrayal lodged in the center of my chest like a thorny spine, embedded so deep it would take a team of surgeons to dig it out, I plop into a cracked vinyl seat and sit on my hands to stop the trembling. Shifting my eyes from the road outside the window, I drag in one shallow breath after another. Numbness radiates through my bones, quickly morphing into sharp pain and spreading like a virus until every nook and cranny screams for mercy.

Damn you, Dash Hammond. Damn you and your smirky grin and stupid shiny Tesla.

Part of me wants to set fire to his memory, to burn it out of my system until it doesn’t hurt anymore. But a weak, pathetic piece of me refuses to let go. I kissed this man with my eyes closed and my heart wide open. I gave him a part of myself I can never get back, and he betrayed me as though I meant nothing to him.

Utterly devastated and alone, I drag out my phone and scroll through my favorites, pausing with my thumb hovering over Mom’s number. For the longest half second ever, I stare at her contact info. Then the fog clears, and fresh tears spill over my lashes. She’s gone.

The weight of her loss settles into my chest as I wrap my arms around my tote, hugging Mom’s urn and diary as if the inanimate objects might hug me back. I wish I could rewind the clock to before she died. Wish I’d listened to Jeanie and waited for her leg to heal. There are so many things I wish I’d done differently.

Resting my head against the cool glass, I watch the world outside the window pass by as, bit by bit, the wall of ice around my heart begins to melt, freeing the emotions I’ve held in check for the past two years.

For the first time since Mom died, I dissolve into bone-racking sobs.

Almost an hour later, after riding three full circuits of the city bus’s route, reality sets in. I can’t stay on this bus forever. I need to find a way to get out of Detroit and back to Hicksville. And the Betty.

A quick online search tells me the nearest Greyhound station is just a short walk from the next stop. Using PayPal, and most of what I had left in my checking account, I book two tickets. First, a seat on the next bus to Chicago to spread Mom’s ashes, followed by a ticket from there to Hicksville on the last bus tonight. I refuse to let Dash Hammond derail my mission any more than he already has.

With my eyes and nose leaking like a rusty faucet and my heart shattered into a million pieces, I exit onto Michigan Avenue and walk the rest of the way to the bus station.

After picking up my tickets, I hurry on board the first bus before it leaves the station. Ignoring the blank stares of the other passengers, I lug my tote and backpack behind me until I reach an empty window seat near the back. After tucking my backpack behind my feet, I loop my arms around my tote, cradling it like a baby. With Mom’s diary open to her Chicago entry, I settle in for the long ride.

July 12

My mother is like a cat with nine lives, only instead of lives, it’s get-out-of-jail-free cards. After sneaking into a sightseeing tour of Lake Michigan, Mom talked our way into Wrigley Field for a Cubs game, and then we swam in Buckingham Fountain . . . all without ending up in striped jumpsuits. Sometimes, I swear she’s playing an epic game of tag, and the loser gets an all-expenses-paid trip to the county lockup. One of these days, she’s going to run out of cards, and I just hope I’m not caught in the dragnet when she does . . .

More than five hours, and several stops, later, the bus finally pulls into Union Station. Easily the size of several football fields and filled to the brim with travelers rushing off in every direction, the palatial building looks like something ripped right out of the pages of Fitzgerald or Hemingway. Decades of history ooze from the walls and the marble floors, and I nearly get swept into the crowd before even making it outside.

I need to conserve what little cash I have, so with less than an hour before I lose what’s left of the light, I head west. According to the guy at the information desk, Grant Park and Buckingham Fountain are only about a twenty-minute walk.

Burnt-orange and purple shafts of evening sun slice through the gaps in the buildings as I make my way through downtown Chicago. I don’t have time to take in the scenery, and I refuse to think about walking back in the dark.

By the time I reach the massive three-tier fountain, it’s lit up like a damn space station. Classical music accompanies the light show as plumes of water erupt from the center spout.

Eager to get my picture and get the hell out of town, I push my way through the tourists and run straight into an ornate green metal fence surrounding the perimeter. I could easily step over the low barrier, but I can’t help noticing that out of the hundreds of people here, not a single soul stands on the other side.

. . . the loser gets an all-expenses-paid trip to the county lockup.

I take one last look at the picture of Mom in Buckingham Fountain before tucking it between the pages of her diary and shoving them both deep into my tote.

“I’m about to regret this, aren’t I?” I toss the question into the wind.

“If you’re thinking about getting into that fountain, then yeah. Big-time regret.”

I whip my head around and stare at the stocky guy in the shiny new Cubs jersey. “What are you talking about?”

His wide grin exposes a gap between his front teeth wide enough to park a number-two pencil. The sweat forming on his dark skin reflects like diamonds in the light. “There’s a security system around the fountain.”

“Oh.” Eyeing the fence with fresh eyes, I step back. Great. “Is it electrified?”

The Cubs fan shrugs. “I heard a couple got arrested a few months ago after swimming in the fountain. No one mentioned them getting electrocuted.”

“Hmm.” My plan to get a selfie from inside the pool just got a bit more challenging. “Not impossible then.”

The guy gapes down at me, his thick eyebrows jutting into his forehead. “I guess that depends on your goal. Is a night in jail on your scavenger hunt list?”

If he only knew.

“Not exactly.” A loud laugh explodes out of my throat, and I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from blabbering my life story. “I only need a picture.”

“Oh, if that’s all.” He rolls his eyes.

I huff. “My mom climbed into that fountain thirty years ago to have her picture taken.”

He shrugs. “So?”

“So she died a few weeks ago, and—” I snap my mouth shut. “Never mind, I’ll figure it out on my own. Thanks for the info.”

“I’ll take it.”

The guy’s sympathetic smile triggers my tear ducts again, and I sniff back the waterworks. “Take what?”

Cubs guy looks away and blinks a few times before turning back to me. He exhales a long breath. “Your damn picture.”

“Really? You’d do that?”

“Yeah, really. But I don’t know what triggers the system. Could be the fence. Could be the actual fountain. You need to get in and get out. Make it fast. You’ve got ten minutes, tops, before the cops get here.”

“Got it! Thank you!” I bring up the camera app and hand the guy my phone. “You just—”

He rolls his eyes again. “I know how to work an iPhone.”

Less than four yards of freshly cut grass separates the fence from the pink marble fountain rim. A little voice inside my head—Dash’s voice—reminds me to be careful. I can only imagine the look on his face if he knew what I was about to do. I wish he were here to see how I don’t need him to cover my back anymore. I’ve got this. I may not qualify as a full-blown rebel quite yet, but I’m also not the same timid damsel I was a week ago when I set out to spread my mother’s ashes.

“I’ll be right back.” I set my backpack against the fence and leap over with my tote still slung over my shoulder. I might risk my phone and my clean underwear with a total stranger, but I’m not about to let Mom out of my sight. My heartbeat counts down the half seconds as I race across the grassy border. It takes me four long strides to get the edge of the fountain, and after setting my tote safely on the grass, less than a second to glide over the slippery side into the cool water.

My accomplice signals he’s ready, and I quickly pose with one of the green seahorses behind me. His thumbs-up tells me he got the photo, and I don’t waste any time dragging my soaked butt out of the pool and back across the grass.

My partner in crime hauls me over the fence and presses my phone into my wet hand.

Resisting the urge to hug him, I throw my phone into my tote and shove my arms through my backpack straps. Giddy excitement oozes out of my pores until I can taste the adrenaline. “Thank you!”

“Go!” He nudges me toward Columbus Drive with a gruff nod. “Get the hell out of here while you still can.”

With a quick wave, I bolt into the crowd, hoping to blend in, and make my way back toward the crosswalk in the distance. My hair flies behind me as my feet pound the pavers, water squishing out of my sneakers with every step.

I choke out a loud laugh. Dash would never believe I made it in and out of the fountain without peeing my pants.

As I reach the busy street, I realize I forgot to spread Mom’s ashes. I stop dead in my tracks and fumble with the urn. As soon as I get the lid off, I grab a fist of ashes and throw them into the air, ignoring the horrified looks from the crowd as I bolt across the road. The bus to Hicksville won’t wait if I don’t make it to the station on time.

The eventual crash from my adrenaline rush hits me somewhere between the last stop in Illinois and the first stop in Missouri. The fear of being robbed can’t compete with the need to sleep. With my eyes drooping, and my mind wandering to places I really wish it wouldn’t go, I start to drift off when a little boy with shaggy dark hair pops his head over the back of the seat in front of me. His big blue eyes stretch wide behind a pair of black plastic frames with no lenses. He watches me for a few seconds before opening his mouth. “Are you riding the bus all by yourself?”

“I am.”

He nods and flashes his tiny teeth in a devilish smile. “My daddy said you prolly ran away from home.”

I snicker at the low groan coming from the aisle seat in front of me. “No, I didn’t run away.”

“Gabriel!” The boy’s name comes out in a sharp whisper, and Gabriel drops into his seat again. A haggard man leans into the aisle and turns to me with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, he’s a little bored. It’s been a long ride, and someone fed him way too much sugar.” He rolls his eyes at the word someone , obviously implicating himself.

“Don’t worry about it.” I swallow another laugh. “He’s not bothering me.”

“See? I told you she was nice.” Gabriel pops his head above the seat again, holding on to the back with both hands. “If you didn’t run away, how come you’re all by yourself?”

“Because no one wanted to come with me.” The fib burns on the way out, and I point to his fake glasses. “Are you supposed to be Harry Potter?”

Gabriel groans and rolls his eyes in a perfect imitation of his father. “I’m Superman!” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “In disguise.”

“Oh.” A sharp twinge in my chest brings tears to my eyes. “I used to like Clark Kent a lot.”

His dark head cocks to one side, and a small furrow forms between his little eyebrows. “You don’t like him anymore?”

I swallow my conflicting emotions and shrug. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Come on, Gabe.” The man tugs the boy from his perch, leaving me alone with my feelings. “Let’s get some sleep before the sun comes up.”

After a two-hour layover in Memphis, I finally board the bus for Hicksville—tired, hungry, and reeking of sweaty feet and stale chips. The air-conditioning went out during the first fifteen minutes, and even at quarter to ten in the morning, the outside temperature must be hovering somewhere between deep in the heart of Texas and the bowels of hell. To make matters worse, the bus is as packed as a box of broken crayons, and other than a quick sponge bath in the laundromat, I haven’t washed since Boston. Only the stench seeping out of the nearby toilet can outrank my foul odor.

I’ve spent the better part of an hour fighting sleep and avoiding the creepy guy across the aisle. His camo board shorts and bow-tie-with-suspenders novelty T-shirt make him look like he escaped from one of Jeanie’s serial killer lineups.

Just when I’m about to lose the battle and drift off, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I’d basically given up on reaching G-Lo or Jeanie. They’d been either intentionally avoiding me or hungover. Maybe both. So when a picture of G-Lo, leaning against the Betty, smiles up at me from the display, I accept the call and press the phone to my ear. “Where have you been?”

“Who?” The surprise in G-Lo’s voice almost makes me laugh.

“You!” I whisper shout. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

G-Lo cackles down the line. “You didn’t really expect me to answer the phone before nine, did you?”

“Did it ever occur to you I might’ve needed help?”

G-Lo clicks her tongue. “Not until you mentioned it. But you don’t sound like you’re calling from jail. Wait! You’re not calling from jail, are you?”

“No!” My shriek draws unwanted attention from the creep across the aisle, so I turn toward the window and lower my voice. “But that’s not the point. Do you think your car is ready for me to pick it up?”

“Why would you need my car? You already have a ride.”

I press my fingers into my temple. “Had. Past tense.”

“What happened?” G-Lo snickers. “What did you hit this time?”

“A whole family of vultures.”

The line goes so quiet, I think I must have lost the call.

G-Lo clears her throat. “I guess that means you’ve met Dash’s parents.”

“You could say—wait. What do you know about them?”

“Oh no. Ask Dash. It isn’t my story to tell.”

“I can’t exactly do that right now.” I huff.

Part of me wants to tell her everything, but to do that, I’d have to relive it. I’m not ready to admit how stupid I was for putting my trust in him. How much I’d started to care about him. How I’d slept with him.

“Why? Did something happen? Is he okay?”

“ He’s perfectly fine.” I grind out the words, irrationally angry at her misplaced concern.

“Honey, you sound upset. What’s going on?”

I let out a long breath. Rehashing the past twenty-four hours is the absolute last thing I want to do. “I just need to get to Hicksville and pick up your car if it’s ready.”

“I spoke with the mechanic just the other day. She’s better than ever and ready to go, but—”

“Good.” I don’t give her a chance to ask anything else. Now that the floodgates are open, I can barely hold back the tears as it is. “I should be there in an hour or so. I don’t suppose you could wire me some money? I still don’t have my cards, and I’m kinda tapped out.”

“Of course! How much do you need?”

“As much as you can send? I can’t use Apple Pay until I get a new debit card, and not everywhere takes Venmo. I promise I’ll pay you back as soon as I get home.”

“Don’t worry about the money, sweetheart. I have plenty.”

“Thank you.” I swallow the growing lump in my throat.

“Zoey—”

“I have to go. I’ll check in again later.” I disconnect the call before the last thread holding me together completely unravels.